Do you want to hibernate?



That brown bear burrowed deep in the logs and greenery?

Has it so, so good.


They aren’t jarred awake by an alarm, and trudge to class or work, still needing another three hours of sleep. They don’t scroll through Twitter and see everyone talking about political bullshit every other tweet. They don’t turn on the news and read about yet another terrorist attack. They don’t kiss their cub goodbye in the morning and sit in a funeral three days later. They don’t fail their history exams. They don’t watch a best friend be best friends with someone else. Their grandparents don’t bitch about everything under the sun.


Bears are lucky.


Someone else is too….


They don’t turn on Spotify and listen to "poetic" songs that call them bitches and hoes—songs by fat-headed rappers who don’t know shit about being female. They don’t menstruate—don’t cry and curl themselves into a ball when their uterus is turning inside out. They don’t get a cell phone picture of a penis shoved in their face in the ninth-grade lunch line. They don’t get paid a pitiful salary for no reason. They don’t get catcalled from the park bench—asked if they wanna get on this dick? They don’t get murdered and thrown away in a cornfield because they were jogging and just so happened to have breasts and a vagina.


They don’t get it.

They have it so, so good.



I want to hibernate.

For far longer than a winter slumber.