To The Cowards Who Mistake Their Cowardliness For Intelligence.

By Majd Radwan

Here’s to the bastards, the dicks, the clumsy ones, the cowards who mistake their cowardliness for intelligence, to the angry men, or should I say the anger containers, to the batterers who failed to distinguish manhood from maleness, to the poor souls and the bird-minded silhouettes, to the insecure and miserable woman-dependents who never admit their unfairness, to the manipulators and the dysfunctional stalkers.
I salute you on behalf of all glorious women, for suppressing mercilessly the coal of us so damn long, expecting nothing but shattered personalities and lost souls as results, but all you end up with instead is those precious diamonds, shimmering their way out, out of the dark to inhale the light of freedom and exhale your shadow or what’s left of it.
I salute you, for knocking constantly until the shell broke open on a pearl, rare as honesty and neat like truth.
I salute you, for keeping the weight of the massive boulder on our chests over and over each day, until you shook its balance, and it started to roll eventually toward you, and smashed the hell out of you. Karma is a bitch, as they say!
I salute you for all the scars on our spirits, and all the destructive patterns you locked us in, for they gave us the golden chance to appreciate the suffering, recreate our schemes and unlitter our lives for good. Scars will always be a reminder that we made it through, that we’re still standing.
Abused by the bare hands of the loved ones, writing our own stories, and with great courage, we leave your chapter behind unedited; a tiny black spot exists only to reflect the brightness of our light.
To be mean is to play small; it’s the spot you chose for yourselves. You shrunk to be a couple of inches tall, stomping around at the edge of the couch yelling and screaming and shooting your customary arrows of cruelties, while aiming at the heart of us; unsurprisingly, the poisonous arrows land nowhere but on your feet. It’s as painful as funny for us to witness the bloody scene. Archery needs balance, I believe!
We are the daughters of Hera, we inspire and we terrify. We are the sisters of Aphrodite and Athena, the entire cycle of life lies within us. We are the descendants of Shakti, the divine force manifesting to destroy demonic forces and restore balance. We inherited the treasures of Isis and Ishtar, we are touched by the divine; you can’t destroy us with your flairs for possessiveness and humiliation.
Now the show is over, you get to take the tools of your broken value system off our stage and dwell in your nothingness, and we get to dust the fear and shame off our existence and simply be.