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"I think what struck me most about the movie was, the men weren't saying that the law was fair. They were saying that it wasn't, but that it needed to stay that way. It needed to stay unfair, because if they gave women the same opportunities as men, then men wouldn't be in power. Women would take the jobs and roles that men had always been given. It wasn't that they didn't think they were disenfranchising women.

It's that they knew they were, and they wanted it that way."


O, sir! O, snivelling, swollen man!

You are chicken meat and bird bones, sighing snuffles and nasal tones.

All your knowledge is known to me, and yet you treat me as some kind of mean green Internet queen, some kind of blithe yawning broad, some kind of child with ****** eyes and dripping lips, instead of the mother Isis that I am, instead of a woman who is barely crammed into the bristly confines of her self-concept, let alone your own!

You are snob-hardy and spiteful, sir. You are nosesome and noiseish. You fill spaces that retract from your loatheability, and you cannot see how they do because your eyes are full of fantasia and fear.

You are a walking ham-hock. You swagger and talk as if that slight edge to your jawbone grants you the same *** appeal as a Hemsworth, but you do not know all that women see in a Hemsworth. You do not care for all that women see. You splutter and shout when a woman dares speak a fiendish reality out loud instead of staying prim and ***** and proper and pretty. All that women see is that you are garbage, you are below garbage because garbage has someone who cared enough to throw it out. Women do not care enough to throw you out. They do not care to fix you, for you are somewhere beyond broken, somewhere for which there are no words. Language cannot hold the reprehensibility of your core.

You are disgusted by women who behave ****. You are disgusted by women who enjoy behaving ****.

O, to think the world was created for you! That blisscious ignorance, that bilious sucrosic worldview. That gift that your father granted to you. It bears such dripping fruit. To think that all of that was moot!

To think that a woman dare exist not for you.

Sir, have you ever said something, and, out of the corner of your eye, you witnessed the women in the room glance at each other? Sir, if glances could speak! O, sir, that glance said, "He is not our equal. He is not grown. He is a boy in man's clothes, he is a frightened yelping beastchild playing at CEO and ROI, at working in skyscrapers and reading the newspapers. He is lustful and laughable. Let him never become one of our own."

Supercilious, insolent man! Haughty, uppity boy! Unreasonable to the extreme! You are superficial, optional in my life, in the lives of all women. To us you are in grayscale, unevolved, uninvolved with our validity and our pride. You are oafish and numb, defensive with nothing worth defending. To instruct you to self-reflect conjures an image of you folding yourself through your legs, circling around your core, over your back, and doing this again and again, all the while whining and snorting that there is nothing to see here.

Do you not see the exhaustion in viewing this masterful display of amateurity? O, sir. O, unlovable ******. It is so tempting to dream, even for a moment, that you really, truly believe you are in the right. O, what euphoria to think that perhaps you are a nice man, that you mean well, that you just don't know any better, and that the tar that flows from your slippery lips was stuffed down your gullet by cruel society. To think that it is not original, to think that somewhere, deep in your egocentric belly, there is a valve waiting to turn it all off.

I despair that there is no valve. The certainty, deep inside my confusing womanhood, deep inside my mysterious uterine canals and my awful "unknowability" (that every determined woman has come to know), terrifies me.

The benefit of the doubt.

Whom does the doubt benefit?
would love feedback on this one! tried to play with word sounds and meter a bit. inspired by mary gaitskill and RBG.
I used to know you,
You used to know me,
I was told to hold you higher.
You were told I pushed you down.

I am a ***** Owner,
That must make you my *****,
Or so I am told.
Or so you are told.

I am entitled and in charge,
You are oppressed and left to discard,
Or so you tell me.
Or so I tell you.

I may speak freely,
You may only speak with permission,
So why must I bite my tongue?
So why do you shout at my sons?

When I go left I am a hero, a champion.
When you go right you are a trader to your kin.
You tell me I hate.
They tell you to hate.

I want to know you as I have before.
You say you know enough.
My canvas is blank, you've taken my brush.
I say the portrait you paint is unfamiliar to me.

