Empowered Feminist Trained To Be An Object - Mi... -

Some nights she caught herself in the window’s reflection—perfectly angled, waiting for an appraisal that hadn’t yet arrived—and felt a surge of rage so clean it could fuel a city. Other nights, the rage collapsed into a smaller, uglier question: What if the training worked? What if I’m most powerful when I’m most object-like?

The split lived in her sternum.

She was trained to be a mirror—reflecting what others needed to see. Empowered feminist trained to be an object - mi...

She read de Beauvoir by flashlight under the covers. She marched with signs that said My Body, My Choice . She could name every fallacy in a patriarchy-apologist’s argument before he finished his second sentence. Some nights she caught herself in the window’s

She remembered a line from a forgotten zine: “The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.” But what if the master’s tools are the only ones she was given? What if she’s a hammer that learned to see itself as a nail? The split lived in her sternum

Below is a short piece that captures this friction. I’ve leaned into the lyrical essay form, as it suits the duality you’re naming. The Object She Was Shaped to Be