A reading from the Original 13 Clan Mothers
A reading from the 13 Original Clan Mothers
She was born behind the piano of a saloon that never slept, where laughter was loud and mercy was rare. Daisy Hart learned early that the world had sharp edges for girls like her. Her mother drank to forget, her father’s name was a rumor, and the men who tossed coins her way thought her future was already sold. But Daisy didn’t wait for fate—she carved her own. By sixteen, she could ride, shoot, and stare down any man who thought her weak.
When her mother died, Daisy buried her out back with nothing but a prayer and a promise—that she’d never end up beneath anyone’s boot. Months later, she walked into the county courthouse in her best dress, chin high, and asked for a badge. The sheriff laughed, but the town needed order more than pride. By summer’s end, Daisy Hart wore a star on her chest and a Colt on her hip, and every drunk who once mocked her learned what respect sounded like when it cocked back steel.
For years she rode the dusty trails alone, chasing thieves and keeping peace in a place that never expected it from her kind. When she finally hung up her badge, the saloon still stood, older but quieter. Folks say that if you listen close on a hot Texas night, you can still hear her mother’s ghost smiling—because Daisy didn’t just survive that world. She tamed it.
Lily Mae was born in the backroom of a saloon, her first lullaby the sound of poker chips and pistol clicks.
Her mother did what she could to keep her safe, but the world behind those swinging doors had sharp edges. By twelve, Lily knew how to patch a knife wound and read by lamplight, hiding borrowed books under whiskey crates so no one would laugh at a saloon girl’s daughter trying to learn her letters.
When her mother died, folks said it was only a matter of time before Lily took her place upstairs. Instead, she walked out of the saloon with a medical bag and never looked back. She apprenticed under the old town doctor, traded sleep for study, and stitched cowhands, drifters, and lawmen until her name carried more weight than her past ever could. By eighteen, she was Dodge City’s only nurse — steady, calm, and unflinching even when bullets tore through the doors at midnight.
Men who once sneered at her mother now waited in line for Lily’s care, hats in hand and shame in their eyes. She never said a cruel word, just worked until her hands shook and the lantern burned low. Some called her an angel, others a miracle. But Lily Mae never believed either. She was just a girl who refused to let dust, or men, decide who she’d become.
This abuse has gone on far too long.
MEN feared her intelligence..
That’s why they pulled her from her carriage, took her clothes and k*lled her in a very cruel way.
Alexandria – one of the first mathematicians. philosophers & astronomers in history, She taught publicly in a time when women were meant to stay silent.
Hypatia advised the powerful governor Orestes and lectured students from all over the world.
An unmarried woman with influence and brilliance – for many men, an outrage.
In the year 415, she was attacked by a Christian mob.
They dragged her into a church and k*lled her brutally with sharp pieces of pottery or shells.
Then her bOdy was tOrn apart and burned.
Hypatia was silenced –
but her voice lives on in us. Women with knowledge, courage & strength will never be silenced again.
My new book arrived today. Here’s the first chapter, if you’re interested.
Figures.
They should leave the “mothering” to the mothers.
Friggen psychos.
She was chained to a saloon bed at fifteen and told her life belonged to men with money. By twenty, Lydia “Red” McGraw had seen enough of Dodge City’s whiskey-soaked nights and the fists of cattle bosses who treated her like property. One evening, when a drunken foreman tried to lock her in her room, she smiled, nodded, and waited. At midnight she poured lamp oil down the staircase, struck a match, and walked away as the building roared into an inferno. The flames took her jailors, her chains, and the life she refused to endure another day.
It wasn’t escape alone—it was rebirth. Red vanished into the plains, her name whispered like smoke trailing behind the ashes. For months she lived by instinct, scavenging, hiding, keeping one step ahead of those who tried to drag her back. But the fire inside her burned hotter than fear. She found others like her—women with bruised pasts, stolen freedom, and nothing left to lose. Together they turned outlaw, revolvers at their hips, robbing stagecoaches and wagons with a cold efficiency that left men stunned to see women holding the guns.
By the time the 1870s rolled on, Red McGraw was no longer a broken saloon girl—she was an outlaw queen whose legend stretched from Kansas to Colorado. Some called her a devil, others a folk hero, but all agreed on one thing: when the Golden Spur burned, something more dangerous than flames had been born. Her story asks the question—what would you do if the only way to escape your cage was to burn it down?
In 1860, after 21 years of marriage and six children, Elizabeth Packard was locked in an Illinois asylum.
Not for violence. Not for instability. But for disagreeing with her husband’s beliefs.
Under the law, a man needed no proof, no trial, not even his wife’s consent to declare her insane.
Inside the asylum, Elizabeth uncovered a cruel truth: many women around her were not “mad” at all. They were wives who resisted, daughters who defied, women who spoke too boldly.
Where others broke, Elizabeth sharpened her pen. She wrote. She observed. She waited.
After three years, she finally stood in court — and defended her right to think for herself. She won her freedom. But she didn’t stop there.
In books, speeches, and campaigns to lawmakers, she exposed the abuses of asylums and fought to reform laws that gave men unchecked power over women.
Elizabeth Packard nearly lost her life as she knew it. But her defiance changed the law — securing protections for generations of women to come.
The crap these masculines come up with is insane! They are insane.
The “breast tax,” or Mulakaram.
Women living in Kerala, India had to pay a significant sum to cover their breasts. Those who couldn’t afford it were forced to appear bare-chested.
This tax was imposed on Shudras and Dalits (the lowest castes in India, to be precise), specifically to show these classes their “AUKAT” (their extremely low social status).
Bare breasts were considered a sign of respect toward people from the higher castes. In a society where men freely ogled women who managed to cover themselves, one can hardly imagine what the poorest women felt, forced to go out without even a veil.
The harmful gazes destroyed these women in every possible way.
Even those who could afford to cover themselves were not spared. Officials in charge had to examine the size and weight of their breasts to determine the tax amount — and of course, these measurements were taken by hand… a complete shame.
Over time, a woman named Nangeli protested this law by cutting off her breasts and presenting them before the disbelieving officials. She soon died from blood loss, and her story sparked violent protests.
Eventually, the law was repealed, but only at the cost of her sacrifice.
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