The Tangent On The White Male But Who Am I To Have An Opinion

Humans all have boundless flaws. It’s part of the human condition. Men, however, as a majority, seem unable to see their own. And therefore, are unable to deal with them. That is relevant for many women as well, but the one thing about males – primarily white/of European decent males – is that they are and always have been privileged in many ways and I simply cannot and will not identify with that. I don’t hold it against them unless they are completely aware of it and still think it’s okay. Otherwise I kind of… Pity them, almost. But it’s the kind of slightly envious pity that I feel for extremely rich people who have no concept of the realness of life, of pain or effort or struggle. And when I see this it’s almost like they’re not even human. You can’t hold it against them, it’s ingrained into their DNA, and until they have become fully aware it is simply a fact of life. I don’t care about wealth or position. It’s mental privilege, it’s workplace privilege, it’s status privilege, it’s physical privilege, it’s societal privilege most of all. And that is forgivable because humanity is broken and damaged and there always has to be a winner and loser and someone a long long time ago chose you guys. It’s not like you asked for it. There is a light surrounded by endless darkness and men – primarily white men – are inside of it. They see the darkness all around but can’t recognize the light because they’re standing inside of it and they can’t see it. But everyone outside in the dark is getting blinded by the glare while the men say “what light, what light? We don’t see the light – so it must not be there.” 

A Fucking Curse

It’s the curse of the teenage girl, isn’t it? Ridiculed at every corner. God forbid a teenage girl could have a passion for anything. God forbid a teenage girl could know what she wants. 
It’s a fucking curse. You fall in love, it’s bullshit. You’re talented, it’s bullshit. You love something, bullshit. You care about something, bullshit. You destroy something bullshit. Something kills you, bullshit! 
We’re all so trivial. Nothing we say has any weight, any precedence. Because we don’t know shit.
 What do we like? Who cares. What do we love? Who fucking cares. We hate ourselves and we’re called dramatic and self-obsessed. We love ourselves and we’re called dramatic and self-obsessed. Since when was loving yourself a character flaw? Fuck. I think it’s astounding. Why wouldn’t you want to raise a generation of strong, proud girls? I know why, because you’re fucking scared, and you don’t even realise it. Somewhere, in the back of your head, past all the patriarchal bullshit, you know what we’re capable of. And don’t look at me like that, I know what the patriarchy is, and that’s exactly my fucking point. You underestimate us, you reduce us down to silly little girls.
 In the back of your head, you’re scared for us to have voices, you don’t want us to have power. Because then, then we’ll speak up about the shit you put us through. And you know what? If you don’t educate us, if you refuse to educate us, we’ll educate ourselves. 
I am so, so sick of this biased crazy bitch-teenager idea. Being passionate doesn’t make us crazy. And even if we are crazy, so fucking what? It’s you who made us like this.
You, who raised your daughter to keep her voice down. You, who taught her it’s better to be meek. You, who told her she just drank too much, helped her throw out her ripped underwear, and never thought to ask questions. You, who told her sex was an obligation. And you, for telling her it’s a bargaining tool. Her desires aren’t natural. Don’t act, don’t speak. Repress, repress, repress. Repent, repent, repent. Be ashamed. Shut your mouth.
You shut it for her though.
 Every lesson, every time you ignored her need, you plucked out another vocal chord. And you kept going and you kept teaching until her throat was empty, and you stole her words and threw her voice box down a fucking well so no one would ever hear her speak again. And you think we’re the crazy ones? You’re draining the life from your daughter so you can stick it in a glass vial and give it to your son in law. 
You want us to be meek? You want us to be quiet. We’re fucking monsters. You made us, you’ve silenced us, and now we’re going to scream and scream until you notice.

Give Em Hell

When the boys pull your hair and push you to the ground 
during recess 
I promise not to tell you that it’s because they like you. 
when the teachers call home to tell me that 
you pushed them to the ground after you 
I’ll take you out of school early and buy 
you your favorite ice cream. 
when you get older and the boys 
try to touch you when you don’t want to be touched 
I’ll look at you like the sun when you come home 
with anger in your fists. 
they all tell you not to fight fire with fire 
but that is only because they are afraid of your flames. 
when the boys yell after you like hyenas 
you yell back, baby. 
I will not teach you to be afraid of your anger 
so that you look for it in others. 
I will not make you be the better person 
because you already are. 
you wanna fight ‘em? fight ‘em. 
don’t you dare apologize for the fierce love 
you have for yourself 
and the lengths you go to preserve it. 
when the boys try to tell you to soften up 
I hope you make them bleed with your edges. 
I hope you remember that you are not theirs 
that their disappointment in you is not yours. 
when the boys come to your door with pretty words and 
angry eyes 
I hope you show them the anger in yours. 
I hope you show them just how strong your mommy 
thinks you are. 
I hope you show them the animal they can’t always 
see in their own reflection. 
when the boys come with the intention of hurting you 
my advice will always stay the same, my darling: 
give ‘em hell.

