Hip Service
By Julian Malek

The zeal of cobblestone tolerance arrayed in fashionable hues masquerading as crimson secrecy, elevates the tide of man but some boats leak in their foundations. Therefore a cork to every exuberance and a triumphant torch for every sorrow lives onward in collective time. Larks that abound because prescience and PUGET sound, that brown has become the new orange which in turn prowls as a concealed swarthy black. To antagonize the willful and frenetic pace, a prodrome of lasting but memorialized disgrace. Should I move to a state by first or last name, or is the final appellation worthy of much more lasting fame. I scurry down the aisles, bemused by shimmering tiles and the beguiled audiences who see much in my limitation but doubt little about my debited elation. Ringmaster Barnum, how much horticulture is needed for assured superstardom, how many cloisters must we evacuate from the incendiary plumes of a metaphorical Harlem..  But know that no virtual reality can supplant the reality that does truly exist, or at least our time is too infernal and purblind to resist. Carrey the tops of mountains in the humor of wellsprings and fountains, we engage a menagerie of egos lilting of an etiolated pragmatic concern. Evicted from paradise, littered with say-cheese demise ensnaring three blind mice eaten alive by snake-eyed vice. To feel good without incorporated tyranny, we must see blue and red as alternatives to the same destiny. A world that reckons with the futilitarianism of pacified malcontent and astroturf monikers that lead the impressionable into a slaughter shed. Established or not, any enchantment under the sea must include fishes once a pastiche of me, but to them I avoid their courtesy flush and never even faintly blush as my egalitarian statements are lavish thrush.

Five TO Won baby one in 99, everyone here aboard the titanic stays alive, you got your boat baby and I got mine, gonna make it with babies numbered in surreal primes. Halt the slots game the nines, a stitch in time is going to turn out to be Mine. Flanger goals, girded piles, liminal like an aborted Harry Styles, we climb mountains we issue tithes, and the turmoil is etched into 45-notched bludgeons and two-tucked knives. Excuse you, where have you been all day, have you been sauntering in a gentle rain or a genteel pain, have you wallowed beyond the mires of doubt and ranked above David Blaine. I hope you tell me of your magic tricks, rather than your other flicks endeared I stand to fight an ineradicable itch. But if not, you placid pond dented by so many rocks and so many ripples give your heart over to me, before I clinch the special Olympics *******, we ran, we span the homespun garments of your left and right hand, but death is a specter that ghoulishly carouses along the carousel terminal disease we call life. I beseech your deepest affection and want to console you for your deepest struggle, to be there every time wed with time rather than a throttled scuttle. Moons make you guarded but maroons leave me desiccated, don’t ever let that wilted flower die, always water it with a rich but gentle ties and widened deck for all to at once marvel and pry.  Monsters of Mars Attacks once flanked my bed, as though the **** brain scared every gooseflesh and restrained every frisson of mystery. I lampoon myself for those cold Dark Knights and the protection ended by the plight of the poor mattering nothing to the deliberately internecine rich. I struck gold in a valley somewhere, an oxymoron of paradox that now you have the privilege to dock, to stay aboard to be a vessel of peace less widely deplored. Even if we don’t sprout wings, we garner the exactitude of measured things and our glass elevator though easily shattered by the glower of enslavement is actually our vista to heaven or listening to brethren tingles for rich mans trinkets and other things. For humanity deserves a legend and a princess, a regimented desuetude and a flanged lust but in our mistakes wildly flouted in momentary moments we become purified by the temptations of an alabaster palace.

***** the left-field wisdom of a pragmatic paragon ellipsis in prison, slip between the cracks and let my suburban muse become your urban ruse. To enchant a caged world beyond a reality delicately and deliberately unfurled. Squirming toads on highways enchanted but dead, are graves for the blue becoming purple in every dignified red. Gainsay assaults me with platitude, a repeated hitter quit on the first bunted ball into foul-line territory. Those gripes are swiped right in all circumstance no matter the plight. The pronged hearing of a trident sensitive to ambient collection, and suddenly we are all in the mad house even though the house of profaned pain is much worse. Glimpses of gambits that gambol for nickels in transit as occult grenades and known dice waddle through without artifice or device, and the laughter and slaughter that trains collegiate minds, differs no more than the tropes of a glamorous violence articled in sordid rhymes. This surfing movie means so much more than Surf Wax America pristine in limited but sacrilege nirvana. Teen spirits smell muskier than 90s pop dreams, the grasp and grunge of gouged eyes becomes a mummified staid, a scarecrow to those who disobey. Childhood flashes with blinding light, and new sight illuminates darkening blight, A blight eradicated only by two magazines and including one that houses the bullets that ***** themselves between death and comatose dreams both within astral sight. Littoral harbor on a seaside town, a shanty with a brackish gown that glides the gourmand to the cosmopolitan eatery on the outskirts of lost & found. But forever lost in embonpoint and forever gained in chavish that exonerates the gaunt, the etiolated prince in heart becomes irrefutable marrow in minded souls.

