This was based off of the Jamaica Kincaid poem of the same name on the week of gender. I detail the society’s expectations of people who identify as a female.
Your skirts must be as long as your fingertips, else you are a slut. Only call out for rape if you are a virgin. Act like a sex object and satisfy our fantasies, but don’t make it too obvious. We may be tempted.
Be fat, we want to see the real you. Oh wait, be skinny and have a thigh gap. You know what, be curvy, that’s what a real woman is.
Let me explain every little word, excel in every little thing and don’t complain. I may not call you a pussy, but you bet that you are one. Just let us be better than you, it’s the natural way.
Your body parts are my business, just like everything else. I’ll do whatever I want with them, talk about them all day long. But you know what’s not my business? Periods. I don’t wanna hear about them. I never liked fertile girls anyway.
Oh, and once we get together, do the laundry. I have work to do, with the boys and all. Do what women should do. You’ll rule the kitchen, I’ll have the living room. Shh, honey the game’s coming on in a few minutes.
I’ll hide the fact that I’m actually projecting all my insecurities onto you and this is the only way I know how to take control. You won’t ever know the real me, no one will and I’ll continue burying you in commands just like my father did to me.