If I had a dollar for every feminist who rebutted the phrase “I don’t like feminism” with “what do you have against equal rights for women?”, my wealth would rival that of Steve Jobs!
No, feminists, we do not have a problem with women wanting equal rights to men. Our problem is not with what feminists claim to stand for. Our problem is not with their positions. Our problem is with their words and actions.
You see, feminists, I don’t judge people based upon what they claim to stand for. If that were the case, I would take the word of R
I am a disappointment to my parents.
I am a thing to be sold for profit.
I am property to a stranger.
I am a body used for the pleasure of men.
I am a slave to my promised husband.
These are the only things I'm allowed to say.
If I say anything else I will be punished.
I shall face a punishment.
Several that no one should be allowed to face.
I fear all of it.
But sadly, it would be nothing new.
I shall be punished for simply taking a breath.
I wish to take my final one.
I "belong" in the kitchen, after all.
I have possession of the knife.
This decision shall finally be mine.
My fear melts away, and my neck turns cold.
I shall take my freedom...
Yes, I have taken it.
However, it was not by means of bloodshed.
It was not by means of "relief."
It was by means of struggle.
It was by by means of the impossible.
No longer shall I hide my face behind blu
has been boiled down to the white,
neurologically healthy babies
in pink and blue knit caps.
“that one,” says the tearful father.
“she’s beautiful,” says the nurse
while the mother rests.
but why is it
that the default image of motherhood
is a white middle-class couple with a picket fence
and a golden retriever?
let’s postpone that cruise to the caribbean
and make a baby.”
what about the prostitutes
who get pregnant?
what about the girls in africa
who carry their rapist’s babies?
what about the babies left on the firehouse steps?
what about the welfare mothers
because they can’t pay the hospital fees?
who have heroin tracks on their arms
(like stitches that can’t hold them together)
where the patient bracelet is snapped on?
what about the 500,000 american children
waiting to get adopted?
what about miscarriages and women
who can never have kids?
we preach for the
I'm fucking sick, too.
I'm sick of the griping about defending your opinions and values.
If you can't stand behind it and protect it all the time,
get fucking new ones.
Can we talk about the
success that is #killallmen?
#endfathersday, because "all
men are rapists and abusers"?
I'm sick of hiding my anti-feminist beliefs
for fear of being doxxed or lynched by a horde
of rabid, pink haired topless assholes.
I'm sick of "what about the men" being totally invalid,
but when I ask what about the female rapists and abusers,
you can't be bothered to respond.
I'm sick of your statistics being generally
un-fucking-reliable, and excluding the male victims
for the sake of perpetuating a female victim complex.
I'm sick of explaining sexism in this western culture
has become a two way street and having that called derailing.
I'm tired of you thinking censorship is a good way
to cope with your pseudotriggers.
Women that support third wave feminism
I couldn't understand why people laughed at me when I told them of my ambitions. Even my father, who'd always been supportive of me before, patted me patronisingly on the head when I told him. "Yes, yes, and your brother wants to be a ballerina," he chuckled.
I didn't understand that. Ricky certainly did not want to be a ballerina. He wanted to be a masked vigilante. I knew because I'd overheard him talking to his friends the other day, but I didn't say that. There were certain things that you just didn't do, and correcting my father was one of them - I'd learnt that the hard way.
Ricky didn't approve of my ambitions either. I told him that he was the one being unrealistic for wanting to be a masked vigilante which wasn't even a real job; he just
But yes, every person of colour will experience racism.
No, not every man is sexist.
But yes, every woman will experience sexism.
No, not every straight person is homophobic.
But yes, every gay person will experience homophobia.
No, not every cis-gendered person is transphobic.
But yes, every transgender person will experience transphobia.
Enough with your 'not every's.
Because, yes every.
