“A woman you now are,” my mother closed her eyes…
I’ve noticed the dissociation I experience when I hear someone casually throw around words like “bipolar,” “depressed,” “anxious,” or “retarded.”
And why women are the same way.
Community is at the heart of what feminism is all about.
I have found magic in R E V E A L I N G ones true nature.
Self-Love is the greatest love story.
How Overthinking Ruined My Love Life.
My best friend was the first to know. The bittersweet words felt sour on the ears. She disappeared into her own self-induced shock, paralyzed by the reality of three little words (“Kristie, I’m Bisexual”).
I’m sorry, I should’ve packaged up your ignorance in a neatly wrapped box. A pretty ribbon to heal your embarrassment? A sweet label to explain away your guilt?
You both asked me how I’ve been, Good.
if I ever made it to where I wanted to go, I did.
why I left with such certainty. For me.
I got bangs just like my 6-year-old self displayed on picture day.
My clothing is not an invitation for your hands, my sister is not a prize, and my best friend is not able to consent if she is not fully conscious. Simply existing in your room doesn’t make me yours. Content warning: rape and sexual assault.
We are queens of our own, Our crowns don't show. They are hidden in our souls.
1. Being happy and sad at the same time as if that’s completely normal.
I’ll squash myself down in size
to make sure there is room for him.
I remember yearning to feel the intrinsic bond every child seems to share with grandparents, But the title “abuelos (grandparents)” did not make them any less of strangers to me. In that moment I thought, maybe, if we had more in common, that connection would instantaneously spark.
I oblige the genesis, lay the loins facedown on the grass, indulge the sun, the fruits,
his throbbing rib, all he lacks— is it all of me?
We’d rather talk about him, past, present, future- Than her trauma then, Than her invisibility now, Then her lack of justice ever.
Underneath the all the others is a skin she never has to put on- And never gets to take off no matter how much she wants to. She was born with it- This one is the foundation. Already precisely tailored.
I learn now- the gestures of care, the hand between legs and the slow kisses of selfish tenderness.
She struggles with distinguishing the real from the imaginary. An unknown hand paints pictures in her mind, oil-based; a canvas of illusion the strongest rain fails to wash away.
What hashtag will get the message across? Which story will be shocking enough? How many is too many? #NowIAm Tired of learning. #NowIAm Ready to speak.
I’m prescribed a dose of silence; my doctor says I’m overwhelmed by constant sound. “You can’t save the world,” he says, yet he dedicates his life to defying humanity’s fate.
Our votes are loud and they are clear, our votes determine what we want for the forthcoming years.