Who Are You?

I don't know who you are, but I know who I am.
I am a woman. 
I am a woman who supports women. 
I am a woman who empowers women. 

Silly of me to think other women would think the same. 
After all, we still try to trip each other, aren't we?
How can you put yourself down so low?
My heart aches for you, it's pitiful to see.
Never would I ever do what you did to me.
Have some integrity and dignity.

So let me help you save face, so you don't further embarrass yourself.
How do you expect to be treated well when you sell yourself short?
Who Are You?

Masochism

Masochism.
“The enjoyment of what appears to be painful or tiresome.”

Why do people reject the idea of being a masochist?
We hurt ourselves unintentionally to feel better about ourselves.
Everyone is unconsciously being a masochist.
In this case, especially females.

All the things we do for beauty.

We put eyeliner on our eyes,
we curl our lashes,
we put contact lenses in our eyes,
we rip/shave/wax our facial and body hair – which grow on certain parts for a reason, by the way,
we cover all our facial imperfections, and contour it again,
we curl and straighten our hair,
we spend time to “look natural”.

Nothing wrong with this, but, it sounds like an act of masochism for me.

All the things we do for good physique.

We diet,
we blame ourselves when we eat too much,
we ignore those sweet cravings,
we feel bad and punish ourselves when we eat something we shouldn’t,
we spend hours and hours in the gym,
we ignore the aching and screaming muscles, but
we never get satisfied with our looks.

Nothing wrong with this, but, it sounds like an act of masochism for me.

All the things we do for love.

We learn how to cook or bake – and some other “accidents” and “failures” in the process,
we push ourselves to be a better person,
we sacrifice the things we love to be with that person,
we worry if this love will be returned, or at least be worth it,
we separate from our friends just to be with that person,
we cry and hurt just to be able to feel the love.

Nothing wrong with this, but, seriously, doesn’t it sound like an act of masochism?

——-

Disclaimer: Before anyone thinks and comments that these don’t apply to them, this is just a general idea that popped in my mind when I was talking to some of my friends. Some of these don’t apply to my situation as well.

Masochism

Being Women

Gentle, elegant, graceful.
Long, soft brown mane, fluttered by the breath of nature.
Milky skin brighter than pearls.
A white carnation peeking out on top of her left ear.

Long, ivory dress she wears.
Gliding lightly on a garden of flowers.
Soft, pink tints creep up her cheeks.
And an earnest smile escapes her lips.

She’s a princess all princes want to make a queen of.
She’s everyone’s dreams come true.
She’s a definition of beauty.

Everyone takes a pleasure from just a glimpse of her presence.
Everyone wants to be her, or to be hers.
Everyone starts to feel jealous.
Every time she walks past, every man drools.

She takes my hand,
People turn their heads towards me,
And they snicker.

I take a look at myself.
Short, messy red hair.
Tanned olive skin.
Even nature refuses to enhance my description.

Spectacles framing my face.
Boyish shirt and pants.
Honest, strong, reckless.
Even if we run on the same garden of flowers, we are not the same.

People look at me like I’m her handmaiden.
That elegant girl is my best friend.
My boyish self is her best friend.
But still, people look at me like I’m her handmaiden.

Even if we have the same abilities, we are not the same.

We are both grown women, but we are not the same.

Because she’s the universal definition of beauty,
and I’m just me.

Being Women