a good girl never questions. a good girl never questions why the preacher always preaches about the good wife and the good daughter. he drones on, "be quiet, be patient, be pretty." it's a mantra drummed into our heads from childhood, teaching us that our place is in the kitchen, the nursery, and the bedroom. we're told from a young age that our purpose is to serve, to wait, to be the "good girl" someone else desires. as i piece together the chores—cooking, mopping, bathing the babies—I wonder, why are these tasks only ours?
a good girl never questions. a good girl never questions why the marriage vows come with an unspoken command: "produce a son." the preacher's voice reverberates with solemnity as he extols the virtues of the dutiful wife, the woman who fulfills her purpose by bearing children and maintaining a household. "a son ensures our legacy," he says with pious conviction. It's as though our value hinges on this singular achievement—our worth quantified by the presence of a male heir. our identity is tethered to the idea of giving men what they demand, not what we desire.
a good girl never questions. a good girl never questions why men—those so-called saviors—are lauded for their benevolence while we are consigned to perpetual servitude. they bask in their self-righteousness, proclaiming that they offer protection and provision, yet their actions betray a deeper exploitation. the men in their ivory towers pat themselves on the back for their "generosity," while we are left to juggle endless duties and bear the weight of expectations. "he's providing for you," they say, glossing over the reality of control and dominance masked as benevolence.
a good girl never questions. a good girl never questions when the men in their suits gather and murmur, "she asked for it." in their comfortable chairs, they debate how women "want it," their voices smooth and casual. "what was she wearing?" they ask, as if our clothes determine our worth. one of them, taking a break from his bed-warming duties, scoffs, "she's just a maid." they laugh, dismissing the idea of mopping as a man's job. "why should we do this? it's women's work," they say, ignoring their own complicity.
a good girl never questions. a good girl never questions when white-collared men reduce us to mere objects, like pins or needles, to be used and discarded. "she was asking for trouble," they say, adjusting their ties with a smirk. they can't see us in our dresses or t-shirts, or the ribbons we use to bind ourselves into something acceptable. they overlook our misery as we sit in rocking chairs, buried in cookbooks. to them, we are just "baby machines," "wombs," and "honey." "why are you so upset?" they ask coldly, their words as sharp as their arsenal.
a good girl never questions. a good girl never questions why her voice is stifled behind white fences, only speaking when prompted. "it's just how it is," they dismiss our struggles as idle chatter. they ignore our suffering in asylums or under the knife for lobotomies, all to fit their narrow expectations. "why do you need a therapist?" they scoff, as if our pain is merely an inconvenience to them.
a good girl never questions. a good girl never questions why she's treated like a doll—first a nymph, then a virgin, a nurse, then a servant. we're dressed in stilettos and make-up, playing the roles of the good girl, the perfect mother, the dutiful wife, always "24/7," n e v e r t r u l y l i v i n g. forced pregnancies and lack of voice define us. "it's what women are for," they say, sipping their milk and reading their newspapers, as if our lives are mere footnotes to their comfort.
a good girl never questions. a good girl never questions why she's surrounded by pearls and spiders, her life wrapped in ribbons and pinned with needles. she doesn't ask why she remains in the background, constrained by their narrow definitions. we are the quiet ones, the hidden ones, overshadowed by their white-collared power and blue-collar salaries. we endure misery and forced roles, always pushed to be less than we are, just another good girl who never questions. a g o o d g i r l.
