“We live in 21st century, why do you still need a special day to celebrate yourself? Aren’t you and your feminism already fighting enough to prove better?” He asked
To which she replied, “It’s not about proving ourselves better, nor is feminism about fighting. It about respecting whatever I choose to do. It is about feeling worthy of my own decisions.
It is about my pride.”
“And how does anything affect your pride?”
Is something I should feel when I look myself into the mirror.
Do I have to do extraordinary things to be proud of myself?
Because surviving through anxiety bloated days is something extraordinary for me
Or at least, something on those lines.
Those thin lines I walk on,
With one foot at a time, trying not to collapse. When I am with people and they keep asking me if everything is all right with me because I am quiet,
or I talk too much,
or why don’t I smile so often?
They look at me as if I stole this pretty dress
From a girl next to my bed
And ran to this place.
I suddenly feel the pain of the scars from all the needles that I might have scratched out of my forehead.
Are those imagery eyes the mirror?
Because I do not feel my pride when I look myself into them.
So I look myself through your eyes,
But this vision is just a rose colored broken glass.
Only so much color in the world,
Only so much light passing between the broken pieces,
And, only so much clarity of the society that we live in.
Clarity of this vision
Is like my reflection amidst all the ripples,
And my pride feels like the wave which grows up strong and fierce, but is swallowed by the sand eventually.
So why am I expected to make a castle out of that sand and live in it?”