Chapter 7: I, Woman.

I, woman.
I have body, mind, soul.
I swim with mood every passing month. I sweat in heat. I wrinkle when I smile. I feel pain. I feel joy. I feel passion. So when the world's men tell me that my body is not my body. That I am a vessel and nothing more. That I better sit pretty and shut my mouth because I should be lucky to be allowed a seat.
When they tell me that - I get stunned. I choke. I suffocate. And then I tear up. Tear apart. Open wide. And what comes out is decades long rage that is running in my body. In MY body. It fills me inside, like a child, knocking on my belly begging to come out.
And then I roar. I protest. I yell. I give birth to all my despair. To all MY body's tenderness. And roughness. And achiness. And I shout out to the world that I will no longer sit pretty. I will no longer shut my mouth because I should be lucky to be allowed a seat. I yell for the world to get its heart out of its arrogant ass. To get a grip on reality. Not the made up one but the real one. The reality that you see in your mother. The reality that you see in your sister. In your daughter. In your wife. In your friend. In YOU.
I, woman. 
I have body, mind, soul. 
And they're mine. Mine. They're all mine.