
“Being a good woman is old fashioned. This era is about being a sensual feminine woman.”
―
―
“Your sensuality is a mirror to how genuine your love is towards men.”
―
―

“The Way Damaged People Love
Damaged people love you like you are a crime scene
before a crime has even been committed
They keep their running shoes beside their souls every night,
one eye open in case things change whilst they sleep.
Their backs are always tense as though waiting
to fight a sudden storm that might engulf them.
Because damaged people have already seen hell.
And damaged people understand that every evil demon
That exists down their was once a kind angel before it fell.”
―
Damaged people love you like you are a crime scene
before a crime has even been committed
They keep their running shoes beside their souls every night,
one eye open in case things change whilst they sleep.
Their backs are always tense as though waiting
to fight a sudden storm that might engulf them.
Because damaged people have already seen hell.
And damaged people understand that every evil demon
That exists down their was once a kind angel before it fell.”
―

“A few days before finals, I sat for an hour with my friend Josh in an empty classroom. He was reviewing his applications for law school. I was choosing my courses for the next semester.
"If you were a woman," I asked, "would you still study law?"
Josh didn't look up. "If I were a woman," he said, "I wouldn't *want* to study it."
"But you've talked about nothing except law school for as long as I've known you," I said. "It's your dream, isn't it?"
"It is," he admitted. "But it wouldn't be if I were a woman. Women are made differently. They don't have this ambition. Their ambition is for children." He smiled at me as if knew what he was talking about. And I did. I smile, and for a few seconds we were in agreement.
Then: "But what if you were a woman, and somehow you felt exactly as you do now?"
Josh's eyes fixed on the wall for a moment. He was really thinking about it. Then he said, "I'd know something was wrong with me.”
― Educated
"If you were a woman," I asked, "would you still study law?"
Josh didn't look up. "If I were a woman," he said, "I wouldn't *want* to study it."
"But you've talked about nothing except law school for as long as I've known you," I said. "It's your dream, isn't it?"
"It is," he admitted. "But it wouldn't be if I were a woman. Women are made differently. They don't have this ambition. Their ambition is for children." He smiled at me as if knew what he was talking about. And I did. I smile, and for a few seconds we were in agreement.
Then: "But what if you were a woman, and somehow you felt exactly as you do now?"
Josh's eyes fixed on the wall for a moment. He was really thinking about it. Then he said, "I'd know something was wrong with me.”
― Educated
“Her hands
Her hands held me gently from the day I took my first breath.
Her hands helped to guide me as I took my first step.
Her hands held me close when the tears would start to fall.
Her hands were quick to show me that she would take care of it all.
Her hands were there to brush my hair, or straighten a wayward bow.
Her hands were often there to comfort the hurts that didn't always show.
Her hands helped hold the stars in place, and encouraged me to reach.
Her hands would clap and cheer and praise when I captured them at length.
Her hands would also push me, though not down or in harm's way.
Her hands would punctuate the words, just do what I say.
Her hands sometimes had to discipline, to help bend this young tree.
Her hands would shape and mold me into all she knew I could be.
Her hands are now twisting with age and years of work,
Her hand now needs my gentle touch to rub away the hurt.
Her hands are more beautiful than anything can be.
Her hands are the reason I am me.”
―
Her hands held me gently from the day I took my first breath.
Her hands helped to guide me as I took my first step.
Her hands held me close when the tears would start to fall.
Her hands were quick to show me that she would take care of it all.
Her hands were there to brush my hair, or straighten a wayward bow.
Her hands were often there to comfort the hurts that didn't always show.
Her hands helped hold the stars in place, and encouraged me to reach.
Her hands would clap and cheer and praise when I captured them at length.
Her hands would also push me, though not down or in harm's way.
Her hands would punctuate the words, just do what I say.
Her hands sometimes had to discipline, to help bend this young tree.
Her hands would shape and mold me into all she knew I could be.
Her hands are now twisting with age and years of work,
Her hand now needs my gentle touch to rub away the hurt.
Her hands are more beautiful than anything can be.
Her hands are the reason I am me.”
―
Bao’s 2024 Year in Books
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