On days like today,
when women have fewer rights
than a corpse, I can’t.
I can’t stop working.
Imagine if every woman stopped working
every time another woman was called liar
on TV during an assault trial.
How many industries would collapse
if every woman stopped working
every time her rights were stripped from her,
the way men strip away her clothing
with their eyes
(most of the time)
in broad daylight
while she’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt?
I can’t stop smiling.
Imagine if every woman stopped smiling
every time she didn’t feel like it.
We don’t always fucking feel like it.
How many husbands would ask
Is it that time of the month again?
boyfriends using words like
moody
emotional
dramatic
instead of carrying the weight of society
because the burden of proof is always
on women:
What were you wearing? How many
drinks did you have? Did you say no?
Did you use protection? Do you have
a boyfriend? How do you know
you didn’t want it? How do you
know you that did?
On days like today,
when I am safe in my new bed
in my comfortable home in a state
that doesn’t force me to use my body
to save someone else’s (yet),
I can’t.
I can’t stop crying.
Imagine if every woman who wanted an abortion
still had one anyway.
How many women would die?
How many friends and family members would care?
Would comment on Facebook from their new bed
in their comfortable home in a state
that forces women to use their bodies
to save someone else’s
This is what you get.
On days like today,
I know the answer to every question:
Enough to bring a nation to its knees.
(Which is, ironically,
the one place
a woman should never be.)
On days like today,
I can’t stop
because they won’t.
But I can’t forget, either:
Resting is fighting.
Anger helps, and laughter does, too.
We are always in this together.
I will always love you.
Mary's One Hundred 