Shall I tell you the story of women?

At such a late age I'm surprised as any to find that I'm a feminist.  I always "leaned" that way but the language of a president and a throwaway comment by a Bishop have made me take up the cause. So shall I tell you....?

Shall I tell you the history of humanity through the eyes of a woman?

Shall I tell you about the women we never read about – the ones who laboured alone, who gave birth, weaned your young and made them into strong young men – and who taught their daughters to capitulate to the superior sex?

Shall I tell you about the ones that no one wants to talk about – the ones kept in rooms with their legs spread wide as their own humanity slipped away with each shot of pleasure spewing forth from the long line of men at their door?

Shall I tell you of the ones who changed the world – the women who lead their men from behind because society couldn’t see them?

Shall I tell you the history of women?

Or shall I tell you the history me – of one woman.

A woman who was told to dress in such a manor as to not distract the men.

A woman who was told after her rape that they wouldn’t lay charges because the fact that there’d been alcohol negated the tampon that had been forced so far up into my body that a doctor had to remove it.

Shall I tell you the story of that woman?

A woman who began working in a man’s profession believing that the decades of women who had gone before her had knocked down the ceiling – only to find that the legitimacy of a “woman of the cloth” is still in question.

And shall I tell you the story of one woman – one woman whose tears are not of sadness are grief but are an expression of red-hot anger.

Each tear scorching a trail down my cheeks having formed in a volcano of an emotion that women aren’t supposed to have.

              (anger is not becoming for a woman…)

              and their only exit is to burst out of the windows to the soul.

Shall I tell you of that woman  -  the one who says no, you can’t grab  my pussy.

the one who says no, I won’t be responsible for your inability to not be distracted by my sex

the one who cries those volcanic tears for all who have been oppressed – for all who are not seen at all.

Shall I tell you the story of women who shaped the world

or shall I tell you about how they changed it?

I would but I can’t – we’re not finished yet.