Sunday, May 3, 2015

The Fucking Beautiful Woman

I'm a woman, a beautiful one.

I have no space for making mistakes.
Little peach flaws that fills the heart of a man are allowed but ugly and grossly growing up events that alter me aren't quite permitted under being beautiful.

I look beautiful if I laugh but chortling mirth isn't one of them. I look beautiful when I cry. Just glassy eyes full of tears stranded like a water droplet on a lotus leaf, waiting for me to close my eyes in a dramatic moment so that it may flow perfectly down in a single line across my immaculate cheek.
Wailing my gut out and wrenching the ache doesn't paint a pretty picture, as you know.

I look beautiful whether I just wake up from bed or whether I am going to a party. Sleep lines on my face from sleeping on my man as the general consensus go, is beautiful. Wrinkles of age, not so much.

I look beautiful whether I wear cotton panties or fancy lace ones.

I don't know if you know but no longer do mere breasts count for representing my gender. It has to be emphasized. They have to be big enough and beautiful enough or I am not woman enough.

I can't afford to 'walk like a man'.. well, because I am a woman. I can't exercise enough caution on my preferences because picky women aren't beautiful. That strand of hair that falls on my forehead needs to freeze in time till no one can see how not-so-beautiful it can get. There are no provisions for humidity, rain or a lazy day in the life of a woman.

It's beautiful when I see what my partner wants or if there are stealthy kisses abducted from me even as I am an unwilling party because He knows (best) that I love him. I'm not beautiful if I am vocal about my sexual needs. The minute sex pleasures me, I turn into a slut and we all know that that is not beautiful.

The society thinks I'm 'old enough to get married' but any knowledge I may possess on the subject of sex and reproduction is because I have a dirty mind that dwells on the carnal pleasures that shouldn't concern me. Oh, it won't be a beautiful thing to do, my dear!

I'm a beautiful woman. Intelligent, intellectual, sexual or slutty, well-read or wise, warm, funny or humourous: none of these score well in the books of the beautiful. I can't be lazy and unkempt on days of my choosing, eat like a glutton or drink like a sailor.

Because you see, I'm a woman. And I'm fucking beautiful.

Nothing less.
Nothing more either.

Image belongs to Hemalatha Venkatraman. Do not reproduce without permission