i love the Women Against Feminism that are like “I dont need feminism because i can admit i need my husband to open a jar for me and thats ok!” cause listen 1. get a towel 2. get the towel damp 3. put it on the lid and twist. BAM now men are completely useless. you, too, can open a jar. time to get a divorce
I do all the things you used to hate. I dye my hair colors that make the church ladies stare. I go to bed without dinner and subside entirely on air. I make tea and pour cream in after. I give up reading. I give up The Beatles. I never eat another plate of scrambled eggs. I shape myself into someone you would dislike. My speech sharpens. My teeth turn to fangs. I let go of the softness that drew you to me. My fingernails itch to become claws and I don’t fight it. This is what it takes to survive. I let people into my bed that I would have walked right past with you. He is sad-eyed and needs my flimsy paper wrists to support him. I pour every late night with you into him, until he says, ‘I love you, I love you’ and I say, ‘Shh, you’ll ruin the fun.’ I do what it takes to forget you, and at the end, have more bruises than the ones I started with, but I can finally look at a sunset and not feel anything at all.
The urban dictionary definition of men’s rights activists is so spot on it hurts:
‘A bunch of whiny pedantic morons that think there is some vast illuminati feminist conspiracy while seemingly ignoring the fact that their own gender runs and ruins the majority of the world.’