Like the earth has the heat of its origins deep in its centre I do too. I have been told that my anger is not to be seen on my outside.

That it is not seemly. It doesn’t help.

I have been told, even by other women, that it detracts from what I have tried to say.

I have been told that it’s distracting people from moving forward as they are too consumed by the guilt I am giving them. And that my hatred of the men who did this detracts from my arguments.

But you say we hate men as if we silence them, as if we beat and abuse them, rape them, as if we shame them for their desires, as if we restrict them from any kind of independence and agency, As if we hang and drown them and burn them.

I am seventy-six years old and I hold in me a muscle memory of every woman who came before me and I will send more for those that will come after.

For Eve.

For every Eve.

I don’t know if you can feel it. Do you? Do you feel it? Inside of you. You don’t need to be a woman to know what is coming. Because why have our stories been ignored? For so long? Ask yourself why.

Listen to us.

Listen to every woman who came before you. Listen to every woman with you now. And listen when I say to you to take the fire as your own. That anger that you feel it is yours and you can use it. We want you to. We need you to. The house that has been built around you is not made of stone. The stakes we have been tied to will not survive if our flames burn bright. If they try to burn you, may your fire be stronger than theirs so you can burn the whole fucking house down. Look how far we’ve come already.

Don’t stop now.

— Emilia, Morgan Lloyd Malcolm