Notes on Vulvas
A very intimate place where you can find all my unfiltered thoughts, is my notes page on my phone.
I frequently get all these overwhelmingly strong lines of thought that are pulling me to write them down. So the notes page is something I can quickly open at whatever time, and hammer down all those nagging thoughts. It's quite often ferocious how I type haha, or with certain topics anyway. And this was one of those kind of nights. There's kind of no intro to this note, so there was your little feed in haha.
We have complex sexual organs with extraordinary capacity for feeling erupting volcanoes. We have one part of the vulva packed with 8000 nerve endings which go wild into screaming when touched. The body itself must be many times larger than that wee thing, and yet it has the capacity to completely overwhelm and overtake the entire body: I find it beautiful how something so small, can create something so enormous.
We have pink folds and little unique forms. We have a hole for white urine and more yellow urine and in-between urine, and dark red velvet crimson blood, and brown blood, and thick blood, and more flowing, falling blood. Hahaha are you grossed out yet? We look at the mess we've created and think, hell, doesn't the body need a certain amount of blood in it to be okay? Because this looks like I've kinda lost a lot.
And yet we keep going. Losing blood, losing iron, losing energy, losing.
We learn what it's like to have our bodies give pain from a young age, and have it feel like it's fighting against us, determined to do everything to make us feel as much pain as possible. When, we've been told our bodies are meant to be on our side. Really, it's doing a pretty awesome process. But it doesn't feel like it, it feels like stabs and knives and pins being poked and pushed and stabbed, and big heavy weights being pushed far into your body. But it kinda is cool what is going on, if only we were told. And you know what, is it really so cringe and untruthful and a lie-coated-in-optimism, to wonder if, maybe, our blood IS beautiful? Our blood which topples from the vagina and clings there on un-opportunist days.
Though not perseverance, only survival, there must be there, somewhere, strength.
Every time we go to school whilst losing what looks like a dangerous amount of blood, or stand up without vision, or just spend hours zonked on the sofa, we are strong. Every time someone acts like our blood is dirty, or disgusting, yet dream about ******* women, and YOU inform them that it is either one or the other...respect us and see us for the reality of what we are- not some air brushed Barbie doll who doesn't pour out blood once a month and get spots...Or, you can go fuck a blood-less, blood-phobic, dry little uninteresting man. Every time we inform them of THAT, we are strong.
I think there is enormous beauty in the vulva, and I think it signifies strength. Men will never look down and say 'wow, you've survived a lot of pain, and I've seen you gushing out blood and yet here you are perfectly healthy'. I love how vulvas clean themselves, I love how mysteriously clever they are, doing all these complex processes all by themselves. Without the brain needing to engage at all, and yet it is performing a complex gymnastic routine, or a surgeons procedure. Clever and skilled, and full of life; marvellous.
And yet often we do call it names, and curse it and groan at it for causing us pain, and join with the other girls saying how much we hate it, 'I actually hate my vagina'. Which is kinda fair enough since it does go on an assassin's voyage once a month to tease us with knives, and taunt is with death for a a week. But still, it kind of is clever. And I guess intelligence isn't a legitimate enough reason to love something, for them to earn your respect, since I'm pretty sure some quite nasty world leaders had an astute mind and still twisted countries into horror, however, it's more than that... It's serving us everyday. It's there ready when we need it. It's there ready having done all the relevant processes already when we decide we want a baby (if at all). I guess I kind of believe it's a blessing in disguise. Which is sort of an overused typical annoying phrase, but still, I just can't condemn my vulva into putting it into the column of being all bad. Wait, actually, it's kind of a contrary little thing, because funnily enough, it has the capability to make us feel SO bad, and yet at other times, SO good. Hmmmm, sneaky.
We probably just don't give it much respect. That's what I've seen anyway, just going' about life you know, which is kind of what made me want to write about it. I don't see the vulva getting much respect in the real life by men. And then I think as women, we've kind of just slipped into adopting that as our own attitude too. The male genitals are just given so much of a bigger deal in EVERYTHING. Have you noticed, it's always about them???
I shall say little more, but I will include this. It's a very rare day when sex is about female pleasure. Or, when female pleasure is even taken into account. Yet we have everything just there waiting. We're not incapable of feeling good; the vulva has twice as many nerve endings as the penis (fun fact. 8000 as opposed to 4000 for the peen). Yes, that's TWICE AS MUCH as the penis. Yes, that's we can feel DOUBLE AS MUCH explosion as the penis.
But we weren't exactly told that, just goin' about life, right?