Amanda

One time, a man told me I needed to have hips to be a real woman.

I am a size two, maybe four at the most. 

I don't have hips, I have broad shoulders and a menacing stance.

Am I not a real woman?

He told me all I knew about womanhood was what it felt like to get a period.

He said, "I can see your ribs and I can see in between them.  I can see 

that inside, you are not a real woman."

No curves, no tits to actually feel.  

I don't have the body.

He had the most vulgar tone.

I could tell he was slurring his words; I could smell the whiskey through the phone.

He told me I didn't know what it was like to be terrified,

to be running down the street at two in the morning

by what seems like a dog chasing you,

with the drool hitting the god damn road.

I read in between the lines of that one and what i read was that 

to be a real woman, you need to be raped.

You need to be completely oppressed, more than you already are.

He obviously doesn't know me like he thought.  

I may not have hips

I may not fill out my clothes

or have the longest hair

or the prettiest face.

Heck, I look like a seven year old boy,

but I know more than getting my period.

I know how it feels to be chased down that streeet in the middle of the night,

half alive,

striving for the warmth of a safe home.

I don't understand why,

But I know more than I should.