Do not pick me!

The harsh reality of not being a pick me girl is

Quite often you don’t get picked!

You will be deemed too bossy when you’re a great leader who happens to be a woman or,

Labelled too loud when you’re a person with grit and frictional opinions who happens to be a woman or,

You will be tutted at as 'too up herself' when you are a fiercely independent and ambitious soul a year ahead on her ten-year plan who happens to be a woman or,

Eye rolled at as too odd when you are a unique individual with her own interests and niches who simultaneously exists as a woman!

Pick Me girls are plagued with generational conditioning to complete a tired performance that women have for millennia upon millennia.

Simply to survive.

For most of human history, you had to be picked! Otherwise how else would you eat? How else would you have a roof over your head and live out your life’s sole purpose; the ambition of your uterus? To be picked by the most okay and least violent man was lifes greatest victory.

Pick me girls are not a new-age headache, but rather, the traditional archetype of women under patriarchy!

We are trained, from the moment we can begin to comprehend the training, how to be picked. And we fight off gifts of opportunity and each other just to be picked!

And once we are picked, removed from the rich and fertile soil of infinite possibilities with our roots able to grow anywhere and everywhere, once we are picked We shrivel up and

Die.

To be picked! To be plucked.

To be the sight for men’s sore and sick eyes.

To wear enough makeup so that ones' unwomanly blemishes are quietly hidden but not too much that she dare have fun with it!

To be tomboy enough to understand sport but not too good that she has, god forbid, built arms!

To be smart enough to understand discussion not smart enough to join in.

To be plucked, to be picked!

There is no picking criteria for men.

They simply are.

And that is enough to be celebrated.

They do the bare minimum,

And are thrust upon an olympic pedestal.

They exist,

And are warmly commended.

They get to be the okay guy who is the least violent.

For it is they who have the false title of the ones doing the picking. But who crowned them the pickers?

The ones who are being picked

What I demand is,

that you do not pick me.

For when one likes a flower, they pick it.

But when one loves a flower, they water her and soak her in sunlight, admire her bloom with an encouraging gaze and help her repot when she grows big!

So don’t you dare pick me.

Water me! Enlighten me! Admire my bloom and celebrate the spreading of my sturdy roots and expansion of my heavenly petals. Synthesise with me! Watch me turn light into glucose, energy into matter! Watch my mighty leafy hands weave the winds of the world, mastering the alchemy. Watch me be embraced by Gaia and blessed by the cycles of the cosmos.

Or leave me alone!

But don’t you dare pick me.