They used to burn witches, you know

Women who weren’t married. Who knew herbal remedies and minor medical knowledge. Who were outspoken and had opinions and stood their ground. Who may have been a bit different. Who chose to instead do something more than tend home and hearth. Who could read and write. 

They don’t do that now; it’s more insidious than that. It’s slowly taking away rights to reproductive health. It’s manipulation and gaslighting. It’s stalking, catcalling, getting aggressive when told, “No.” It’s getting assaulted, then not being believed, being blamed (what were YOU wearing? Why were YOU alone?), the assaulter getting a slap on the wrist. It’s the pay inequality. It’s being defined by getting married and having children, instead of being defined by your successes and who you are. It’s having to fight for rights that should be unalienable, the ones white men take for granted. It’s being questioned, having to prove yourself in the workplace. It’s being told it’s your weight, it's anxiety, it’s stress when you try to get a diagnosis, when you’re asking for the same care that men get without question.

It’s being a woman. Still being burned, but metaphorically.

I don't trust you

To understand how removing access to reproductive healthcare affects me. To make decisions about my reproductive health. With my nieces and their future. With my nephew and his immigrant parents. To know what is actually right. To listen to anyone - especially marginalized populations - about anything, unless it’s something you want to hear. Within 20 feet of any woman. To defuse any situation, especially with this potential World War III. To think logically - like, at all. When you say you want to protect women. When you say you’ll improve the economy. When you say that everything will “be peaceful.” Any further than I can throw you. With your “Make America Great Again” rhetoric, or any of your rhetoric at all - it all seems exactly like the rhetoric that got Hitler into power (and look at what happened then). 

I don’t trust you. Don’t be surprised if you find yourself the “leader” of a country with a microscopic population. 

Your Body, My Choice: A Benediction

No. We’ve served long enough. Enough in free labor, in the form of maid, laundry service, cook, caretaker. Broken down and beaten, ignored, suffered. No. The fire of rage has become wild, instead of contained. Silence no longer suits. Kneeling until our knees shattered and bled. Continuing to bleed and rage and scream, because we are still alive to fight. For a choice. For a life we won’t be forced to throw away. For safety and freedom and breaking the shackles forced upon us by the sick in the guise of the caring patriarchy. We aren’t property to be bought and sold at market. The cacophony of our voices won’t be silenced. Our sacrifice will one day save our daughters, sisters, wives. Our descendants will hear our rage and know the injustices we fought. 

After all, the memories are bone deep, caught in the collective of our souls, remembered and stoking the rage we fight with. We are too far to turn back.