If I am a spy you are an ESPY, and if I cry than you are a baby,but since neither are the case my wiseacres will cultivate lava lamp dreams for a new generation and suddenly Boston bets on Harvard, but who knows of this piped blather squirming for relevance rather than voguish but temporary chatter. My regatta knows how to swim, my life now knows how to cringe and yet still win and in stilted plays of bungled sincerity the God of peace reminds us of our transcendent personalities. That we in sincerity top the barnacles of invention a novelty but a rarity. But the guillotine quill of emboldened unscripted parvenus ruthless in their eager dues, outdate and outlive the sued swayed blues that indemnify Clinton and make the atomic dog an amazing Winston hill a church often in sheltered disuse. Imps and urchins sting the sentiment, cloy the alimony of repentant betterment, but neither touches the gilded skies of pleonasm striving for raspy disguise as to dissuade further diatribe investigation. Lurking in those scared days of youth, the gore of unalloyed horror scourged me with a limp, that compassion itself could ever become a gimp. Now years later athletics better and scoring goals making the mildew sweat and the years wetter, not a global warming that can be alarmed by global mourning. Take peace at heart if distanced spears of separation make Idiocracy as a pastiche look exceedingly smart. And spar only with the true antagonists bridging malevolence with expedience. Killjoys sure, will joy even more sure, but still boys fluttered heart stopping dead at a stop-watched alarm the worst tragedy of our sordid sort. Give an African Child a real home rather than a spatial roam, a palatial desiccation of momentary Jonas Brothers snapping back at captives with sexualized foam.

Narrative blinds shuttered in an Island among mountains hardly ever wiser to sanitize the sanitarium among the wasps of stung power. Police crumple their uniforms as they prowl down the avenues, looking for misfits and widened platitudes. Somehow that the vigilance of those corrupted by their very career choice, look even worse when megalomania of private is the limelight of public, to their defense few turrets I can muster but castles in the sky will be the apartheid judge. Those that cling to virtue to eradicate Porsche-driven faked or real deaths at the most breakneck speed, that Fast & Furious operation if disclosed completely would turn the Shire of the ring into the hatred curtailed by a song in Sing-Sing. Immunity must not Yoda implore, that livery Liverpool marooned on islands can also to deplore the R.E.D. and still whet the sharpened stead and the fly-by-night Manchester United alights like militant peer pressure for wranglers in tights. But beating the Beatles at a game of Walruses and egg-shelled eyeful towers likely impedes rinkside hockey from anything over bellicose ballyhoo…it exists as a transient fixated glower. But who knows about soccer speculation when love is the transcendent temptation, when nest-egg hens rather than neglecting rig Bens of clockwork and clocked words designed arise better for their token ken. Do I must repeat the subtext of submarines, yellowed as though ugly unused as though unseen, as though the quixotic earthquakes of tintinnabulations Avatar dreams. Wafted souls console the disheartened thoughts of a dashed dream that Berlin hates more than a Furor’s unbridled and useless scream.
Demotic clips slinging from the bedridden silence of a token moon and its token friends, swimming in a shore of ambiguity whether history mellows or whether its furor melts away momentary doubts. I want to avoid the sting rays exorcised by due providence and become the amalgamated talents gentry and of course the upstart swagger of Jack Dawson. But with the psy-op going on, the people manipulated on all sides of a gray picket fence will the relationship bloom without muttered dissent or pretended smiles. Will we take upon the shuffled shuttle and dig with shovels deep-rooted Christmas trees and toast our lives to Dos Equis. We may never go out of style, but the treacle of illuminated imagery when divorced from sentiment bristle shows a swagger that prioritizes rather than amalgamates all love. I love being brash and brazen and honest because when she finally ditches the grandstand of delayed frenemies fandoms of other tinsel decorations without any substance beyond meretricious thrill. You want a roller coaster on some days, but most often you want the nutcracker to elope to secret hiding places. Swim with adventure not just in love, not just in affection with the starlight now matter how luminous, sixpence all the richer is no centuries any poorer and we could be that gilded couple of star and screen and if we ever have to scream, let our screams unite us in passion, rather than a milquetoast deference to pedestaled beauty. but of course the end times don’t laugh at your crumpled wizened relapse. Not out of convenience wed by a discriminating genetic harvest moon but a deeper engagement that flatters when stylish and bristles when romantic but never defiled, never riled of specious pretense. Promise me that you will always remember me in my flaws and my faults, in my scause factory destructions and the penults of PEN-ULTIMATE wisdom that comes before the grace of God in the annihilation of passion for eroded omission. If your goal is to be remembered, check that out…but the most admirable goal is as the propinquities of souls dusted in the wind returning to a spring equinox of passion and if you find in yourselves reservations do not depart from sacred land, and never jilt me because of a boisterous and menacing friend. You are everything to me right now, and I Hope this persists despite the vicissitudes of star-favored afflictions mixed with utter benediction without the pontification of stilted Benedictines  or rather the hyped ludic effrontery of termagants being made of younger and younger women. Leave it at this ,32 leaves the royal secret in royal hands and the Knights Templar and us we altogether hold hands, if only a prelude for a masquerade ball. But the stilted embarrassment of crestfallen time, let that be relegated and emphatically lets embrace what is like to not ever need a real white horse to get back into your favor, because we never go out of style we can brandish the best elements and reject the sentiments of the too newfangled and the too stodgy. We in our crenellated pleonasm can eager ride the lightning to another tomorrow and another yesterday and if even not that, we virtually make an indelible impression of embroidered love not too distant in ivory towers and not to vulgary( catering to popular sentiments) to become a trash glam movement. We soar, others deplore but let their purblind doubts render them blind to our burgeoning love.

