I don't want your damn umbrella...

 

So, this picture has made it's rounds again. I die a little inside for women everywhere whenever I see this.

 

I guess I should cook and clean and have babies for my man while he works outside everyday and provides for my weak mind and body. I wonder what it would be like to have soft hands.

 

I've tried a million ways to interpret this differently but I just can't change my opinion. This is crap. It's a slap in the face to someone such as myself that has worked so hard, and as an equal, to have everything I want and then be cut down like I will never be in a successful relationship because I don't know where my 'place' is.

 

I know where my 'place' is...

 

It's not under your umbrella and it's not using my umbrella to shelter you. It's getting a bigger umbrella and standing shoulder to shoulder.

 

It's not being submissive and allowing you to single handedly run a household. It's talking about choices and coming to mutual agreements with you. It's compromising.

 

It's not taking care of a house and a life you fund because the man is the financially stable one in a relationship. It's sharing responsibilities and being dependent on one another regardless of our job titles or salaries.

 

It's feeling like I'm important and loved and cared for but it's also knowing that I'm more valuable than what my womb can produce and my ability to bleach your socks.

 

My 'place' is with someone who respects me, not with someone insecure enough to feel the need to lead me.

 

Let's stop sharing this garbage in an attempt to organize the family dynamic to your ideals. I might've put on a long skirt and had the dishes done if I was born 40 years earlier but today I'll kick off my boot the same place you did and we'll warm up some pizza rolls.

 

 

 

I've never been lost...

I've never been lost. I've also never been found. I'm a runner, a reformed drifter. I follow the rules I make for myself. I break the rules I make for myself. The devil can't catch me if he can't keep up with me. Too often I can't keep up with myself.

It was 11:11 and I insisted everyone should make a wish. It's a game I like to play, life is a game. I silently made my wish, it was typical, the same wish shooting stars are getting bored with. I've got my wish memorized, I think if I make it enough times whoever is in charge of granting wishes will allow me my glory out of sympathy. He'll say, "this poor girl is hopeless, let her have that boy." Everyone deserves a fair shot after all.

That boy told me he knew what my wish was. I hadn't said it out loud. I may have eluded to my desire, my eyes might say more than my lips. My face flushed because I knew he had seen through me. Where is this person that grants wishes and why isn't he listening to me? It's remarkably hard to let go of something I've never even touched.

All those songs you make me listen to; the words that tell my story, the words that tell your story. Those thoughts you make me think, the dreams that come when I force myself to sleep. I've changed a little since way back then, when we danced and I didn't want to let you in. I didn't want to let anyone in. Now you have the key, I'm vulnerable in a way I haven't allowed myself to be before. You're wrong for me, but gosh dang, you're so right.

I need you to keep up with me; be someone who can rope a stray because I've strayed for too long. Lead me to a better pasture because I can't survive this drought. See me through my better days because I've weathered too many storms. Find me because for the first time I think I'm lost.