We are the weaker sex. We’re goddesses, muses, amazons and warrior queens. We can’t control our feelings. We bleed once a month, because we deserve it. We cry, sulk and suffer inexplicable mood swings. We’re little princesses. We need a man. We all have oversensitive antennae and they hurt. We are either whores or saints, reading signs in everything. We like to provoke but we don’t fully understand the impact. We’re good liars, use our bodies to get on in life, argue that it’s impossible to understand if you’re not a woman. We’re sirens. And the stage is ours.