Forget the brisk trees dangled in the wind on winding paths through haunted forest or remember them because of ghoulish fortress but with our apotropaic lamp we can avert most evil and call the rest fun and gains and shun but fames never profaned, never inalterable a destiny to magical to be some whimpered catcall. Or we could linger beneath lambent street lights disguised as though wilted garb, attrition of circumstance waiting patiently for the matinee and the vintner to escort us beyond the garb of pretense in a city so abundant with it that it deserves castigation. But I digress, a beachside cliff overlooking tepid waters tumultuous in their power but august in their noises, the cadence of love will sing a half-moon bay on full-moon nights and we will frisk each other like grasping at straws of permanent tracks trammeled of the elite and a sidetracked basque bet. Trim those antlers and instead grow metaphorical wings, to us we all sing but few can match your elegance and everyone would be crazy not to see your ennobled age and together thrilling songs to emulate thriller in sales we will collaboratively sing.
Haughty sneers from lifeless lycanthropy straggling furtively along the pastiched sidewalks of grime, livid because they can’t share the lingering limelight, with as many guarded perks of privacy clambering like a hive of snarky sharks. Lets ditch the big town dreams in terms of posh and stature if only for a caressed moment beneath the unadulterated stars and if you find spars **** to the extent they are amiable than I say guess what my name is Lars! Or wait a second, paused in the big city spotlight our stenciled hearts will guide whatever progeny is yours or mine or ours together we will sing the most comforting lullaby, and caves no longer must we abide. Yearn and earn every inch, as I gripe with my delicate saddened pinch but I think the innuendo speaks . Ripen with our trips to Napa, long afternoon sunsets swim in our hearts as we taste the vanguard’s toast on elegant wine.I console with entreaty to disavow the omen of that San Franciscan church October 2008, the doom implied by Einstein, the raillery of a world grinding down the endless decadence of a railed future inalterable in destiny or partialy amenable to widespread coquetry.

Forget those rumbles in your past that made you feel partial to insecurity and learning the ropes you transcended all and live in all eternity. Thimble and brook, tolerant of all those tokes I took your rebellious side flattens the yeast of Exodus raspy in its begrudged clapping. But the Pharaoh of the modern world sheltered me under his prickly thorns, shielded me from the sickly things that life adorns. We have the numbers on our side, the weight of destiny on our shoulders, dedicate yourself to yourself and I will preen the most vibrant wisdom and love will leap like Apollo across all borders not for camel-****** hoarders. We are culminated destiny in the wings of the best daydream

