As i sit here, with 6 sam adams in my stomach, i feel my bitterness rise up within me like a gag reflex from drinking too much. it all happens at once, together. So i look for some female, one strong woman to look to. That woman who has feeling, intuition, and equality with differences, as well as balance to look up to, and i find myself empty handed.
Where is she? Am i supposed to wait for my own mother teresa and follow in their lead? or is this the sign that women need a proud failure to look up to for prose and poetry and feel the feeling inside. All i have is anger, to the men, to myself. And not even to men itself, but the men that have so deeply impacted me. Significant others, and the ones above. I do not want to be set aside for the bouts of depression, i do not want to be set aside for the things that women are known for. but how can i say no when i, myself, suffer from these things.
How i hate and love the things that make me a woman. I love to provide, to make, and create a sense of comfort. And yet I hate the fact that it can be looked down upon. Menstruation against Menopause, home-makers against the feminists, the insecurities feed upon us like vultures. And i sit here with anger, knowing that my own vultures are eating away at themselves.
Dear God How I understand Eve's plight. How I desire perfection and hate being second. How these thoughts have rocked my beliefs and the core of who i thought i was. How slow i am to come to who i can be. How i stare at the figs and relate to Ms. Plath in her attempts of her personal journey. How I clench my fists towards Jack Kerouac and his ramblings. His beautiful chauvinist ramblings, i hate to understand where he comes from and how i quote his words.
Why can i not appreciate human kind for the fact that we are all human, why cannot i believe in the gender i fight for, but still get lost in the differences of eachother.








Mr. Zen Man, with every post i leave, i wait for your balanced comment.