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SUBMIT TO THE DARK LORD.
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Please send to the moon or my Jeep or my dog.
"In San Francisco last year, a man stabbed a woman in the face and arm after she didn’t respond positively to his sexually harassing her on the street. In Bradenton, Fla., a man shot a high school senior to death after she and her friends refused to perform oral sex at his request. In Chicago, a scared 15-year-old was hit by a car and died after she tried escaping from harassers on a bus. Again, in Chicago, a man grabbed a 19-year-old walking on a public thoroughfare, pulled her onto a gangway and assaulted her. In Savannah, Georgia, a woman was walking alone at night and three men approached her. She ignored them, but they pushed her to the ground and sexually assaulted her. In Manhattan, a 29-year-old pregnant woman was killed when men catcalling from a van drove onto the sidewalk and hit her and her friend. Last week, a runner in California — a woman — was stopped and asked, by a strange man in a car, if she wanted a ride. When she declined he ran her over twice."
"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 realize 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."
"one of the scariest moments of being a girl is not feeling safe walking down the street, minding your own business when picking up a package at the local post office. just walking, enjoying the slight breeze, tired from a full day of work, and looking forward to your package. you get a few catcalls. you get strange men mumbling lewd comments under their breath when they pass you, undressing you with their eyes. it’s gross, but you can deal. the sad thing is that this is a normal occurrence. it’s just inevitable. three younger guys start coming toward you. you put on your stony-scary-girl mask, curl up your fist, do your best to avoid their gazes. they surround you, in the middle of the sidewalk, and over your music, you hear them say, “hey, girl, you japanese? you japanese?” you walk faster, leaving them behind, feeling disgusting and fetishized. you calm down a bit. you pick up your package, buy some mascara while you’re there, and leave the store. your heart sinks when you see the same three guys coming towards you. you’re ready, though. there are tons of people around; they can’t do anything. you, once again, put on your brave-girl-facade, and they surround you once again, loud. so loud. they say “hey are you japanese? tell me, why are you acting so scared? it’s just a question.” they’re way too close, and you pleadingly look at the woman who’s walking towards you, and push past them, trying to be brave, saying “fuck you” over your shoulder as you pull away. you keep walking til you hit the yogurty’s, and look back, heart still pounding, making absolute sure that no one’s following you. you don’t rest easy til you hit your apartment, and suddenly everything comes crashing down."
i have warriors bones.
don’t try to eat my body
because your father told you
‘a woman is grown only for you, consume her.’
you might not make it out alive.
i have rose acid in my skin.
one way or another
it will teach your eyes how to behave.
when they are trying to pull my breasts
from my shirt.
you think because my hands are small.
they are afraid of carving you away
sending you to the sort of loneliness
only a woman can create with her smell.
it is your ignorance
your denial of us.
that braids our backs into golden rope
that can not break.
you throw us garbage
we make stars. while giving birth.
gross. gross. gross. miscalculation.