"shitty intolerant people are the problem" is an absurd oversimplification of social issues because while shitty people are a problem, if they were really the only reason social injustice still existed then why do we have to fight tooth and nail to tear down existing structures of inequality
the problem is not shitty intolerant people it’s passive, disinterested people who want to shrug off all responsibility because “there are people worse than them”
i realized early on in high school that projecting and exaggerating didn’t get me anywhere except out of everyone’s good graces and into the fire.
A guy yelled at me
from across the street tonight,
but I couldn’t make out
I didn’t know his call
was directed at me,
but you did.
what he called me
and I watched you
turn sharply as we strode
down the block,
raise your middle finger
in your eyes.
It was such a quick second
and then it was gone,
but in that moment
I felt your anger,
hot like flames
that lick our insides.
I felt your fear,
I felt your love
an invisible wall.
And I knew
they couldn’t touch us.
Aw fuck, I’m going to cry. If I was alone and it was directed towards me, I wouldn’t have said anything out of fear. There is such strength in numbers and friendships, I didn’t even think twice about it.
I should have been in Lisbon today. I was so busy worrying what everyone else was doing that I neglected myself again.
Ever since I bought a giant office calendar to stay organized all I do is stare at the dates that terrify me.
May 31. November 4. June 4. October 7. I keep those days open in case either of you need me, though I know you didn’t when you were alive and you definitely don’t now. Today is Benjamin’s 23rd birthday, and in five days is the day Mackenzie killed himself. When I think about how many people I know who have been hurt by men, it makes it more tragic to me that the two kindest, most empathetic and caring young men I have ever known are gone. I’m still mourning for the things you would have done, the novels you would’ve published and the years we would have shared. Sometimes I get stuck back in that hospital looking for someone’s heart to tear out.
I should have been in Lisbon today.
I’ll drink a black americano and smoke some belmonts for you. I do that every day with you in mind, but today I’ll try to be a little less bitter about it.
A co-worker closed the door to the staff room behind him.
It locked automatically
and I started planning what I could use as a weapon:
smash the glass beside the fridge into his eye.
pick up the fork next to me and sink it into his leg.
claw him across the face if I couldn’t get to anything in time.
As I calculated how hard it would be to shove his body weight off of me,
he finished making his lunch, said, “Sup,” and left,
the door automatically locking behind him.
I expect if I told him I was prepared to stab him with the corner of my staff ID if I had to,
he would say what I’ve heard too often, the one we all know
but are getting wearily suspicious of:
Not all men are like That.
When I was eleven, all the girls in my class got sent to self-defence
because they assumed we’d need it one day.
When I was twelve, there was a prostitute’s body dumped in the river next to my house
because someone thought she was disposable.
When I was thirteen, it happened again and this time the man went to jail
and people stood outside the courtroom and held up signs that he did the right thing.
When I was fourteen, my friend showed up to a sleepover late, chest heaving from sobbing
and from running four blocks after getting chased by a man that followed her off the bus.
When I was fifteen, my mother accused me of being a Man Hater
and I said, “No, but god, would you blame me if I was?”
I got catcalled and then got laughed at when I flipped them off.
they pulled up beside me and I clutched my bag tighter,
my hand going in for my keys and my mind going over how their noses would look
if I smashed them in with my elbow.
“What’s the big deal,” the guy at the steering wheel asked. “We’re just complimenting you. We’re not like That.”
Sorry, but I’m not going to trust you in case I end up on a poster labelled ‘MISSING.’
Even if you seem like the nicest guy, I’ll still have one hand holding my keys
as the only knife I’m allowed, because I don’t know how far you’re going to take it:
if you won’t back off when I tell you I don’t want to date you
if you’ll shout BITCH at me when I don’t respond well to your catcall
if you’ll expect my body as a reward for treating me like a human being
if you’ll try to take what you think you’re owed by being a man
if you’ll turn me into another statistic that people shudder away from.
I have been trained to assume that it’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing
or face the consequences.
I don’t know if you’ll nod when I reject you
or pump me full of bullets.
Every single woman I’ve talked to has a story where they haven’t felt safe in their own body
because of what a man said or did.
Not all men are like That, but god, it’s enough.”
Oh my god if I never miss gabapentin doses again it will be about a million years too soon
aight let me say this tho. when biphobic lesbians say things like ‘i don’t wanna be anywhere a guy has been” or the more cissexist/
transphobictransmisogynistic “i don’t wanna be anywhere a dick has been”
you’re. kind of treating a bi woman like a used object. and totally qualifying her based on her past experiences. and deciding what does or does not impact her worth and purity.
and ur a piece of crap.
my parents buried eleanor today. i’m in the midst of writing the final papers of my undergrad, slowly slowly as fibro fog drifts in and out of my head. being very ill this winter has given me a lot of time to reflect on myself.