It's before first-period...
My teachers see me walking down the hallway and rudely gawk at my body as if it's some sort of disgrace.
Flash forward...
My teacher calls the assistant principal down to 'approve' my clothes.
I'm sent to the office to find out my mother was on her way.
The same mother who has to work every day to make a living, and to pay for my clothes.
The same mother who's making eighty-one cents to my principal's dollar.
The same mother who taught me to love my body and how to look appropriate.
The same mother who approved and complimented me, only an hour before, earlier that morning.
The bell for the second period rings.
I'm still sitting in the office.
Because wasting my time over what I'm wearing is more important than my education. Right?
I can hear the whispers of my degrading school's staff.
A few higher established adults to an 'outfit check'.
Quickly after, the assistant called my name.
I gulped down my fear and anxiety, as I stood up.
Then I'm sent into a room.
The dullest, dark, and grayest room I have ever entered.
"Hello Lina, we're gathered here to talk about your outfit today."
A tee shirt dress with shorts underneath.
It reminded me of when I was in the fifth grade.
Girls were told that we needed to cover ourselves up because boys thought about our bodies in a ****** manner, and if we dressed a certain way and something happened, it was our fault.
It's getting close to the third period when my mother arrives.
After the constant duel to what seemed, death, with words, I got to go.
I didn't have to change this time.
I was lucky.
Lucky that a teacher came to my defense along with my mother, and told them my outfit was fine, and I couldn't help that I was a curvier girl.
Instead of focusing on what girls are wearing, maybe we should tell boys to keep their hands to themselves and grow up.
Because that's what the girls have to learn from an early age.
Our bodies shouldn't be over sexualized for what's covering them.
Girls are **** shamed and dress coded everywhere because of what we wear.
What if we focused on teaching students to be mature young adults, rather than disgusting pigs who apparently can't handle a girl who shows her shoulders?
Let's all obsess over real world problems.
Not what someone wears, or if it's distracting to boys.
Just when someone starts having confidence (which is a victory in itself), we're torn down based off of the clothes we put on our bodies.
Girls are taught that it's our fault.
Boys can just open and claim your body, like some kind of book.
Even when the only word printed is NO.
We struggle in our bodies from such a young age.
Instead of worrying about a girl's apparel, let's worry about the men who need to learn to control themselves.

"The female body is a beautiful thing."
How dare you suggest such a thing?!
The female body is not designed for romantic beauty - no
It is designed for pleasure,
The pleasure of every man out there.
Even if the woman eyes out women rather than men,
Man will still take pleasure,
But as a fetish - as a kink.

*****.
The bigger, the more painful.
But who cares?!
The bigger the better.
With ******* designed for flicking and ******* on in order to "turn her on"
Do you forget what their initial purpose is?
Do you forget the pain she went through to birth her children?
And the struggle of breast feeding?
Of course not.
You just don't care.

"The female body is a beautiful thing."
Yes it is beautiful - **** even.
Designed for the pleasure of men.
Shaved as smooth as the women men watch not so secretly.
*** is not supposed to be enjoyed by the woman - she is the enjoyment, the entertainer.
Womankind is not designed to be loved nor cherished.
Womankind is designed for *** and nothing more than that.

Let me tell you something: everything that you just read is not true - and yet this is what today's young people are being taught.
Girls believe that they cannot be popular without being sexualized; they wear revealing clothing, send nudes and will even go as far as having *** just to feel beautiful.
And even then she will be called a *****, a ****, a *****.
Girls are being taught that this is normal - that it's okay.
It is not okay.
Girls should not feel that they have to give their all to everyone and keep nothing for themselves.
Girls should be able to feel happy and positive on their own - without being told that they are **** by some ***** middle aged man.

So here is my message to every girl out there:
You are beautiful* and don't let anyone tell you differently.
Don't let society pressure you into doing, saying or wearing certain things that you are uncomfortable with.
Don't let men use and manipulate you.
Your body is *your property and nobody else's and it is not designed to be sexualized by men.
One day you will find the love of your life who will protect and cherish you and treat you the way you deserve.
But always remember:
Be true to yourself and be happy.

I am told that I should love my body,
and I should not be ashamed.
BUT the white, conservative men tell me otherwise, making me feel nothing but shame.

When did it become okay for a male's education to be more important than a woman's rights?

When did it become okay to sexualize a woman just because her shirt does not cover her rear end?

This is apparent in the things my teachers have told me.
"Your shirt must be fingertip length when wearing yoga pants," she said.
"Why?"
"Because the males that sit in the class might be too destracted to listen to my lecture."

