delete. delete. delete.

Today, my brain is a weepy, muddled mess of what could be and what isn’t. Feelings that betray my better instincts. A frustratingly opaque world of thoughts I can’t pinpoint.

I write sentences and erase them, one character at a time, with loud key strokes.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

If I’d have been born a man, I’d be unstoppable. I’d take up two seats on a metro with my leg spread. I wouldn’t feel small, or weak, or scared. The adrenaline rush I’d feel when someone grabbed my wrist would make me draw fists, not tears.

If I’d have been born a man, I’d be confident. I’d impart my wisdom in the middle of other’s sentences. I wouldn’t act meek, or shy, or humble. The success I achieved would be marked by boasts, not apologies.

I should have been born a man.

But I’m glad I was born a woman.

Only, I couldn’t tell you why.

Not today.

No Comments

Join the Discussion

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>