A boy sprawled next to me on the bus, elbows out, knee pointing sharp into my thigh.
He frowned at me when I uncrossed my legs, unfolded my hands
and splayed out like boys are taught to: all big, loose limbs.
I made sure to jab him in the side with my pretty little sharp purse.
At first he opened his mouth like I expected him to, but instead of speaking up he sat there, quiet, and took it for the whole bus ride.
Like a girl.
Once, a boy said my anger was cute, and he laughed,
and I remember thinking that I should sit there and take it,
because it isn’t ladylike to cause a scene and girls aren’t supposed to raise their voices.
But then he laughed again and all I saw
was my pretty little sharp nails digging into his cheek
before drawing back and making a horribly unladylike fist.
(my teacher informed me later that there is no ladylike way of making a fist.)
When we were both in the principal’s office twenty minutes later
him with a bloody mouth and cheek, me with skinned knuckles,
I tried to explain in words that I didn’t have yet
that I was tired of having my emotions not taken seriously
just because I’m a girl.
Girls are taught: be small, so boys can be big.
Don’t take up any more space than absolutely necessary.
Be small and smooth with soft edges
and hold in the howling when they touch you and it hurts:
the sandpaper scrape of their body hair that we would be shamed for having,
the greedy hands that press too hard and too often take without asking permission.
Girls are taught: be quiet and unimposing and oh so small
when they heckle you with their big voices from the window of a car,
because it’s rude to scream curse words back at them, and they’d just laugh anyway.
We’re taught to pin on smiles for the boys who jeer at us on the street
who see us as convenient bodies instead of people.
Girls are taught: hush, be hairless and small and soft,
so we sit there and take it and hold in the howling,
pretend to be obedient lapdogs instead of the wolves we are.
We pin pretty little sharp smiles on our faces instead of opening our mouths,
because if we do we get accused of silly women emotions
blowing everything out of proportion with our PMS, we get
condescending pet names and not-so-discreet eyerolls.
Once, I got told I punched like a girl.
I told him, Good. I hope my pretty little sharp rings leave scars.
The halt can ride, the hand-less can herd,
the deaf can fight with spirit;
A blind man is better than a corpse on a pyre—
A corpse is no good to anyone.
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
and loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you
A family on a healthy diet can expect to pay $2,000 more a year for food than one having less nutritious meals, say researchers who recommend that the cost gap be closed. The research in Thursday’s issue of British Medical Journal Open reviewed 27 studies from 10 high-income countries to evaluate the price differences of foods and diet patterns.
Let the record reflect the conclusive result of empirical research spanning 27 studies from 10 countries: healthy eating is fucking expensive and people who deny this reality are annoying and full of shit.
Not in Africa! junk and processed foods are too expensive for regular consumption by the average joe. organic vegetables and produce is dirt cheap. and we’re the ones with the problems? smh.
And then there was Mulan. lmao
Your body is made of the same elements that lionesses are built from. Three quarters of you is the same kind of water that beats rocks to rubble, wears stones away. Your DNA translates into the same twenty amino acids that wolf genes code for. When you look in the mirror and feel weak, remember, the air you breathe in fuels forest fires capable of destroying everything they touch. On the days you feel ugly, remember: diamonds are only carbon. You are so much more.
Angels sang and the choir wept.
But no. I refuse to hold hands. I refuse to forgive them for raping my continent, my country, and leaving her lying there and then turning around and buying her cheap second hand clothes and telling her to dress up coz she looks like a whore. I will not say thank you for the dress. I’ve refused.
You don’t believe me. But all I’ve ever done is tell you lies.
Well…that escalated quickly.
I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT
but it turned out to be everything i wanted
I love happy endings.
lol wow. The whole time I was reading I was thinking how this was exactly what I was going through a few years ago, and then I got to the end and it was like a record scratch.
This is how fairy tales should end all the time.
I feel like an over emotional mess
But I look like an unamused hottie
And this is why I hate Christopher Columbus.
have you ever just
stopped whatever you were doing
to look at an english word and
“you look like a fake word”
Knife. aaaaall the time, knife.
But, even if you’re not fat, if you’re a woman, you’re probably still so caught up with your toxic weight shit that you can’t even see straight. During my working life I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been part of these ridiculous workplace group diets. Almost all of the participants have been women. Sometimes they even try to bribe one another with money. They all put in ten dollars on the first week and whoever loses the most wins the pool at the end of 4 months, or whatever it is. Look, I’m like you. I’ve done it too. And at a perfectly normal, healthy weight I’ve done it. All because of a sick, shitful, ugly little voice in the back of my head that tells me I ought to be smaller.
And that’s the rub, right there. Exactly why do we want to be smaller? What exactly is the appeal of being smaller? How does it benefit us? Does it make us better mothers? Better students? Better lovers? Better artists? Scientists? Friends? Does it make us more badass badasses?
No, no, no, no, no. You must see that it doesn’t. It doesn’t do anything but make us smaller.
Babies and puppies are small. So are dimes and Skittles. You’re a fucking woman. A woman! You are entitled to occupy as much fucking space as you like with your awesomeness, and you better be suspicious as fuck of anybody who tells you differently.
Why, ladies? Why must we continue to whittle ourselves down? Who is it for? What is it for? You can walk through a certain aisle at the pharmacy or at the grocery store and see the language of diminishment all over the packaging for weight loss aids of all kinds. “Shrink your waist.” “Lose inches off your thighs.” “Slim down.” “Get skinny.”
How about “Grow your mind.” “Increase your confidence and productivity.” “Beef up your knowledge.” “Enlarge your scope of asskicking.”
That’s a valid message for women and girls: grow, expand, branch out, open up, get bigger, wider, faster, stronger, better, smarter. Go up not down. Get strong, not skinny.
You are not here to get smaller. You are not here to have a thin waist and thighs. You are not here to disappear. You’re here to change the world! Change the fucking world, then! Forget about “losing a few pounds.” Think about what you could be gaining instead.
Baby girl I held you, I loved you, I wanted you
Miss lady you were my dreams in silken iced satin, beautiful fragile things held up to the light illuminating my passion for you
Sweetheart you held me in the palm of your hand, the bottom of your shoe, your heart, sometimes (but I doubt) your soul
See now I tried to act like it wasn’t a thing, like we just had a thing no big deal whatever
But every passing day I lied to myself, to my heart and my mind didn’t mind the lie
Because sanity is sometimes ignorance, which is not always bliss. They lied.
I don’t suppose that you really held me all that high to begin with, because the fall didn’t last as long as I thought it ought to
Don’t get me wrong, I fell hard. So hard I broke into pieces.
But you didn’t try and catch me, you just watched me
And maybe even shrugged a little as you walked away.
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