Dear women,
From the womb, you were destined to be on the throne of Grace.
The world showers you with grace before you say a word.
When you deign to speak a vowel, the world hushes your mouth with grace.
When you rise to take a stand, the world dresses you with grace.
When you move to sit down, the world crosses your legs with grace.
When you fall completely silent, the world crowns you the epitome of grace.
The instant you can get a word out without their grace, the world shrieks in agony:
What do women want!?
We ask stupidly, in ignorance, as if women can just be given a bone to happily run off with like a dog.
The exasperated and lazy ask this question.
They ask this question even though their very own soul shudders at the thought of being trapped in an everlasting bliss.
They ask this question while they shrug their responsibility and passions conveniently off onto a woman’s shoulders.
Why do we ask “what do women want” and not “what is women’s purpose”?
Had someone already asked? Is the world impatiently waiting for the answer?
Is it a question the woman refuses to confess?
Is it already known?
Take back your chains of “grace” and “love” for just a second.
Remove your desire, your lust, your longing for their beauty; the beauty that they own.
Stand aside, and look at them wholly.
What are women here to do?
Does she not have a place to be of her own accord? Did she not come from somewhere before coming into your view?
What is the secret of a woman without the world’s lies overshadowing her mystery?
We have scores of stories that tell of women that have conquered mighty battles and have lead lands to glory.
We have multitudes of lore describing the cunning that women have used to decapitate an enemy for her allies, for her land, for her nation, for her people, for herself.
We have ancient knowledge of women who have come like storms and have passed away with only hushed whispers to remember her name.
We have wise women with grace whom no other has adorned her with; she weaved every thread through with a coarse and rugged hand.
What is woman’s purpose without invading her privacy? What is so delicate about a woman if we wish to expose her every angle?
Why is the world so madly in love with dreams of how she can occupy its every wish?
I can only imagine the deer-like panting a woman must have for the days where she can uncover the rhythm of her own beating heart and nothing else.
I can only imagine her boiling, emulsifying desire to have her lover be still and watch her satisfy herself thoroughly, tastefully, intimately onto them until she’s ready to share in her experience, the experience everyone tells her to keep locked away behind bars of grace.
I can only imagine the starving she must have to streak through populated streets not for pleasure, but as a proclamation of liberty and autonomy.
I can only imagine the hunger she must have to relent all of the information she found in her latest discovery of her greatest passions, to someone who is genuinely interested in her progress.
What does a woman want, you ask?
If you really want to know, start by asking her, her name.
Sincerely,
[Sign your name here]
Women
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