men who are artists love showing girls, who are so sad, so beautiful - girls crying in showers, girls with delicate bones curled into a fetal position. they want our eyeliner to run but never for our eyes to get puffy. they want our sadness but our anger isn’t pretty.
and they love us being girls - infantile, dependent on men. they love us when we’re broken so long as our pieces aren’t jagged.
“what if the aborted baby could have cured cancer???”
oh my god what if the last egg I bled onto a kotex product could have cured cancer??
oh my god how am I not birthing every possible egg I produce, lest one of those resulting babies be the person who cures cancer/AIDS/creates world peace????
what if that baby could have been a musical artist described by pitchfork as “liberace with a metalcore twist”????
how dare i not be pregnant/birthing all the time always?????