We are treated like *** toys.
Us girls are used for nothing more than a mans pleasure, so they imply.

This is MY body, and no one else's.
I may do what I please,
and no one should have a problem with it.

I refuse to be sexualized and treated like we are living in the 1920s.
But I must conform and live in fear of my consequences.

**** culture is real,
and school's are promoting it.

The words are my paint
My brain is the canvas
If you searched inside
You wouldn't be able to handle it
Dark subject matter
Gore and lust
Feelings of anxiety, Scared to trust
Hurt before, hurt me no more
My brain is riddled with you
I can't betray
Never untrue
It's a blast from the past
When I see your ***
It reminds me I'm sexually charged
I can't control the demons I pull
When I see your body unclothed
Anger,retreat and the feeling of defeat
When I know I'm not alone
Wasting away , wasting a day
Talking to you on the phone
You asked me my size and to my surprise
You said I was full of ****
I told you its true
and I promised it too
and 3 days later I was filling up you.



Dress to impress me darling
My impressions are the world
Sprawled out on my bedspread
Letting your dress be unfurled
Honey, I've seen you naked
But I've never seen you like this before
An after effect , I must be direct
Cut to the chase, your no disgrace
Your moister then a florida day
I've never seen you act this way
Hedonistic views,blaming it on you
Cut to the chase, your no disgrace

I was seven years old the first time a teacher told me my tank top was inappropriate.
To cover my shoulders,
Cover up,
Close my mouth.
I was seven years old the first time my body was sexualized without my permission.
My body was sexualized without my permission
Before I even knew what that meant.

In the fifth grade I wore long sleeves,
To cover up a different kind of shame.
The kind of shame you give yourself when you’re tired of everyone else’s.
The kind of shame that bleeds before it heals into perfect pink lines,
Parallel with one another because something had to be perfect in my life even if I wasn’t.
But my teacher only noticed the sleeve that fell off my shoulder,
Told me to cover it,
Cover up,
Close my mouth.

I stood in the streets of Paris in eleventh grade, not feeling romantic at all
As I escaped an uncomfortable encounter,
Approached by a man on the subway.
My teacher tugged on the hem of my skirt,
“You dress like this because you want attention”, she said.
It was my fault, she said, because my clothes told him I wanted it.
Wanted him in my personal space, close enough to my face
To smell his breath.
Asking for it.
I should have been covered up.

What I heard in school were the words
****,
*****,
*****.
What I heard my teachers say was applied to girls,
Not women.
Little girls being taught that when we are born female,
We are born with shame engraved into our skin,
Into our hearts.
The only anatomy I ever learned in school,
Was my shameful own,
And to cover it.
Cover up,
Close your mouth.

An era of feminism,
Which should never be questioned.
Empowering women
To strive, and strive again.

We speak of desexualization.
To free the ******,
Unveil carnal harassment,
And speak our minds.

But we can be sightless
Toward the sexualization of man.
The way we view testosterone
As broad shoulders and shirtlessness.

Do not sift through my words!
I believe in the power feminism.
But I am disappointed
With the sexualization of man.

We're determined to trump the blurred *****...
Yet drool over a man in Calvin Klein.
We frown upon the "Perfect Body" campaign...
But applaud a "built" man.

I wish for bodies to be just that:
Bodies.
For sexualized men and women
To be more than carved features.

I am a faceless creature
Turned into a sexualized doll
Little girls soon will grow into a toy
Watch your back little girl
Be beautiful
Be the someone the beast wants you to be
Evil is real
Love is rare
They want you for that moment in time
Not because of your worth
But because of those pretty little legs they can spread
Lie their turning the sound of your crying into a sexualized moan
They won’t even know their pleasure
Is the same scars you cut into your body
Trying to get them out of you

At 15 we were women
And at 12 we were sexualized, scrutinized , afraid , wary , shameful .

Plain Sight is the best place to hide something,
What do you stand for?

