I love women. girlhood. lace, bows, shades of pink and broken eyeshadow palettes. I love shared playlists and whispering gossip behind tensed shoulders. I love eye contact and the secret language of lashes. I love lying for safety and lying for fun. finding flowers we picked in my pockets and making tea on rainy days. I love the soft, the sweet, the care.
but god how I hate women. the bitter fights, the attachment, the care. the knowing they are getting off on this. the losing battle, the game we are playing for their entertainment. us against ourselves so we do not turn. on them. the expectation. the judgement. am I doing it right? I can never do it right. we can never do it right. the curse, the weight, the ancestry. the spirit of forgotten goddesses behind us. when women were worshipped. when women were owned. the objectivity. the fear. the shame. we cannot talk about blood. as natural as the phases of the moon. we cannot talk. so we scream. at each other, at them, into the fire. we dance. naked and dangerous. we revolt. we are hated. we hate. ourselves. each other. them.
I love women, I hate being a woman.