I hate HOMOPHOBIA
I hate SEGREGATION
I hate WAR
I hate BULLIES
I hate AGEISM
I hate DISABLEISM
I hate LINGUICISM
I hate SEXISM
I hate TRANSPHOBIA
I hate EMPLOYMENT DISCRIMINATION
I hate RELIGIOUS DISCRIMINATION
I hate RACIAL SEGREGATION
I hate SLAVERY
I hate STEREOTYPING
I hate PREJUDICE
I hate GENOCIDE
I hate ADULTISM
I hate CHILD ABUSE
I hate WOMAN ABUSE
I hate POVERTY
I hate ALCOHOLISM
I hate UNEMPLOYMENT
I hate PEER PRESSURE
I hate CONSCRIPTION
I hate DRUG ABUSE
I hate IGNORANCE
I hate a lot of things... but does that make me a bad person?
i’ll be honest with you;
there is a certain authority to being
somebody said once that writers struggle with reality
because we spend all of our time
constructing our own.
the truth is, life may be impermanent
but the details are not.
time has one direction
the past cannot be revisited
and history cannot be redone
with a red pen.
what happens, happens.
we are walking permanent records
that can never be expunged.
no matter how many orphans we pull from fires
no matter how many dying children we sing to
we still made our mother cry once
we still let our little brothers find us passed out
on the front porch when we were nineteen.
imagination is our primary retreat
because there, that boy does fall in love with us
and our first kiss is not spit on our chins
or misses landing on our nose
(maybe there are waves crashing in the background)
and we say everything right.
there, we have crafted a version of ourselves
that lives perfectly.
“if i could,” someon
wearing a dress; the fresh print of a
hand mark glows on his cheek.
Meanwhile, his sister plays in shorts
II. Lunchtime and a child, no more than
twelve, hurries home early. Tears
smudge the sleeves of his favourite
shirt as he tries to muffle his sobs.
A girl hit him in the face, but boys must
III. Accused of sexual harassment, a
young man apologizes for complimenting
a lady at the bar. Somewhere in the
crowd, a girl pinches a stranger's bum
whilst her friends screech like hyenas.
She was only mildly flirting with him,
IV. In a restaurant, a woman insists her
date pays the bill. The following day,
he's accused of earning too much and
spending too little.
V. A man is pinned against the wall and
forced into sex. Even though he turns
away, he must enjoy it because he's
just a bloke. Women can't rape men - it
doesn't work like that.
VI. Somewhere in this world, a boy
holds the door open for his crush, a
and notices nothing unusual.
He wanders downstairs in skimpy pjs, switches on the radio
The breakfast show, a witty host and her regulation male sidekick-
the butt of the jokes.
The news is going, that abducted boy found dead, sexually abused, throttled
A woman helping with inquiries
Bored of the chatter he turns it off
Eats his cereal before the telly, a music channel
Women in baggy jeans singing about how nice men look
in clubs, dancing topless around holes.
He unconsciously scrutinises the semi-clad men that surround her
Winding their perfect bodies in sync to the beat, hip rolling
Looks down at his own belly, thinks, I'll skip lunch.
In the shower he shampoos his long hair,
Fretting about baldness
this constant battle with his body.
He shaves his legs, his armpits, his belly
Scans his chest and thighs for regrowth
wonders when he should next visit the salon.
He shaves his jaw.
He dresses uncomfortably
Can't buy anything without some kind of
“Adults often forget
what it’s like being young
because they block it out.”
right after that:
“Similar to trauma victims.”
last summer, when i told that man
old enough to be my father
that i had a boyfriend,
he said “so?”
when I told him i was a minor,
he said “and?”
there are no boundaries anymore,
and don’t tell me
“boys will be boys”
because that doesn’t make it
don’t tell me
I was asking for it
because what I’m really asking for
is for it
i wish i was a person
and not numbers on a scale.
i wish i was a human being
and not the cleavage in my tank top.
i wish we would stop hating ourselves.
i wish girls were allowed to say no
and eat every day
and forget to shave their legs.
i wish boys were allowed to cry
and be ballerinas
and speak up
when something hurts.
i wish we thought
we deserved more.
(and don’t tell me
none of this is sup
I want to start out by saying that I adore the Sly Cooper series. Sly 2 is my favorite game of all time. And it always pained me that this franchise never got the praise and recognition that it so richly deserved. So you’d think the recent release (and overall good reception) of the new forth game would make me elated. And at first, I was elated! I pre-ordered it despite some of my reservations about it (more on that later…) and was happy to see that Sanzaru Games (the developer that took over after Sucker Punch ended the series) did a good job of recapturing the feel and gameplay of the trilogy that I love so much.
