John Wick and the Rough Girl Era
I’m in my rough girl era. I feel like wanting to kick and scream and throw things.
It’s wild out here. I can’t really afford to be in my soft girl era. As much as I want to. Every time I try to be soft I get run over and mowed down emotionally by others. Every time I try to be cute and adorable and want sweets and soft pillows and cat ears, I get knocked down.
I think I’ve been fighting to be in my soft girl era for years. I was in a soft girl era back in 2011. That was the last time I was soft. Right before college. Then I became a rough human wearing a soft girl mask. Not even a girl anymore. Not even a woman. Just a person. Feminity felt foreign to me, as it always had but it felt far from me.
I’ve been fighting to be soft. I’ve been fighting for a higher voice. I’ve been fighting to be cute my whole life. When I see my dark skin, my wide crazed Samuel L. Jackson in black snake moan eyes. When I see my Frieda Kahlo unibrow. When I see my chapped lips. When I see my bitten nails. I realize I am anything but soft. When I talk to others I realize I am anything but a princess. I have prince energy, even that of a broken king I’ve been told. I have a Napoleon complex. I’ve been told. That isn’t soft. That isn’t elegant.
