He likes women that are smaller than him, physically, and in other ways too. Women who speak softly in his presence, who wear delicate lace, and have soft, long hair, he likes them to be slim and well groomed, wearing makeup but not too much. He swears that he is a feminist, a pioneer, a male advocate for women, but when I raised my voice to him, he demanded I lower it, and when I tried to stand a little taller, he reminded me of his strength. He reminded me of the upper hand he was born with, the pedestal he was born on, and in that moment, I realised how small I was. How my voice barely touched the ceiling, whilst his reached the neighbours. My curled up fists were mere symbols, whilst his were weapons. He likes women who are smaller than him, so that he gets to be their voice. Women who he can convince that he is on their side, whilst also reminding them how much they need him. Be afraid of the paradox, the self proclaimed male feminist who likes small women. Do not let him make you feel small like he did me. Let your voice reach the ceiling, the neighbours, the sky. You are not small, and you never have been.
(via violent-choices)
