This was written a year ago, in response to certain controversial comments made by Justin Humphrey, an Oklahoma state legislator.
He says we’re hosts, like the body I’ve lived in my entire life was a rented room, one I must vacate for whomever he likes.
He says we’re hosts, as if I haven’t already been told my entire life that I must please everyone around me, that what I want is secondary to what people may think, that being good and pretty is not an added bonus but a requirement to being a woman, to taking up space on this planet, and he says he “understands” why I would feel like my body is my body, but does he really? Does he really expect me to believe a word he says, after he tells me being pregnant makes me irresponsible, that I should give up my rights because I “invited that in”?
He says we’re hosts like the person I am doesn’t matter in the larger scheme of things, like the sole reason for my existence is so that my body can be used to house a future citizen, I mean I should’ve known my personal choices were something I would have to sacrifice as rent for just living, for just breathing, for just surviving.
He says we’re hosts and I barely flinch; being a girl is about learning to cling on to your humanity when every word you hear is a scalpel dissecting your personality, and if it were up to everyone else, all that would be left would be a cookie cutter daughter, a perfectly crafted woman, someone who never disagrees, someone so soft and docile, she rivals a lamb. If it were up to everyone else, I would participate in my own slaughter.
He says we’re hosts and I continue living. I continue being my own person, continue taking out my own trash, continue making my own decisions, whether irresponsible or not, I continue living. I continue living and trying to make a difference, I continue living and with every breath I take, every word I say, I prove him wrong.