Why must I sit with my legs closed?
Why, if I don’t, is it considered an open invitation?
Why must my skirt be long and my shirt be high?
Why is my body a sexual object?
Why may I not complain about these incessant cramps?
Why am I not allowed to utter the word period?
Why may I not curse?
Why is it considered a fucking travesty?
Why may I not cry of frustration?
Why is it too emotional?
Why is it always blamed on mood swings?
Why am I controlled by my body?
Why must I be always so balanced?
Why must I be provocatively silent?
Why must I power his sex?
Why may he not know?
Why must I never make him feel uncomfortable?
Why must I give in?
Why is it if I don’t, I am a prude?
Why is it if I do, I am a slut?
Why may I not act like him?
Why must he act like him?
Why can’t we just be we?
Why can’t I just be me?
Why must I be less a woman?
Feature image by Stephanie Deangelis
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