Shave My Legs

Today I shaved my legs

Yesterday I heard someone talk about someone else's legs

Tomorrow I will shave my armpits 

Not because I want to

But because I feel the need to

A need I don't want to have

A need I shouldn't have

It should be something done to express myself 

Not protect myself. 

So I wonder, 

When did it become so important?

So crucial,

That a quick glance at your unshaved armpits shouts, you're not "Woman enough"

That a pair of eyebrows raised whispers, "You've let yourself get too hairy"

There's a standard to femininity that is either met or fallen beneath. 

God forbid you wear a tank top or a pair of shorts before your skin is as "Smooth as a baby's bottom." 

Because then you've let yourself go. 

And this is so deeply rooted into our brains that we treat it like a contractable disease in need of warning. 

"Sorry, I haven't shaved."

"I don't want you to see my legs because they look crazy."

Something rewritten in our DNA as it was for our mothers and their mothers before them. 

For our needs not to be for us at all, but to make the wants of others come true. 

To ensure we're "nice to look at" rather than being an eyesore. 

That would be absolutely unspeakable. 

--

So this is for the women who let it grow,

Thank you for living for you.

Thank you for appreciating everything your body offers.

Thank you for living in your skin so comfortably others choke on their tongues as you walk by.

You are beautiful.

You are magnificent.

And if judgement penetrates your armour,

Remember you are not being held in place

Under obnoxious opinions,

Hushed comments, 

And calculated criticisms 

That keep the blades flowing

You are moving,

And all eyes are on you

Because you have learned to dance

In a world where women are taught to stand in place. 

You are the reminder that no one can tell a woman how to be a woman

Especially if they don't understand what it's like to be one.