A Certain Hunger

by Chelsea G. Summers

We women have an emotional wiliness that shellacs us in a glossy patina of caring.

this seems like something a man would write (derogatorily)

I learned that being female is as prefab, thoughtless, soulless, and abjectly capitalist as a Big Mac. It’s not important that it’s real. It’s only important that it’s tasty.

I get the sentiment but i find this line of thinking exhausting while at the same time banal and unoriginal.

why abdicate power when you have become accustomed to the joy of it.

His excrement had odor, and I was frequently in a position to smell it. I found I rarely minded. Most of all, Alex was a singular human in his shocking ability to love me without reservation, condition, or mendacity—and not be irksome about it.