For centuries, women were told that marriage was the pinnacle of love. It was seen as the reward for obedience. Marriage was believed to be the structure that would keep them safe. But behind the veil and the vows was something far more sinister. It was a system designed not to love us, but to contain us.
This is Part I of Symphony of Destruction. It is a four-part reckoning on patriarchy, power, and the fire that lives in women. In this opening movement, we tear down the fantasy of marriage—and expose it as the beautifully-wrapped cage it always was.
🎼 I. OVERTURE: THE MYTH OF ORDER
They told us it was protection. That the world outside was chaos, but inside the walls of tradition—there would be peace. They called it structure. Stability. The sacred bond.
What they meant was containment.
Patriarchy was never born of wisdom. It was born of fear—the fear of what women might become if left unclaimed, ungoverned, unshackled. So they built us cages and painted them gold. Called it marriage. Called it duty. Called it love.
And we were taught to want it. From fairy tales to family pressure, from rom-coms to religion— Marriage was sold as the apex of womanhood. The altar was never just symbolic—it was the stage where identity was sacrificed for approval.
But here’s the unspoken truth they don’t put in bridal magazines: Marriage protected weak men.
It gave them access to women they never could’ve earned through strength, intellect, or resonance. It ensured their genes survived—not by merit, but by mandate. The loudest, laziest, most fragile men were allowed to reproduce—propped up by contracts and shame tactics. In nature, they would’ve been filtered out. But patriarchy—this fossilized algorithm—overwrote natural selection with social coercion.
And the state co-signed it. Love became a contract, notarized by the government, stamped with taxes, bound by fees. If you want to leave? Pay. If you want to stay? Sacrifice. The most intimate bond—reduced to paperwork. As if devotion needed a witness. As if the soul needed a receipt.
And now, standing at the fracture line of history, I choose differently.
I choose the bear. Not because I want to die—but because I want the truth. Because the bear is a wild animal. Its intent is clear—to feed, to protect, or to be left alone. You see it coming. You know what it is.
But men? Men smile while hiding the knife. They hold your hand while eroding your voice. They fuck you while resenting your freedom. Their violence wears perfume. It plays the long game.
When women say “I’d rather face a bear in the woods than a man,” it’s not a joke. It’s not fear-mongering. It’s the math of survival. Because the bear might kill you—but it won’t rape you first. It won’t pretend to love you. It won’t gaslight you, isolate you, or raise children beside you while draining your soul inch by inch.
Men kill too. Not always with fists. Sometimes with silence. With manipulation. With a hundred small cuts to your spirit. And that’s the danger:
Not the predator you see. It is the one who hides in plain sight. This predator is disguised as your husband, your savior, your “good man.”
So yes— I choose the bear. Because even death is easier to face than the slow erosion of self wrapped in a lie.
The myth is cracking now. And beneath the rubble, there’s no divinity—only dust.
In II. INTERLUDE: The Lullaby That Caged Us, we explore more deeply. We delve into virginity, dowries, and “zestre”. We also examine the soft conditioning that shaped women into commodities.
Burning Violet 