02/13/2026
At this point
I believe it is only women’s rage
that will save this world.
Not politeness.
Not panels.
Not carefully worded statements
filed between coffee breaks.
Rage, fire, burning anger
This isn’t posturing.
Not sympathy dressed up as virtue.
Not me angling to be one of the “good ones.”
I’m not polishing my reflection here.
I am the problem
standing still long enough to admit it.
If I could lay my damn head on a platter
and it would spare my daughter
the quiet dread every woman learns to carry
like keys between her fingers,
like a smile that means survive,
then take it.
Take the damn thing and be done with it
Take it clean, take it dirty, take it raw when I’m least expecting.
Because I am so tired
of men saying, “well what about me?”
I am that man
The one who was lazy in love.
Lazy in agency.
Lazy in allyship.
The one who mistook not being cruel
for being good.
How many times did I shrink from confrontation?
How many jokes did I let slide
because it was easier to laugh
than to rupture the room?
How often did I live comfortably
off a world that did not bruise me
and call that peace?
Cowardice has a soft voice.
It says, it doesn’t concern you.
It says, it’s complicated.
It says, you’ll lose friends.
And I listened.
I was not enraged.
Not frothing.
Not trembling with the kind of fury
that breaks tables
instead of daughters.
I let what was
remain what is
because it did not press its thumb
into my throat.
But it will press into hers.
God I am so sorry for not being brutal against this beast that will take her someday.
One day she will walk through
the narrow corridor of “acceptable behavior,”
lined with men who mean no harm
and still cause it.
She will learn the map of danger
we refuse to redraw.
And what will I give her then?
An apology?
A history lesson?
My bloody hands held out
as if confession can cauterize a wound?
So tell me….
Do I offer my head now,
while it still costs me something,
or wait
until I am kneeling beside her grief
trying to barter with regret?
At this point
I believe it is only women’s rage
that will save this world.
And maybe
if men can learn to stand inside that fire
without asking for comfort,
without asking to be centered,
without asking to be forgiven,
then maybe
we will finally deserve
to survive it.
I pray…. Or one day I will with bloody hands and it will be too late.
~ Langston~ Thank you
Archaeology for the Woman's Soul
