“I give you the world, On a silver platter, And I say that there is not a thing in this universe that I treasure more than you. But already, that isn’t fair. And I have placed so much glory, and storage on your head, and I expect you to live up to these false ideals. I watch you closely as you play, So delicate, That every time that you step a little out of line, or I fear that you may be bruised, I swarm in, and I take you, and I keep You. And in doing so, I teach you to be afraid of the world. You watch the others, your brothers, And you see how they play untamed, Unscathed by the battles of the playground, Free, to dance around and move as one with the breeze, grazing their knees, and rising to their feet with ease, But when you try, I ask you to come back, to stand by me. And that is where you will always be. If not by me, then in the grips of another man who will expect much the same of you, to keep away from the dangers of the world, to be frightened, to be his.
I tell you that you are precious, And there is this thing between your legs that you must guard with all of your life, And keep yours till somebody make you a wife, And only then will you know glory, I tell you only then, will your story be worthy. With this same sacredness, I give you shame. I pass you blame. I tell you to cover your arms, more discretely, straighten out your skirt more nearly, and close your legs, For men are watching, I teach you to be prey.
And at the end of the day,
I return, and turn around, And call you my precious little girl.
A letter, from a father, to his daughter.”
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