We are made from the creative ****** force,
So don’t tell me that I must be dressed up like a pig after slaughter to experience
Sexuality….
I’m made from an ******.
I’m an ******’s repercussions…
And I won’t be told any different
No matter how “scary” you make *** sound
I’m pure ENERGY WALKING.
I’m a cosmic bliss wave flowing….
What do you stand for?
At 15 we were women , but we didn’t know what it was to respect our wombs for the stargates they are.
At 12 we were sexualized , scrutinized , afraid , wary , shameful of the natural blooming of this  cosmic force, sneaking looks at naked ladies on the internet
but we didn’t know how to respect that shaking energy that called out
so we hid it  , underneath our pillows.
Plain sight is the best place to hide something , and right there on the cover of The Sun or Daily Star is the most powerful force for change on this planet.
A woman…
And her ****** power –
If a woman can create a child from her own energy systems in 9 months
Then what do you think that power could do to a project or idea
Over .. say 5 years…?
What you stand for is where you invest your attention.
But for now we march on –
Because there are forces mightier than any human being
And they move despite all our frantic pride and jealousy ,
hatred and pain
they move in our heartbeats and in that solar flare , or the pulsar star on the other side of the universe
they move in the spaces dark energy
they move
crescendos rising
majestic beyond any king or queen
holy like you’ve never been privy to
the forces that move in the wild flowers breath
power the changes on our planet .

Balance is coming
Will you be in balance?

Today I accidentally saw a preview of; The News;
a disabled sixteen-year-old girl, a victim of abuse
god
The accused is a priest. A round man in a long black cassock
And a snip view from mass of another priest plays shortly
My face turns green as my mood turns blue
He says he has a holy feeling, that the accusations aren’t true.

A cult; /kʌlt/ noun
‘a system of religious veneration and devotion directed towards a particular figure or object.’
We show our devotion, we kneel and give thanks
He applies lotion, looks at a child and wanks.
god
Everyone is entitled to their beliefs, and to the respect of those beliefs.
My belief is that no human is superior to another human.
A priest is only a man.
And this man in the long black cassock had a plan.
And this child will remain terrorized forever.

People should be held accountable for their actions.
Women’s lives are not to be of similar value to male satisfactions.

An article on ‘The year of ‘Times Up’ and ‘Me Too’ movements has been a dangerous year for men.’
Every year from the beginning of time has been a dangerous year for a woman.
Innocent men are not in danger.

I was sexualized and assaulted at the age of eleven. #MeToo
I wasn’t wearing a short skirt. I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t provocative.
I was playing chase.
For years after that game of chase
I had nightmares featuring his face

This is not your place to say this year is dangerous, for men.
Times Up

As a young girl,I was taught that I shouldn't hate boys,I shouldn't fight back to them regardless of what they did to me because it wasn't ladylike,they probably only did it because they liked me and boys will be boys,right? I tried to remind myself that when in fourth grade,I went home with cuts and bruises because a boy was ****** that I did better than him on our English test and he wanted to get even with me.I didn't fight back because as my teacher had always said,"that's just how it is,honey,boys will be boys".It was one of the two things that she had said to me that never left my mind,along with the reminder of how a real boy and a real girl can be distinguished from the "others".
I was twelve when I was molested repeatedly but I didn't do or say a thing except try to get out of this *****,wretched skin because it was probably my own fault, I shouldn't have such precocious ******* at an early age.
Ha!What was I thinking?Going through puberty like that,looking all sexualized when I know that grown men cannot control their urges.
Stupid little girl, how could she forget that boys will be boys?
I was thirteen, when I was told about the "proper" way to dress and act because I might provoke the boys and they could be ruined for life.
I was fourteen when I was first told what my hips,my thighs,my legs,my bottoms and my chest should be like,in the way that most boys like.
Because the only way I'll ever validate my existence is when a boy takes me as his and to do that I should be what most boys like:
not too tall,not too short,not too skinny but also not fat,witty,funny and smart but I also need to know when to shut the hell up.
And I can't change that because it's the unspoken rule in our world,and no,I can't try to convince the boys either (my ability to know when to shut up is put to use here,because it doesn't matter if you're the oppressed, you need to shut the hell up and grovel before the patriarchy just like everyone else) because that's just the way they are and boys will be boys.
I was fifteen when I witnessed the torture that some of my guy friends experienced because they acted like "girls",as if my gender is an insult, as if being a girl automatically makes you weak and helpless.(Since when did being supposedly invincible and not crying made a boy a real man?I don't think that's what real masculinity is about.Does being a real man or woman come with corresponding terms and conditions?)
It was only a few months ago when a ****** walked free despite destroying the life of a college girl.He did not get convicted because she was reportedly drunk and he was a boy and boys will be boys. (So, who will take the blame?the alcohol or the girl?were they the ones who forced themselves on someone against that someone's will?)
This case took me back to a decade ago when one of my best friends was sexually abused by an older man but nobody helped him, they told him to just toughen up, **** isn't real for him because he was a boy and boys will be boys.
And I wonder,when will these monsters finally be convicted for their crimes?
When will the guilty boys be held accountable for their actions?
When will the pain of other boys finally be considered valid,when will being of the *** that they are stop making them "not really victims"?
When will one's gender stop being an excuse or in some cases—serve as a derogatory name?
When will the screams,cries and pleas of women abused and victimized everywhere be loud enough for you?
Loud enough so that you might actually feel their agony creep in your bones,consume your whole being that all you'd want to do is crawl out of your skin,loud enough so that you might actually begin to understand how it feels like to be us,objectified and dehumanized,loud enough so that you might actually hear the pleas of boys and other men everywhere,asking to be freed from gender roles that limits their ability to exist beyond labels or to feel pain.
I wonder just when will you stop using my gender as an insult,just when will you stop telling the world how a real man or woman should be?
Please do tell because the little faith in humanity that still resides in us is slowly fading.
From where I see it,I feel as if there's no hope.
There will be no hope as long you all remain slaves to bigotry and the patriarchy.
I guess,there's no hope for your mothers,daughters,even other boys and young girls like me as of this time.
And maybe,when another rabid man decides that he wants as his meal for the day,like I am meat,like I am something to be consumed and spent,I would just have to accept my fate.
Maybe,as my lifeless and ravished body lies motionless in an alley somewhere, you would be shaking your head, condemning the girl who was stupid enough to walk alone at night,unaccompanied,the girl who was "asking for it" because she wore "revealing"clothes,the girl who probably got what was coming for her because she didn't know when to shut her mouth,the girl who thought she could exist the way she wanted when she knew full well that there are rules,stigmas and that boys will be boys.
-W.L.A.C