However, even though Sly Cooper 4: Thieves in Time is a great game on a technical level, I simply cannot recommend it. And I came to this conclusion for one BIG reason…
As a woman, I felt like this game was actively alienating me in a way that the previous Sly titles NEVER did. I’m sure this wasn
That I am not myself
I am the faceless waste of my influences
That I obey the media like a god
And society like a saint
That I am one of the crowd
I do what is expected
What is wanted and what is told
Even when I know it is wrong
That I cannot think
I am a walking machine
That has given up freedom and thought
For the sake of a simpler life
That I hate based on color
On sex and religion
Unless it is popular
To say I love instead
That I am a murderer
A thief and a scoundrel
I witnessed the greatest crimes of our time
And stood by in silent admiration
That I hated because they told me to
I killed because I wanted to
And lied because I could
But worse, I let others do the same
That I'd do anything they'd allow
And everything they'd want
That I prefer to hate myself
Then for them to hate me
All this I confess
Girls shall be ladies
Boys romp and play
make mud pies and fight
Girls have tea-parties
dress up and act like grown-ups
we chuckle when boys return
covered head to toe in mud
we scold when a girl returns
with a grass stain on her clothes
Boys shout and holler
Girls wait and listen
'Lower your voice girl,'
they say when she squeals
'Is it because I'm a girl?'
she asks quietly
They lie respond with 'no,
its just what is proper'
Then why aren't boys
silenced when they scream
Girls have voices too!
We are they the silenced ones?
We are given the right to free speech, but now such a thing has been given a price. Likewise, we are given the freedom to protest, but we take this freedom and we twist it. We live in a country where if one speaks his mind about something he finds immoral,
Disney's newest animated feature appears to be progressively multiracial, but pushes the same old regressive bigotry.
The Walt Disney Company has been the most notorious propagator of racism, sexism, and every other "-ism" within Hollywood, and the fact that it markets its movies to children and "families" (dog whistle for "patriarchal white supremacists") make them all the more problematic.
Ever since it was founded by that raging anti-Semite, Walt Disney, the company has been brainwashing children with toxic ideals such as white supremacy, patriarchy, heteronormativity, and cis-sexism, with its movies expressing bigotry both explicitly (Song of the South) and inexplicitly (Frozen's white-washed cast—seriously, being set in a predominantly white country and time period is no excuse for not having a single black character!)
However, the company has recently bee
I was used to the noise, however, and I was so engrossed in my work that I would have sworn the world was silent save for the sound of my chisel biting into the cedar box before me. Delicate curls fell from my worktable, collecting in small drifts upon the dirt floor.
I stopped to wipe sweat from my face. The pause gave me a moment to step back and survey my work.
Yes, the casket was coming along beautifully. I had mitered the joints meticulously. I had planed it smooth as glass before tracing out the panels on each side. I had spent days, chisel in hand, carving the scenes into the wood, and the entire workshop smelled strongly of cedar.
It was almost done, and the c
a feminist who reads romance,
an artist with a knack for calculus.
i am a historian who loves folklore,
a girl who cannot cook,
an athlete who dislikes the outdoors.
i am a writer who makes grammatical errors,
an introvert with unshared passions,
a dreamer with my feet on the ground.
i am all of these things—
because i am three-dimensional,
and the surface of a lake
doesn't always reveal everything below.
It's no surprise that feminism found me. As the last of his three daughters, my dad claimed me early. While Kristn was a distant being somewhere in the realm of college, and Claire had given up on athletics, my dad saw to it that I rode a bike, went hiking, and played sports, and I would damn sure love it. I kept my hair cut short. I mean, my name is Alex—it's not Alexa or Alexandra or Alexandria. My folks named me Alex, with Ann thrown in the middle in homage to the middle name shared with just about every woman on my mom's side. My dad even said once that I was the son he'd never had.
None of this makes me bitter. I was a weird kid, as everyone was a weird kid, and a tomboy. Of course I loved the Spice Girls and wore glitter eye shadow in the 5th grade but my knees were constantly scraped from s
The clinically insane
Irresponsible parents who leave the knives out
Homeless people who don't want to work
Who claim the kids just for the perks
A mother who has 15 other biological kids, only three from the same father
Who wants help paying for them
Even those willing to brainwash
... You know, as long as they're not gay.