I am not chocolate ice cream.

Maybe you clicked expecting something satirical along the lines of, "comparing women to frozen treats is a terrible and dramatic example of promoting unrealistic expectations."

While a piece that would be hipster and ironic, you may be surprised to learn that I have literally been compared to ice cream by another human being. It was an innocent comparison, I think. It was not meant to be demeaning or offensive. I wouldn't have been offended at all if the compare-er in question hadn't used it in an attempt to excuse himself from responsibility for his actions. Chocolate ice cream rules.

It was quite a while ago, but the words still ring in my head once in a while, late at night when they'll pester me most. Something along the lines of, "It's like a little boy who's allergic to chocolate, and it's his favorite flavor. He LOVES chocolate, but he can't eat it. It's bad for him." The quote isn't exact, but it's close enough to convey the message that came across to me: I was chocolate ice cream, I was bad for him, it was all my fault.

As a young lady--Nope, doesn't quite cover it... As a young perso--Still no. Hm... Welp, as a human being in this day and age, my body gets compared to a plethora of inanimate and emotionless objects. While not precisely useless, chocolate ice cream is incapable of thoughts and emotions(no matter what those darned vegetarians say), and therefore cannot be blamed for the boy making choices that might hurt him or the ice cream. Nor is it comparable to me as the living, breathing, emoting creature that I am. But that isn't the only time I've had my body compared to food.

I once heard that if I lost my virginity for whatever reason outside marriage, no one would want my cupcake.

Teacher:"See this cupcake?"
Youth: "Yes."
Teacher: "Who wants it?"
-everyone wants cupcake-
-teacher licks cupcake-
Teacher:"Now who wants it?"
Youth: "Um, ew?"
Teacher: "That's right. If you have intercourse outside of marriage, will the kind of man you want to marry want to marry you? The answer is probably no."

That's an extreme version of the story that I heard multiple times growing up, but it makes my point: I've been compared to dessert too many times in my life as it is.

When I was a child, I was molested. Yikes, I know. While the above lesson and others like it may have been well intended, they did a lot of damage to my self esteem as a child. I was dehumanized, so it is unsurprising that being compared to chocolate ice cream might strike a nerve.

Three specific thoughts here:

I am worth no less because I was taken advantage of, nor would I be any less of a human being if I had willingly participated in the sexual contact. My cupcake looks delicious, thank you very much. Also, I am not a cupcake, and my sexual exploits are not actually a good measure of my worth as a person.

Second, objects do not work well as a metaphor for humans or their relationships: Your actions are yours to own, and it's not the ice cream's fault that the boy is allergic to it. It's still delicious. It has no say in whether or not the boy will choose to be around it or not... Or if he'll try to sleep with it, then feel guilty and throw blame all over the place in the form of bad metaphors.

Finally, I'm a young woman, a human being. I am not chocolate ice cream.

The Ghosts Upon My Back

I want my wings.

I'm trying to climb out of this place,
This dark that has clipped and torn and pulled out my feathers.
Beautiful feathers woven of innocence and blind belief,
With quills of tear hardened resolve and a wingspan strengthened by how swiftly I've had to fly in order to escape reality.

I want my wings back.

The ghosts protruding from my back are weak and fallible.
They want to be wings, but wings lift you.
These useless things weigh me down, make me heavy.
I am heavy and I cannot climb out of this darkness.

I find menial hope here and there,
Reasons to wait through the dark night to greet the sunshine,
But my feathers grow back slowly.
They grow differently.
They grow with great determination, with wills I didn't know I had.

Wills for others outside of myself
Wills to be strong enough to lift them, us.
To give us hope.
Wills to lift myself,
To escape breezes made of pretty lies and forced morals.

I must climb out of this darkness.

My quills seem to come in more painfully this way, but I shoulder it.
Embrace it.

I must have my wings.

I need to fly out of this place,
This angry pit of shame dug by cons and tricks.
I was deceived into believing that the only way forgiveness can be given is to make payment,
To shore off wings, to sacrifice sons.

The feathers blossoming on these heavy ghosts of mine are pale gold
They are silver and rose colored
Brilliant and shining.
Strong.

I will fly again. I will have wings.

Wings borne, not of innocence, but of knowledge.

Wings strong enough to make me free.