You tell me to hush.
Justyn Huang Jan 8
I have a micropenis...
And it really doesn't ****
As much as I thought it would
Mainly cause no girl wants
An imaginary ***** going anywhere
Near them, I mean they have ******
For that.

So I'm suing every ***** company
For making products that promote
A false sense of self worth and an
Incredibly over-inflated beauty standard
That is all but impossible to ever live up
To: basically anything larger than 0.5cm
is up for grabs.
(Except mine-- which is never grabbed)

Wanna hear a sexist double standard?
Girls have the "itty bitty ***** committee"
But guys have no "teeny weeny peeny task force"
Le sigh~ ***** to ****
Or to never at all
An inside joke between me and my friend that I'm not taking overboard XD
The Mellon Jan 2
This land is your land,
This land is my land.

This land is our land,
But Not a black land,

Not from sea to shining sea.

Attention Mexicans everywhere!

This land is not your land,
This land is our land,
Home of the free!
(Some requirements apply)

God bless America,
Where at least I know I'm free,
Home of the ignorant,
Yet land of the free,
(Skin color based exceptions)

Happy Happy new Year!
New year to You and Me!

Happy Happy new year,
Except for your country,
(Build the wall!)

Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel,
I made it out of clay,
If the makers Muslim,
Please don't explode I pray.

America the beautiful,
As hypocritical dumpster fires tend to be.
This is a sarcastic poem depicting the worse of America. I do not believe these racist sexist etc. comments.
Luca C Jan 1
We have
Such little time on this
pile of dirt
- that most of us call a planet which its doom is at our fingertips -
and we choose
to pick each other apart
from the color of our skin
to the sounds that accidently escape our lips
and we dont even realize
that we will still die,
holding the hand of who we chose,
and we will still die,
with the same shade of skin
and the same clothes on our bodies.
so don't ask me
i go to the bathroom with
my girlfriend
                           when I've had my best friend drugged
                        and almost kidnapped alone in the restroom
why i yell at boys who say that "its ***"
and explain to me
that it means ******,
                          when my brothers kiss boys in the night
                             and my parents preach the words of
               their god, and the impurity of sinners like them

or why                                         
i try to compliment
every person I see
        when the boy i knew forever  thought he would look better in a

because theres enough                             
                     on this mound
                          of dirt
I have done my fair share of hurting people and i regret more than I will ever be able to describe
Jo Nov 2018
Do not call me by your nicknames
I can see the poison dripping off your tongue
Do not touch me without consent
This body is mine and mine alone
Do not tell me to stay quiet
My words could spark a revolution
Do not try to control me
My power is unbridled and vicious
Do not mistake me for weak
I am a force to be reckoned with
Another repost from my old account
Scarlet McCall Oct 2018
Feet dangling above the floor;
it’s what happens when you’re five foot four.
Chairs are made for people five foot eight.
When you’re five foot four, it’s easy to hate.
These armrests don’t support my arms--
the designer didn’t care about such harms.
The seats are for those with longer thighs.
Is it that the manufacturer didn’t realize
that half of humans average five foot four?
Or they didn’t care? And wait, there’s more:
Conference tables are too high.
The height’s just right—if you’re a guy.
Furniture is designed for men, and this is a reason why women develop back, neck, hip and knee problems.
Adya Jha Oct 2018
My body is a temple
My bleeding is divine
My womanhood is spiritual
In ways that an intolerant devotee like you cannot understand
So when you barr me from entering Sabarimala
Remember that you can't stop a goddess
Saraswati is wise but her rage is wild and merciless
Lakshmi will create earthquakes that will devastate
Durga will pierce your heart with her spear
Parvathi will leave her abode and run into the streets
Kali will destroy you in unimaginable ways
They reside within us
We will cut our feet on your shattered glass
We will shout till our voices become hoarse
An army of neglected women will create a tsunami
Till you're on your back, crying
Till you give up your apparent 'religion-saving'
Helpless, wailing
And bleeding
The Supreme Court of India ruled that not allowing women in their “menstruating years” into the Sabarimala temple is against the constitution, and all women should be allowed to enter the temple. This was met with a lot of opposition from the conservatives and the entry of women into the temple was blocked by protestors.
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