For most of my life I have been a declawed cat
Ferocious, hissing and spitting, and yet utterly defenseless unless I run away. All talk, nothing to show for it. Often I finish fights in my head hours after the fact. Sometimes I bite once and regret it forever.
Because I'm supposed to be an angel, right? I should be nice; I should be good. Women are supposed to be everything; women are supposed to be nothing at all. We snarl at our mothers and become them anyway. We vanish from the foreground when we stop being...what is it we should be? Daisy Buchanan put it best: beautiful little fool. I have been petted and praised my whole life and yet I still know I would never be allowed outside anyway. Why would I? I'm a declawed cat. I have nothing to defend myself with, except my teeth. Perhaps they'll pull those out next.