The Truth About Being The Superior Woman

Woman in a white dress crouched down in the desert
Joe Gardner / Unsplash

We’ve always been more evolved. Looking past our pain. Seeing, believing, and knowing there’s a better future awaiting us.

It’s coming. Can you see it?

They said get out and work, but never forget you’re not as valuable as a man.

They said make sure to cook meals. Clean the house. Be the caretakers of your husband and children.

They said to not to overextend yourself. All the while they stretch our red rubber band elasticity until you can see the white flecks, our breaking points.

They said to remember to practice ‘self-care.’ There’s never enough time. They say to make time. I can’t create hours or energy.

They’re always saying shit. Sit up. Be polite. Be smart, but not too smart. Don’t intimidate men. Don’t talk too much. Mind your manners. Stay skinny. Stay quiet. Submissive.

No, those days are over. Time’s up. The hourglass has sprinkled its last grain of sand. And women, most of us, are tired of being told.  Give your explanations to a brick, I don’t want to hear it anymore.

In telling us everything that we should be, you created a superior woman. Taught us how to earn and survive on a wage lower than a man’s. In fact, men even steal our ideas and pawn them off as their own. They need the attention and recognition more than a female. We’re their job security.

We were taught to downplay ourselves. Cover our attributes because we don’t want to arouse a man, and cause him to rape us. You better be willing, permissive to a man’s needs though. Or else he’ll find someone else to satisfy those “urges”.

We are the generation raised on Madonna. She taught us never to be ashamed of our sexuality. Today’s truth rests on one simple question:

“Does a man exist who can satisfy me?” (Multiple times a day?)

Maybe the superior woman is tired of electronic toys, vibrating in hidden rooms. Biting pillows, because we don’t want the household to hear our moans. Maybe she wants real intimacy with intelligence and a man’s gentle touch.

We’ve earned our respect.

People don’t know the pain of a Superior Woman. We were forced to grow up with men always trying to touch you. They’d beat you when you tried to speak up. They silenced you. They belittled you at the dinner table. Called you a “slut” and “whore” when they thought no one would hear their insults. We’ve been groped by strangers. We were forced to walk in groups, for our safety, “travel in packs.” Watch our drinks. And we still got raped, because we drank too much. Couldn’t say no. The room spun and we accidentally blacked out. The next day we felt the pain, had bits of flashbacks and sat in the bathtub sobbing for two hours.

We’re the women who store away pounds of pain. You would never know. We’ve become superior at being everything you’ve wanted us to be.

Until now.

We finally are too tired to be a doll, and we become superior.

We’re stronger now. You annihilated the women you wished to see. You made a newer, improved version. And we are banded together in our armies, slowly beginning to hate men like you. TC mark

Misfit in the Making

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