Iron Knees

By Amanda Seely, Matrix Contributor

How sad to veil a pretty face in cloth;
How pathetic to kneel and submit to invisible almighty and despotic man.

Commodified solidarity and morsels of culture fill the bellies of pinatas; pummeling these with pent up angst is a favorite pastime of festive progressives

Nauseatingly hackneyed, right? Rich western-women as the moralistic banner-bearers of the world: the angle of their powdered noses the perfect trajectory of scorn; a pedestal of martyrous feminine “compassion” the ideal vantage point for superior judgment.

But standing ringside, throwing taunts and hurling bets is not the same as taking a hit.

We have our own battle – great as Goliath and insidious as cancer. Women, turn your tenacious gaze inward and confront the emptiness that consumes you and breathes life into your frenzy.

As I gaze in shame past my blurry, exaggerated features and commit that degrading act of self-punishment I wonder when I will deem my face to precious to bow before a receptacle for sh*t.

How sad to veil a pretty face in toxic chemicals;
How pathetic to kneel and submit to a porcelain confessional and retouched fashion models.

No, we don’t need men to actively oppress us. In our “advanced” society, we are adept at doing it ourselves.

Our natural impulses? Sloppy excess. Our beauty standards? Redemption of the inherent insufficiency of the female body.

Sisters, mothers, daughters, friends; when will we say, “enough is enough?”

Our knees are sore – let’s stand up.


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