and for every marriage and birth
i am reminded by obviously well-meaning people
that i am still behind;
that my value is depleting
with my sagging skin
with the layers of my chin
with the lines around my grin
with my shape being far from thin
as my breasts reach my shin
as my wrinkles keep on growing
and endless other things
i should apparently be fussing about.
after all,
travelling solo
and buying your own car
and living in foreign lands
and collecting awards and degrees
and having contacts all over the world
and working your ass of to pay off your loans
and struggling against all kinds of inner demons
and still breathing somehow
are not achievements for women to be proud about
when nobody wants you.
(haven't you heard, doll?
the age of your womb matters more
than the maturity of your brain.)
some friends say they miss their innocence when they were younger
but i am thankful of my decreasing ignorance
as i acquire firsthand pains and secondhand lessons
while bearing witness to my messups and glowups
that no one else had the privillege to observe,
and yet, i am still told
that my eyes are too cold;
that my 'resting bitch face' will only scare people away
but isn’t it an oxymoron?
because bitches are babes in total control of herself
and you can't be you're in charge if you're 'resting'
but at the end of the day, let's be real:
being unfazed while returning men's gaze isn't just a phase
it's a stance and a form of resistance
because masculinity is so damn fragile
so stop telling me to fucking smile.
2018-12-03 8.49pm