There's nothing wrong with la la land,
But,
For me,
It is a reminder that there just aren't movies like that,
For me,
That display my love,
Accurately.

I don't get,
Musicals,

Or duets,
Or colorful sets,

I don't get pretty dresses,
Twirling in an over head shot,

I get over sexualized,
And movies,
That are not,
Actually,
For me.

Why is literally everything over sexualized except for realistic body types? All women have cellulite. All women have rolls when they sit down or lean one hip to the side. All girls jiggle somewhere when they walk--and I'm not talking about their ******* ****.
I'm talking about feeling your legs and belly jiggle, wishing you didn't care, feeling less and less **** every day. Feeling like a stranger in your own skin like you put on the wrong meat suit one morning and misplaced your old one.
I'm talking about skinny taking over everything, and my own skinny being considered plus-sized. I'm talking about looking in the mirror, utterly disgusted by your own body because the world tells you that you need to change.
I'm talking about feeling guilty after eating anything; not eating, binging, and dressing in layers to hide how you really feel about how you really look. I'm talking about how hard it is to love yourself, when the world tells you the only women deserving of love are sizes 2 and under...and if they are bigger, they can only have curvy hips and a tiny waist, both of which you have to be born with to achieve. Having a wide rib cage and a wider everything else is something I was born into....and I can't change it enough:
My legs rub each other raw when I walk, and I'm too tall for heels. I have bruised hips from hitting doorways and edges because I misjudge how wide I really am.
I'm in denial.
I grab the fat on my back wishing my boyfriend would stop. I stand in front of the mirror, fighting back tears, fighting back the urge to wish for the flu. After all, the skinny girls are always bragging about how much weight they lost while home sick with one thing or another. Unfortunately, losing weight is harder for those with weight to lose.
As I put my arms to my sides and watch how far the fat expands to make my arms look like three times their size than when I was yanking at my hair in panic.
I watch how my belly looks when I slouch, when I stand up straight, and when I lean too far back in an effort to obtain a flat stomach.
Round, curvy, rounder.
It's intoxicating, sickening, but I just can't stop. I stare and I stare some more and I hate every inch. I wake up, and do this routine every morning, and every second of my day thereafter.
I'm talking about waking up every morning and making a point to avoid mirrors throughout the day, tripping over things to avoid looking down at yourself, and the constant feeling of inadequacy knowing that you'll never be someone that can walk outside with confidence knowing how easy life is as opportunities and love fall right into your lap...because you're conventionally attractive, of course.
You're too big to cuddle on a couch, or share a chair, or casually sit on your lover's lap. You'll never be lifted off the ground with ease in a romantic gesture. You'll never be able to joke about how much you eat like the skinny girls can because, unfortunately, your love of comfort in food form shows all too well.
You'll probably never have love as solid as an attractive woman would have, either. No one will ever be jealous over you because, well, who's going to steal you away but the desserts you sneak when you're alone and aching?
Alone and aching are emotions all too familiar to the less than conventional.

