Don’t live like a girl in a man’s world

Girls. Girls should learn with time. Don’t move around, don’t have sex, like a woman? Go live in a jungle. Girls, girls, girls. Immature, pathetic, old but not enough. Walk in heels and glittery clothes at 5 a.m and hush down, don’t let the neighbours know about the condom you used last night.

Girls, girls, girls. Don’t make noise, they’ll hate you otherwise, don’t talk too much but don’t stay too quiet. Just say enough but we will still criticise you, so don’t you dare hold your man’s hand in the street you walk on falling in love like cheese melting on a half baked pizza, don’t you dare go cold unless it’s for romance and never say no when you don’t want to but he wants you to.

Open your mouth. Open, open, open; huge for his ego, tiny for his dick, but open it and don’t ask for any favours in return. Let him fuck you when you’re not wet, how does it matter anyway.

You’re a girl. Don’t have guys stay over at your flat. Even if you don’t make any noises, there’s an XY at your place you unstable pieces of crap, you’re not supposed to interact, just marry one of them whose name you’ve learnt on that day for the rest of your lives.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, don’t drink so much you can’t handle it, don’t pay your own bills and be known for spending all of your poor boyfriend’s last salary.

Stay, stay, stay at your place while he goes to a bar and parties out all night, your brother, but you, you are a woman and there is no way you will return back a virgin, you see darling, your hymen defines your character.

Let him shove himself inside you without wearing a condom and let him shower your pussy for it was so thirsty all these months and years for the fall of the heaven.

Then fuck up your hormones for his pleasure, take a contraceptive and feel like your insides are crawling out week after week till you find out it didn’t work anyway, your fault anyway.

Girls, girls, girls. Shh. You’re not supposed to question, don’t smoke a cigarette because you probably don’t know how to, and if you do, why? Who is going to marry someone like you, after all that’s what it all boils down to. Wear short skirts, get raped, wear jeans, get eve teased, just fucking get in your goddamn room and never come out.

Never. Ever.

Unless you, my girl, have the will to fight. Fight. Argue. Be relentless with your stands. Your body. Your choice. Your lungs, your poison. Your liver, your money. Your glass, your wine. Your vagina, your choice. Your fingers, stick it in there if you want. Be it. Fight it. You’re not a liability, you’re not living for free then why do you have less privileges than the boy who lives next door? Bring them over, the guys. Make a little noise. Have sex. Have them go down. Break the rules and make new ones. Be smart, be safe but don’t ever forget my girl to be yourself.

Be the best version of the best versions of you you have imagined overtime. Fearless. Thin, fat, pretty, ugly, hair let down, short hair, bald…..fuck all of that. Confident. Street smart. Indulgent. Passionate. Be that.

Be that regardless if you find someone who can love you for that. You. You love you for that.

Peace out.

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