littleshakespeareanbby:

Sometimes I’m confused; I’ll get it into my head that I am owed something here: some proper conversation and for him to take me seriously.

This is when my pride rears her head and angrily stomps her foot, demanding equality and fairness. No matter how much I try, she just won’t give up. I give her credit for her resilience but mainly, I just wish she would learn her place (a thought which she scolds me for and questions where I learned to think so unfeministically).

I dream about days where he destroys her, where he rapes my feminism and strips her of everything she knows and holds so dear. Where he makes her stand, bare and vulnerable and feeling hopeless, relishing it all for just a moment before killing her on the spot, ensuring that she’ll never resurface.

I imagine him purposefully pushing the buttons he knows will cause a stir, and then watching the dominos fall, exactly where he wants them to. She would parade herself out, self-assured and overly confident, attempting to patronize and show up a God, like the idiot she is. But he would be calm and cool, subtle but effective; methodically picking his words, making her slowly begin to question everything until remorse began to hit, and the facade breaks. Until the realization dawns on the fact that the choice is between having my pride or being as good as I can for him and the question becomes: which do I value more?

Gone is pride and all the silly ideals she had and in her wake, there is only him. A God to be worshipped, loved and loyal to, until the end of my days.

Ah, autumn… that season wherein we sit on the sidelines and watch stupid girls slowly abandon their human dignity.