I Do Not Want to Live in Your Castle

If chivalry is dead, let it stay dead. One less dragon to roam the hillside.

This is not the time to resurrect the dead. There are too many other enemies to worry about. These new enemies are cunning, and wear our friend’s smiles. Miss America, elderly neo-Nazis, senators with wily eyes; watch the nightly news, for there is a pageant on display, a rogue’s gallery of misfits and dark magicians. If we are to fight, this insidious enemy – this thing called ‘chivalry’ - must remain dead.

I am not a princess, nor do I want to be treated like one. I am the queen of my own fucking castle, and I am surrounded by dirty rascals, men and women alike. I don’t want to be treated differently, not for a second, because of my breasts. Fuck you! Fuck you world! Fuck you peons and serfs and commoners, with your cries of ‘Chivalry!’

Knock me off my pedestal, I dare you. Throw your stones, and kick me when I’m down. I don’t mind the bruises; to bruise is to be human, and alive. I am the queen of all that lives, and grows, and dies. I am the queen of my own patch of dry land, nothing else.

Close the castle doors when you see me. Don’t you dare hold them open for me. Pass the mead, leave me last, I dare you. I am nothing more, or less, than you. I have gone thirsty before. My breasts do not determine my ability.

These cries of ‘Chivalry!’, they surround me. These princesses at my feet, these girls with lipstick smudges and raccoon black eyes – these creatures of habit have been told how to think, and who to be. Fucking princesses. Give them time – close your castle doors, tears the petals from their roses – and they will soon be queens like me.

Blood runs through my veins, and the same sticky stuff runs through yours. It runs in the valleys and it runs down the backs of the dragons we have slain. It runs down my thighs every month and I am not afraid to tell you. So don’t be afraid to let me fall and scrape my knee.

These enemies I speak of: they are everywhere. These are not the dragons of our youth, this is no job for a princess. These enemies are crafty, and they wear the faces of preachers, politicians, and schoolteachers. If we are to fight, we have to fight together. There are no pedestals in battle.

If you want to be a queen like me, and if you want to walk beside me, say it with me, jubilantly – ‘Fuck you chivalry!’