It’s not right. I can taste the anger, nipping at my tongue, insults at the ready behind my pursed lips. My throat feels narrow, stiff. Swollen with the warmth of frustration. My eyes burning, my tears waiting to refresh them, pleading me to let them flow. But I won’t. We’re stronger than him and he has to understand it. Never again will I let him go about with his life, the satisfaction of winning settling into his soul and bones. While the sense of fear and discomfort finds a home in mine. Free, free, free. That’s all I can think of. Why is it that others who are not living in my body should decide how I use it? I think of all the women. Everywhere. We face a common and familiar face, one that has taken rights from the outnumbered time and time again. The anger turns to heartbreak, when I learn that not all are safe, sheltered by their leaders. My heart cracks, thinking of those who ask for freedom and their bodies won’t receive it.