When I was seven, they explained to me: no girl priests, no girl popes, no girl presidents; go for the eating disorder, you'll be canonized for sure.
When I was ten, they added: no girl astronauts.
When I was sixteen, they added: no girl lawyers, here's an application to teachers' college, you can grow up to be a teacher. You could teach high school, even, which is more than we ever offered your grandmother, just think about it, we're going out on a limb here.
When I graduated from law school, third in my class, they said: OK, nice work, you took a job away from some man, and his hungry wife, and his starving children, bitch, but, ok, nice work, want to make some partner look good?
Hil has a vagina and gave birth and is smarter than six dozen guys and has spent her whole life paying for being a chick and she has everything it takes to turn this fucked up wreck of a country around and, well, because she has a vagina, I want Hillary to win.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."