Hi, good morning.

I open my eyes to the sound of my alarm.

Shut up shut up my body aches with exhaustion as I turn over.

The pounding headache from last night now a dull throbbing.

In the mirror I see an ugly fat girl, woman, am I woman yet?

I don’t know what a woman is nowadays, it isn’t based on just physical sexuality anymore, no. I pull my shirt up to see how bloated I look today, gross.

What job today… it’s Wednesday so waitressing. Serving rude carnivores who think their tips help charity cases like me. Yawn. Can I go back to my bed?

I’m not a cause to donate to. I need money just like he, she, they need money.

I think I get tipped more than the guys because I’m a woman… woman.

What is a woman?

I swallow my one, two, three pills in order to make it through today. How great it is to be alive and dependent on medication. My girlfriends like their antidepressants too.

I guess it must be a girl thing.

On the metro I have men, white and black men poke their tongues

promiscuously at me. Thanks, God. Thanks for blessing me

with an ass and curves. Makes me feel good to be a

woman?

On to my 9-5 work day along with the rest of DC including the man

injecting needles into his arm on the corner of Union Station.

My head pulses to the clatter of Guinness glasses as I drop checks

off at my tables. Smile and look pretty, you façade you.

All women must put on masks right? More than their usual makeup ones.

That’s what we, they do, hide and fake.

Thank you and have a good one, I force out to the men who hoped to

see me later tonight. That’s what a woman gets when her boobs look good-

for herself, but always for others.

She never belongs to herself, never do I feel like I hold all ownership of my ideas, my body, myself-

I let others, I let men see what they want to, a sensual embodiment of

their sexual fabrications. Is this what it means to be a woman?

The house creaks with emptiness when I unlock my front door. I

let my feet fall atop a pillow and welcome the golden silence setting with

the sun. Oh, but I fooled you and me once again-

A woman’s mind is never silent, never ceases to spin tales and myths

about anything and everything in her life.

I think, too hard, too much. Wait, no one should tell me not to think

too much, but I find myself second guessing my every word because I know and she knows

that it will meet scrutiny and tests and demeaning eyes.

Is that what it means to be a woman?

After starving myself all day, the burden of my mind allures my taste buds to

fulfill their guilty pleasures. A whole day to waste now.

Never good enough, never okay, never perfect.

As I wonder who a woman is, or what,

my fingers shake when I think of others reading this,

especially those men who never once saw my vulnerability or me.

Okay, good night.

I’ll talk to you tomorrow.