Contradictory Statements: The Real Truth

I begged you for life, saying: 
“Let me fade into nothingness!”
I pleaded for change,
But I am set in my ways.
I craved his attention -
Saw him and turned my head away.

I pinch at the fat of my tummy in disgust,
Insisting that yes, I do love myself.
I fucked them and bashed slut-shaming;
Yet my actions led to guilty remorse.

I curse your wounds and spit hell into your eyes,
Hearing whispers of peace & tranquility.
I nurtured a broken one to mental health -
I shame you for your illnesses.

I am fire, then embers, then ashes.

I want to be kind.
I want to be loving.
I want to be better.

You are what you say you are,
And life is what you make of it.

I am kind.
I am loving.
I am better now.

Not For The Weak

They say depression is an illness 
Not made for the weak

That it crawls into your body
Through the holes in your head
Like your ears and nose 
And through your broken heart

It takes rides with the oxygen 
Surfing on your blood
And filling every part of you 

It grows heavier with time
And breaks you down slowly
Like the lead in the paint on the wall
The same wall you bang your head on

Escaping from the demons 
You made in your mind
And therefore
Will never escape from 

Sometimes it invades your mouth
And forces words down your throat
So you are suffocating 
On things you feel and cannot say

Depression is reliving
Every terrible thing
That was maybe not so terrible

Catching an ugly look and ruminating 
On the implications
Of being falsely judged
For things out of your control 
For far too long

Feeling his fingers on your throat
As he ripped out innocence 
From big brown eyes
And crushed it between the fingers
That soon shoved it back inside you

Seeing someone you love and cherish 
Be beat down by circumstances 
That dim their happiness
And drip bitterness down their tongue
So that you recoil when it spits back out at you

You never meant to be so sad
For so long
For so much to change 

But it’s tiring
The lead drags you down 
And your eyelids are heavy enough
Imagining yourself uncurling your legs
And sitting up
And standing 

Too tired 
No energy
Not worth it 

But depression is not made for the weak
There are those who crumble under the pressure
And that’s okay, because not everyone can stand the weight of the universe
Digging into their shoulders

But celebrate those who fight
Fight with all their might 
And find themselves lucky enough
To be strong enough
To win

Here I Am

Look at me and tell me

Tell me I’m a whore

I’ve slept with more people than I thought I ever would

Who was number one, when I have 2 and 5 on my mind

When I never again looked into the eyes of 6

and who I wasted the perfect number 7 on

Who are you to me? 

Nothing, not anymore

A product of my mind

Does rape count?

Does that mean I’ve had sex with 9 people?

When you’re so young and your heart is so done

You don’t care anymore

I couldn’t care less anyway

I’m not a body to keep to myself

I’m a soul that longs to escape

I am a soul

My body is none of your concern

I think happy thoughts and I forgive myself

Forgive me 

Mea culpa mea culpa mea culpa

The blame is on me

I don’t give a fuck anymore and I know it hurts you

You see me as broken and vulnerable and yet strong

I’m not strong

Not anymore

It was stolen from me

Ripped from clenched fingers

But I wasn’t strong enough to keep myself whole

And I will never be strong enough to break away

From you

From my own weaknesses

But that is my body speaking

My soul is strong and free and lovely


I have no regrets

I don’t need anybody

Or at least I can pretend


If your mind is your prison

How can you escape?

I’m no Houdini

No tricks up my sleeve

But if my body is what I think of

My mind slips away

And I’m having fun

Even if I’m not happy

I’m ok

And I depend on myself more when I’m broken

I love getting high

I only need myself when my pieces fall apart

When this artfully pieced together tapestry has worn through


I’m a master with the needle


I only need myself


So tell me I’m a whore

Whats so bad about that?

Id rather be a woman with loose morals

Than nothing but a gravestone


Your words could never hurt me

My words do enough of that

I don’t need you to throw me down and drag my face through the gravel

I’ve been here a long time

I think I’ll make a home here

I think I’ve made a home here




The hit smacks against my throat
Electric burn mutates into a steady hum
Delicious tingles run recklessly over my skin

We are giggling and touchy
Punctuating sentences with gazes
And skirting around this …
This… Something between us

We are light
Floating together towards who-knows-what
But happy in each other’s arms

You are not conventionally pretty
But your slanted eyes
And plump pink lips 
And your soft, curvy body 
Call out for caresses 

Strange that I have never kissed those lips

Yet I have touched those breasts
I have run my hands over your length
Whispering “you’re perfect”
As your breath warms my neck 

I have held myself tight against you
As you push back into me
I have relished the feel of your hands on me
We have loved each other

But I’ve never kissed your lips

I have slept beside you
Nuzzling contentedly into your side
Falling into a heavy sleep 
That I can only have when I’ve burned a nugget 
Or when I’m with you

I wake up to those lips
But they turn away from me
Mumbling of making coffee for you, babe 
You know my heart quivers towards yours
I want something more

But that’s why you won’t let me kiss your lips 

You want my body 
So I give you my heart
They want our bodies 
We give them our hearts