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Growing Wildflowers: Why I Will March at the Women’s March on Washington

On January 21st 2017, I will release the person I have carefully created into the world, or rather into Washington D.C.  I have been preparing for this ever since I first said the word divorce out loud in relation to my decaying marriage. I have been stockpiling domestic violence and rape statistics, women’s studies test questions, and feminist books and essays like they are my ammunition against a world that continually assaults my sisters and me. In some places they throw fists at us, and in others they use acid, but it’s all because of the same reason: they must control and subdue the wild goddess within us. They have been raised to think they must be the groundskeepers of our gardens.

I was subdued during a marriage that took the clay I was made of and manipulated it into something foreign. He tried to form me into some new, shiny, department store ceramic vase, but I was always meant to be a planter with living flowers inside of me instead of dead ones.

On the day after the 45th president of the United States of America is inaugurated, I will march with thousands of others who denounce those who wish we could be dead flowers in pretty vases. We are wildflowers; we do not grow where they want us to be planted. We transcend arbitrary borders, walls, and fences. The acid rain of hate and intolerance only makes us grow stronger, and the weed killer they spray on us only makes our roots more resistant.

I will march because I refuse to be compliant and help dig my own grave. I refuse to be silent while my fellow females are killed and assaulted every minute. I refuse to be part of a culture that views femininity as weakness and stupidity while masculinity is the reigning supreme trait of success. I refuse to give in to those who wish I would shut up, sit down, and make a damn sandwich. I refuse to be blind to oppression, racism, homophobia, sexism, xenophobia, and bigotry. I refuse to let my divine feminine be trampled on any longer by a patriarchal power struggle.

We are life. We are magic. We are the epitome of strength. You can’t mute us and you can’t destroy us. We rise from the flames of dead suffragettes and carry their ashes in our fists as we rally for safety and serenity.

My wild roots will continue to grow deeper into the ground, and they will join the network of roots aiming to usurp the concrete foundation of a patriarchal White House. I will march, because I can’t stand still while wildflowers are being picked apart and destroyed.


-Ashley Marie Massey

Ashley is a student at the University of North Alabama pursuing a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English Literature with minors in Professional Writing and Women’s Studies. She was raised on a small Tennessee farm, and after a brief stint at city life, she currently lives back on the farm helping her family raise cattle, chickens, ducks, and other various creatures. She also owns a jewelry design business that is available at stores in three states. She is a devout feminist and plans to read, write, and rant as much as she can in order to make her dent in the patriarchal world.

Photo credit:  wikipedia

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