Listen to this

When women are threatened by women–as long as they destroy and disrespect each other, as long as they view each other as competition instead of allies, womyn will forever be viewed as “lesser than” and the battle for equality will not only continue, but intensify.

When one womyn tears another down, walks all over her, and expects a thank-you, my stomach turns.

I am not the embodiment of all that hurts you, nor all that ails you, nor all the abuse and harassment in your past. I am not that. I am not them.

The second that I let you trample my heart and I stay silent, I become a victim.

The moment that I refuse to stand up for my basic right to be respected and treated with common courtesy, I become a slave to your harassment.

The first time that my feelings are hurt by words or actions of yours, and I choose not to communicate, I become a co-conspirator, a collaborator in that which divides us and holds womyn–all womyn–hostage as “lesser than,” “moody,” “emotional,” “illogical,” “circular,” “unclean” beings.

When I walk with certainty, and stand tall, an amazon (spiritual) warrioress in my own right, I take strides for all womyn.

I claim mutual respect and civility for all womyn.

In my blood the root of lineage breathe, and I respect myself for all womyn.

For the girl who slits her wrists to feel something, anything, other than the pain of sexual assault.

For the girl that hides herself in baggy clothes and dark corners because she can’t bear to be hit even one more time.

For the girl who has lost faith in herself, because she was told again and again that she was worthless.

For the woman who walks five paces behind him, and always keeps her head down, eyes to the floor.

For the woman who carried and gave birth to and kept the baby of her rapist.

For the woman that covers her bruises with make up, and says she fell down the stairs, when you catch a glimpse by mistake.

For all the womyn whose voices are silenced.

For the girls that cannot study or choose who to love and how.

For the womyn that have no voice in politics, that cannot vote or own land or drive a car or choose to divorce their un-chosen husbands.

For the little girl that curls up with her teddy bear at night, hiding under her blanket, eyes squeezed shut, praying he’ll leave her alone for just this night.

For the girl that is chastised on the playground because of her weight, and allows the voices of hatred to push her into becoming a very good closeted Bulimic.

For the ana girls that rest all their happiness on an unattainable, unrealistic number because they’ve never seen a strong woman who loved and respected herself and the womyn around her.

For the girl who is cast out of her home when her menses first comes (and every month thereafter), and is forced to spend nights and days alone in a tent, bleeding all over herself, feeling scared, dirty, ashamed of her body, when she should be taught to relish in the sacredness of her womynhood.

For the woman that has numbed herself to all feeling because she believes she has to “act like a man” to get anywhere in the world.

For the woman who believes the Glass Ceiling is built out of tears, and teaches her daughter that it is never okay to cry.

For the girl who sang prayers as she was gang-raped, and didn’t stop till the blood gushing from her slit throat stole her voice, and she floated up to Heaven.

For the teacher that writes, “Jane was raped” on the chalkboard, and asks her college students why the subject of the sentence is invisible, before writing “John raped Jane” below it and giving space for it to sink in.

For the woman who died in a hit-and-run yesterday, falling victim to another’s irresponsibility.

For the woman teaching womyn to return to their bodies, to open their sense-doors…

We are all connected.

What uplifts one womyn,
uplifts us all.

My blood runs deep,
and it is full of womyn.

My tears build the ocean
that carries your dreams.

The witness in your blood
determines my future.

It is sexy to be empowered;
When one womyn claims her identity, names her desire, we all win.

Popularity: 23% [?]