June 2013
“
I’m looking at you
bro
In the “Cool story babe, now make me a sandwich” t-shirt
The commonly uses
“I raped you faggot”
when playing
Video games
To dehumanize
Your straight friends
The white kid who greets his buddies with the n-word
Who’s OkCupid dating profile describes him as a “nice guy”
He’s just sick of getting friend-zoned
Because being just friends with a woman
Is so terrible
Nevermind the fact that he answers yes to the following:
Are women obligated to shave their legs?
Are racist jokes funny?
When a woman is raped, is it sometimes her fault?
I’m looking at you
guy in every women’s studies class ever
who derails dialogue
About a third of the world’s population of women
Who will be raped
In their life times
By asserting
“the wage gap isn’t real”
the guy who starts “PimpWalk” in response
to slutwalk
a demonstration aimed at ending victim blaming
of rape victims
the guy with the “no fat chicks” bumpersticker on his F150
whos confused why
he cant get pussy
to the guy who calls anal rape
“surprise buttsex”
to the one who uses “feminazi”
as a frequent part
of his vernacular
to every guy who has ever thought that a facebook status
about domestic violence
was a good opportunity to practice playing the
devils advocate
to every guy
boy
man
who has ever dismissed feminism
because it didn’t involve him
to every man who has ever raped a woman
to every man who has ever beaten one
isolated one
belittled one
dehumanized one
to every guy
who thinks he’s not like those ones
because
its just a joke
to every guy who is confused why feminists hate him
to every guy
its because
you’re part of a problem
a culture
that won’t stop choking us
but tells us
to just breath
wrote some spoken word for my women’s studies final tomorrow. what do you guys think? (via fat-feminist)
Woah this got like 3 thousands notes thanks guys. Now I just have to perform it in an hour…
(via fat-feminist)
“I know girls who are trying to fit into the social norm
like squeezing into last year’s prom dress
I know girls who are low rise, mac eyeshadow, and binge drinking
I know girls that wonder if they’re disaster and sexy enough to fit in
I know girls who are fleeing bombs from the mosques of their skin
playing russian roulette with death; it’s never easy to accept
that our bodies are fallible and flawed
but when do we draw the line?
when the knife hits the skin?
isn’t it the same thing as purging,
because we’re so obsessed with death,
some women just have more guts than others
the funny thing is women like us don’t shoot
we swallow pills, still wanting to be beautiful at the morgue,
still proceeding to put on make-up,
still hoping that the mortician finds us fuckable and attractive
we might as well be buried with our shoes,
and handbags and scarves, girls
we flirt with death every time we etch a new tally mark
into our skin
I know how to split my wrists like a battlefield too
but the time has come for us to
reclaim our bodies
our bodies deserve more than to be war-torn and collateral,
offering this fuckdom as a pathetic means to say,
“I only know how to exist when I’m wanted”
girls like us are hardly ever wanted you know
we’re used up and sad and drunk and
perpetually waiting by the phone for someone to pick up
and tell us that we did good
You did good.
(I know I am because I said am, my body is home)
so try this
take your hands over your bumpy lovebody naked
and remember the first time you touched someone
with the sole purpose of learning all of them
touched them because the light was pretty on them
and the dust in the sunlight danced the way your heart did
touch yourself with a purpose
your body is the most beautiful royal
fathers and uncles are not claiming your knife anymore
are not your razor, no
put the sharpness back
lay your hands flat and feel the surface of scarred skin
I once touched a tree with charred limbs
the stump was still breathing
but the tops were just ashy remains,
I wonder what it’s like to come back from that
sometimes I feel a forest fire erupting from my wrists
and the smoke signals sent out are the most beautiful things
I’ve ever seen
love your body the way your mother loved your baby feet
and brother, arm wrapping shoulders, and remember,
this is important:
you are worth more than who you fuck
you are worth more than a waistline
you are worth more than any naked body could proclaim
in the shadows, more than a man’s whim
or your father’s mistake
you are no less valuable as a size 16, than a size 4
you are no less valuable as a 32A than a 36C,
your sexiness is defined by concentric circles within your wood;
wisdom
you are a goddamn tree stump with leaves sprouting out:
reborn” —Mary Lambert (via sexualityandfeminismandgender)
like squeezing into last year’s prom dress
I know girls who are low rise, mac eyeshadow, and binge drinking
I know girls that wonder if they’re disaster and sexy enough to fit in
I know girls who are fleeing bombs from the mosques of their skin
playing russian roulette with death; it’s never easy to accept
that our bodies are fallible and flawed
but when do we draw the line?
when the knife hits the skin?
isn’t it the same thing as purging,
because we’re so obsessed with death,
some women just have more guts than others
the funny thing is women like us don’t shoot
we swallow pills, still wanting to be beautiful at the morgue,
still proceeding to put on make-up,
still hoping that the mortician finds us fuckable and attractive
we might as well be buried with our shoes,
and handbags and scarves, girls
we flirt with death every time we etch a new tally mark
into our skin
I know how to split my wrists like a battlefield too
but the time has come for us to
reclaim our bodies
our bodies deserve more than to be war-torn and collateral,
offering this fuckdom as a pathetic means to say,
“I only know how to exist when I’m wanted”
girls like us are hardly ever wanted you know
we’re used up and sad and drunk and
perpetually waiting by the phone for someone to pick up
and tell us that we did good
You did good.
(I know I am because I said am, my body is home)
so try this
take your hands over your bumpy lovebody naked
and remember the first time you touched someone
with the sole purpose of learning all of them
touched them because the light was pretty on them
and the dust in the sunlight danced the way your heart did
touch yourself with a purpose
your body is the most beautiful royal
fathers and uncles are not claiming your knife anymore
are not your razor, no
put the sharpness back
lay your hands flat and feel the surface of scarred skin
I once touched a tree with charred limbs
the stump was still breathing
but the tops were just ashy remains,
I wonder what it’s like to come back from that
sometimes I feel a forest fire erupting from my wrists
and the smoke signals sent out are the most beautiful things
I’ve ever seen
love your body the way your mother loved your baby feet
and brother, arm wrapping shoulders, and remember,
this is important:
you are worth more than who you fuck
you are worth more than a waistline
you are worth more than any naked body could proclaim
in the shadows, more than a man’s whim
or your father’s mistake
you are no less valuable as a size 16, than a size 4
you are no less valuable as a 32A than a 36C,
your sexiness is defined by concentric circles within your wood;
wisdom
you are a goddamn tree stump with leaves sprouting out:
reborn” —Mary Lambert (via sexualityandfeminismandgender)
should i feel guilty about that post? hmmm
