For every time I’m forced to look at a girl rolling around in panties:
I want to do more, be more, than what is expected from women today. What’s driven into our brains is that we must be worth looking at, or lusting over, in order to matter, in order to be worth noting. Well, I’m here to say, screw that. My mind’s more luscious than any organ I pocess. My values shine brighter than the sparkle of my eyes or the gleam of my teeth. My heart’s more valuable than any pose I could hold. I want to be a woman of Substance. I want to stomp on the mold and make it shatter. I want people to be drawn to me without knowing why. I want to exude safety and understanding, and radiate strength and wisdom. I want to be a woman that the greats would be proud of. So no, my shirts don’t ride that low, and yes, I refuse to parade around in yoga shorts, and thank you, my own hair’s just fine, I don’t need extentions. I won’t hang off a man’s arm, but stand on my own, alone, until I find a fellow worthy enough to Stand Beside me.