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You have one job.

When my daughter was born, I had this sick kind of contentment. Like, I could do it all again and not be just “some gash”; the first insult my vagina received in a long list of “not good enoughs” that would seem to equal the sum of my femininity. Then, there was the enviable fact that she could live without breasts for so long; able to traverse the world in blue, purple or green. The best kind of girl…the kind without female defining characteristics. How easy it would be to wear the chest of a man and feel nothing other than the wonder of being human before sacks of fat sit on your chest and define you.

It would be easier if she was flat chested. How I prayed and I don’t even fucking pray.

I prayed for flat chests and interest in Science and maybe that she would never leave home because she might end up as “some gash” to some fucking guy who never did anything except be born with a royal cock.

And who was she to have an organ that only accepts.

And then, I bore a son who was small and hated sports, but he was a white man. Thank the brown Jesus. He had all of the cards in the deck and our vehement cry of, “DON’T EVER HIT A GIRL!” is the only thing he really has to worry about. Born white with the royal cock and able to do anything he pleases except beat women…except in private. Because, let’s face it, he could if he wanted to. I don’t want him to.

And then, I had two more daughters and I cut off all of my hair. Like a “dike”. And I was too fat to have such short hair. And women tell me I’m “brave”…simply because I cut my hair.

I don’t want to be polite anymore. And I don’t give a shit about my hair.

One day, the world is going to explode with the kind of hatred we reserve only for ourselves. Bottled up and then secreted slowly, like coffee over organic filter. Still tearing apart the components of the holster, bit by bit and leaving delicious mud.

Giving us enough sustenance to hate ourselves tomorrow.

Because who are we to have big hearts that only accept.

And it makes sense that a woman would feel nothing hard enough and for long enough to finally let herself go…

As if that is a destination.

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