I’m stealing the first line from one of Eve Ensler’s monologues. In 2018, I performed this monologue in a local production of The Vagina Monologues and this opening line has been ringing in my head all day.
MY VAGINA IS ANGRY!
In the monologue, the woman describes all the annoying things vaginas have to deal with like tampons and cold duck lips and thong underwear, but my “vagina” is angry for other reasons. My vagina is angry that her identity makes her vulnerable, fragile, a target, less than, weak, and somehow invalid.
I’ve been avoiding the local news, the media, the reports of women missing or found dead. I’ve been ignoring the male comments, the “warnings” to stay out of harm’s way, the “not all men are bad” war cries, the “she look for that” comments, the questions of whose story to believe, which side is telling the truth…
I am tired. I am tired of seeing my face missing every week. I am tired of having to justify my words. I am tired of having to prove that I did not deserve to be abused, raped, murdered, abandoned, mistreated, touched or spoken to inappropriately. I am tired. I want to be loved, not for who you think I am nor who you want me to be. Could you love me for me?
Men, elders, strangers, could you love a black girl, woman, child like me?
My vagina is angry.