Read Online I Am an Emotional Creature: The Secret Life of Girls Around the World by Eve Ensler - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Eve Ensler
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shiny
My Chinese eyes
Dimples—one is deeper
My hairy legs
Curly eyelashes
I like everything
Eyes like the sun
Arms like a stick
Tallness like a tree
Hairy like a monkey
MY SHORT SKIRT
My short skirt
is not an invitation
a provocation
an indication
that I want it
or give it
or that I hook.
My short skirt
is not begging for it
it does not want you
to rip it off me
or pull it up or down.
My short skirt
is not a legal reason
for raping me
although it has been before
it will not hold up
in the new court.
My short skirt, believe it or not,
has nothing to do with you.
My short skirt
is about discovering
the power of my calves
about cool autumn air traveling
up my inner thighs
about allowing everything I see
or pass or feel to live inside.
My short skirt is not proof
that I am stupid
or undecided
or a malleable little girl.
My short skirt is my defiance.
I will not let you make me afraid.
My short skirt is not showing off,
this is who I am
before you made me cover it
or tone it down.
Get used to it.
My short skirt is happiness.
I can feel myself on the ground.
I am here. I am hot.
My short skirt is a liberation
flag in the women’s army.
I declare these streets, any streets,
my vagina’s country.
My short skirt
is turquoise water with swimming colored fish
a summer festival in the starry dark
a bird calling
a train arriving in a foreign town.
My short shirt is a wild spin
a full breath
a tango dip.
My short skirt is
initiation, appreciation, excitation.
But mainly my short skirt
and everything under it
is mine, mine, mine.
THINGS THAT GIVE US PLEASURE
When Zena tickles the inside of my arm
all the way to my elbow
Jumping Night Dancer
my legs at his side, the wind,
the rush
Knowing the answer
Warm soapy water
Learning the history of Russia
Speaking Arabic
Rice
Curry
Chicken
Putting on bright red lipstick
Straightening my hair
Curling my hair
Covering my hair
Flan
Halvah
Baklava
Gelato
Macaroons
Pinkberry
Standing on my head
Doing a split
Running faster
Saving minks
Saving whales
Saving plastic bags
Sushi
My mother’s happiness
Being in the river
The ocean
The pool with my friends
Sleepovers
Fitting into the new smaller jeans
My mother putting a washcloth
on my forehead when I have a fever
Trying on bras
The way the trees rustle
when birds come back
GIRL FACT
More than 900 million girls and women are living on less than a dollar a day.
FIVE COWS AND A CALF
THE STORY
I’m not sure the exact day he decided to sell me. There was a drought. For three months it was like someone erased all the green from the bushes and grass and trees. The earth turned brown. The rivers became stone. Everywhere was dust. In our mouths, our beds, our dreams. The cows. It was all about the cows.
I am a Masai girl. I live in Kenya. My name is Mary. I am fifteen. I was fourteen when it all happened. For as long as I can remember we have moved. I like moving. We move with the cows. They eat and then, when they need more grass to eat, we move again. Our people believe the rain god Ngai gave all the cattle to the Masai for safekeeping. We live on milk and blood.
I was in school. I was smart. I could remember things and I learned to write faster than anyone in my class. The teachers said I could go far.
My father was very powerful. He had many children and cows. At least forty children, but they don’t count girls so it’s hard to tell. He had married off several of my older sisters beforeme. Sold them to old men and they had each gone far away. Sold them for cows. I knew that before they became wives they were cut with a razor. I knew they were in enormous pain. Their faces changed. And they stopped asking questions. I didn’t want to stop asking questions.
WHEN IT CHANGED
The drought got worse. The cows were so skinny their bones were sticking through their skin. They were exhausted and could hardly move. No grass, no water. Some were dying. My father was becoming poor. He got grumpier by the day. I knew the morning they called us
My Chinese eyes
Dimples—one is deeper
My hairy legs
Curly eyelashes
I like everything
Eyes like the sun
Arms like a stick
Tallness like a tree
Hairy like a monkey
MY SHORT SKIRT
My short skirt
is not an invitation
a provocation
an indication
that I want it
or give it
or that I hook.
My short skirt
is not begging for it
it does not want you
to rip it off me
or pull it up or down.
My short skirt
is not a legal reason
for raping me
although it has been before
it will not hold up
in the new court.
My short skirt, believe it or not,
has nothing to do with you.
My short skirt
is about discovering
the power of my calves
about cool autumn air traveling
up my inner thighs
about allowing everything I see
or pass or feel to live inside.
My short skirt is not proof
that I am stupid
or undecided
or a malleable little girl.
My short skirt is my defiance.
I will not let you make me afraid.
My short skirt is not showing off,
this is who I am
before you made me cover it
or tone it down.
Get used to it.
My short skirt is happiness.
I can feel myself on the ground.
I am here. I am hot.
My short skirt is a liberation
flag in the women’s army.
I declare these streets, any streets,
my vagina’s country.
My short skirt
is turquoise water with swimming colored fish
a summer festival in the starry dark
a bird calling
a train arriving in a foreign town.
My short shirt is a wild spin
a full breath
a tango dip.
My short skirt is
initiation, appreciation, excitation.
But mainly my short skirt
and everything under it
is mine, mine, mine.
THINGS THAT GIVE US PLEASURE
When Zena tickles the inside of my arm
all the way to my elbow
Jumping Night Dancer
my legs at his side, the wind,
the rush
Knowing the answer
Warm soapy water
Learning the history of Russia
Speaking Arabic
Rice
Curry
Chicken
Putting on bright red lipstick
Straightening my hair
Curling my hair
Covering my hair
Flan
Halvah
Baklava
Gelato
Macaroons
Pinkberry
Standing on my head
Doing a split
Running faster
Saving minks
Saving whales
Saving plastic bags
Sushi
My mother’s happiness
Being in the river
The ocean
The pool with my friends
Sleepovers
Fitting into the new smaller jeans
My mother putting a washcloth
on my forehead when I have a fever
Trying on bras
The way the trees rustle
when birds come back
GIRL FACT
More than 900 million girls and women are living on less than a dollar a day.
FIVE COWS AND A CALF
THE STORY
I’m not sure the exact day he decided to sell me. There was a drought. For three months it was like someone erased all the green from the bushes and grass and trees. The earth turned brown. The rivers became stone. Everywhere was dust. In our mouths, our beds, our dreams. The cows. It was all about the cows.
I am a Masai girl. I live in Kenya. My name is Mary. I am fifteen. I was fourteen when it all happened. For as long as I can remember we have moved. I like moving. We move with the cows. They eat and then, when they need more grass to eat, we move again. Our people believe the rain god Ngai gave all the cattle to the Masai for safekeeping. We live on milk and blood.
I was in school. I was smart. I could remember things and I learned to write faster than anyone in my class. The teachers said I could go far.
My father was very powerful. He had many children and cows. At least forty children, but they don’t count girls so it’s hard to tell. He had married off several of my older sisters beforeme. Sold them to old men and they had each gone far away. Sold them for cows. I knew that before they became wives they were cut with a razor. I knew they were in enormous pain. Their faces changed. And they stopped asking questions. I didn’t want to stop asking questions.
WHEN IT CHANGED
The drought got worse. The cows were so skinny their bones were sticking through their skin. They were exhausted and could hardly move. No grass, no water. Some were dying. My father was becoming poor. He got grumpier by the day. I knew the morning they called us
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