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It’s cruel they say to kill a fetus, murder foul: the vessel the criminal. I would be cruel, a murderer but I refuse to be a receptacle. And maybe you think I’m going to hell because you think you know god’s voice and rulings. Good for you. I was in hell before any of this happened.
Oh but trying circumstances only make us stronger, I am a warrior survivor and beautiful at heart. It’s funny how little people let themselves really know this world. I’m no warrior. I don’t have a beautiful heart. You only think that because I don’t tell you word one of what I’m thinking when you give me the platitudes you call advice as my brain snarls inside and leers with disgust at your bovine face and lame words. It’s people like you who drive me on. You remind me that lies are so common and ignorance abounds. Intentions loaded with incomprehension steamroll the truth into the ground. Did you take one minute to shut up and listen to what is falling out of your mouth? You think god is feeding you that line of horse sh!t? No, real strength comes with me smiling blandly and saying, “really?” while I stay my hand from punching your face.
Who said females are docile?
I admire the spider, the praying mantis, practical and willing to do the dirty work that life requires. I see the tigress who runs off the mate before it eats the cubs. They get the job done and don’t follow some social ethics that demand gender roles. There’s no religion that enslaves them. They don’t discuss feminism, morality or right and wrong; they do what has to be done.