I once dated a boy who told me that I could never be dainty, (as if that were something I was striving for) he said that I was too edgy for that (as if this were a bad thing.) I wonder if he knows that boys like him are the reason my mom bought me pepper-spray for graduation instead of the cute mini skirt I wanted. Boys like him are the reason my throat is coated with razor blades instead of honey. Boys like him are the reason my gender is the most insulting term in society today and also the reason I have to run the dark spaces between street lamps like young boys used to run across no mans land in WW1. Boys like that are the reason that there is always a scream building up in the back of my throat, the reason that I took self defense classes in the 7th grade instead of going to cotillion. Those boys think of bitch as the most derogatory term in their arsenal because apparently it is better to spread your legs than to spread your opinion – boys like that are the reason that being a bitch is worse than being a whore. When that boy told me I could never be dainty I let my sharp edges cut his supposed „insult” in half. Boys like him do not deserve girls like me. My lips have turned into razor blades and my tongue into a knife, my bite is much worse than my bark. I am not the weaker sex by any means: my body has the power to make boys like him lose their inhibitions entirely. I refuse to be dainty just because it is what boys expect of me. I have spent years sharpening my edges, preparing for battle. I am woman, hear me roar.
― the midnight writings of my best friend Carly Ebinger