Everytime a woman says to me ‘I’m not a feminist, but…’, a little part of me dies.

Everytime a woman says to me ‘I don’t really do feminism’, a little part of me dies.

Everytime a woman says to me ‘Feminism is just manhating isn’t it, it’s not like they’ve done anything wrong’, a little part of me dies.

Everytime a woman says to me ‘oh but you’re just a humourless feminist’, a little part of me dies.

Everytime a woman says to me ‘yeah, I get feminism and everything, but I don’t really see the point’, a little part of me dies.

Everytime a woman says to me ‘why don’t they just call it humanism? THEN I’d agree’, a little part of me dies.

And yet somehow, through it all, a little part of me keeps on breathing, keeps on living, keeps on moving forward. Despite it all, that part of me never gives up.

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