Women

 Mostly, I just want to emerge victorious like a butterfly. And shed this cocoon of half womanhood. 

Women, I find, need to be women. Not nice people. Not loving or kind. They need to be women. 

Women who nitpick and who would rather be late than look awful. Women who know secrets that men don’t. Women who know what it takes to be beautiful—or at least plain. And have preferences and routine. Who won’t make excuses and just diets and exercises. It’s not vanity, it’s clarity. It’s about doing what women do so men would realize that they need women as lover. Not friends, or secretaries, not a pure soul. 

High value women can’t be hidden. I think. 

I’m definitely a low value woman. So much so, even men find the need to point it out. What a pity. Sometimes I’m painfully aware of everyone’s pity. “Why is she like that?” 

If only I could do better. Maybe it’s too late. No one can claim a cocoon when they’re out to catch butterflies