I’m an object.
Actually I object to being viewed as an object.
I am a person.
I am a woman.
With thoughts and feelings.
With a heart and mind and soul.
The thing is, that other person is too.
You know the one. The one that was defined as
thighs too close
awful toe nails
oh I could go on and on and on
You formed my inmost being
You knit me in my mothers womb
I praise you, because I am wonderfully made
wonderful are your works
fashioned in the depths of the earth
We are objects insomuch as we have a physical form. Beyond that we are human beings. Deserving of getting respect and giving respect.
Deserving of being treated well by others around us.
Deserving of being viewed as equals and held in regard.
Deserving of being judged not by our physical attributes.
Yes, he’s rather handsome and hot. But is that all there is to him?
I’m short and fat. I know damn well that there is more to me than that.
I got annoyed with the woman in an enclosed space for spritzing perfume – for me this can trigger migraines. It wasn’t all over social media. Okay now it is however, this is anecdotal rather than b*tching about her publicly. While I was irritated and shared this with a fellow traveler, it didn’t go any further.
Physical beauty will always be acknowledged, there is no doubt about that. Outer beauty will always be acknowledged. What about looking beyond? What about seeing the person, rather than the outer shell?
I object, to being an object. I object to objectifying. I object to being objectified.
There are so many other words rattling in my head. These are enough.