I’m ashamed to be male.

I am ashamed to be male.

We turn everything into a weapon.

We are obsessed with competing, with being better than not our previous selves, but others.

We enjoy hurting.  We tear the legs off flies, we put firecrackers into dogs’ mouths, we attach electrodes to people’s genitalia.

We are unable to experience pleasure without conquest.

We fell entitled, to everything.

We do not think of the consequences of our actions.

We expect others to clean up after us, to fix the things we break, to sweep up our messes, the wipe away our smudges, to pick up the things we just toss wherever we like …


Half the human species is afraid of me:

They don’t walk at night because of me.

They don’t go out alone because of me.

They can never enjoy the sunset, the night, the stars in solitude because of me.

They have to watch their drinks at bars because of me.

They are ever vigilant in public — on sidewalks, in subway stations — because of me. 

Children are wary of every stranger’s help, every stranger’s generosity, every stranger’s kindness because of me. 


(Men, additions?)

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