It's 2 am
The television is quietly mocking me,
telling me I'm too large for my skin,
and providing a simple solution:
tiny capsules of hope, plagued with consequences.
Caution: may cause nausea, infertility, and (in some cases) death;
but isn't that a fair trade for a flat stomach?
The media consumes us:
"Slim is ****, you can be **** too!"
Girls get the message from early on that
what is most important is how they look;
not the poetry they speak
or the way they move their feet
but the size of their jeans.
Women in magazines and on TV portray an unrealistic ideal of what a woman should be.
They turn into objects.
And when we lose the fight for our humanity,
we lose the fight for equality.
Misogyny is bred through the over-sexualized photographs in magazines or on the TV screen,
but so is misandry.
Men are depicted as stolid creatures,
and boys grow up being told they should conceal their emotions,
but even the strongest walls crumble with time.
Chipping away slowly at the concrete until
a flood of passion or rage overwhelms them.
The emotional tyranny of masculinity is exhausting.
Boys' role models are fit, cocky, and brute:
He-man, Superman, Spiderman; and if you can't earn that label of "man" then what are you?

We have all been brainwashed.
Tainted to believe that the image of the ideal man or woman is what we should strive towards;
and no matter how tirelessly we scrub, the idea remains;
like the residue of a bumper sticker you used to believe in.
It is too late for us, but the future holds innumerable possibilities for a better world.
A world where women are not accused of provoking **** because of their short shorts and men are offended by the idea because it suggests that they are incapable of control.
A world where men aren't seen of as weak or unmanly because they express themselves emotionally outside of their bedrooms.
A world where despite your weight, gender, race, or ****** orientation you can pursue your happiness.

it's not a problem when there's nothing to sweat,
the humidity between your fingers only exists if you let it.
disconnection from socialization is nothing immoral, more than anything, it's probable.

no eye contact at uncomfortably long red-lights,

don't try to discuss the compartimentalizing in the back of your head.

you are a molecule.
molecules are small,
you are small.

on second thought, think more about what i couldn't stand in the world
than what i would change.
consider the opportunity and bottle enthusiasm like it's a commodity.
segregate mind
from
self.
seperate syllables, content, and over-accumilation.
inside, i would never expect you to work your own way out.

and again, i spat out black, fine lined *******.
there was no more than the predetermined depth that they've come to expect from me,
i went no further than to soak my readers, then force them out still wet:
go ahead,
drip-dry from my dignity.


it's like the fire they insisted deserves to be cradled in a cage.
because freedom is threat:
consuming until she bursts into a sheet of liquidated decision.
but there is still room for appreciation:
for the consistency of
light, warmth and relativity.

swallow back a mouthful of something i cannot pronounce.
what does it matter if losing sleep makes you feel ten,
the lie is still that you're twenty-seven.
but what drove through,
down,
enough to come out the other side, is still being ignored.
my loyalty  proved as a stunt in the precious growth you claim i lacked.
just when it became lyrical the reality becomes increasingly evident,
no woman needs poetry about the sun, or the starving lions out back.

so just let me burn in the grass.
because it'd only be wasting my time,
  airing out.

it's your pope's, not my prophecy that doesn't believe
in the gravity you say
forced you to
fall
into
me.


one day you'll laugh.
one day i'll stop getting lost when i drive to new places.
one day the water will stop running from our taps.

i'm sure you realize i sexualized you,
like the young thing i am.
i should apologize,
but i'm also pretty sure you don't mind.
rewind: you'll go to waste like fine wine, and i'll drive you home over the phone.

How can I ever tell you that
in the 21st century,
as innocent as you are,
you will be sexualized.

It started with
one peak under that skim cloth
that made you an icon
Halloween costumes
turned your baby face into
the mask of a "babe"

There are no more dogs
struggling to tear your short shorts
now only mutts scattering clubs
hands dangling onto your belt loops
as if they were in the middle of a hurricane

You, Coppertone Baby, didn't know any better
you were minding your own **** business
vacationing on the beach
when somebody had the audacity to snap a picture
of your ***.
Sweet little girl,
you are us.

You are society's expectations of innocent women
so easily willing to publicize our bodies
printed on billboards
sold in magazines
You put your hair up for vanity
but we tie our hair back to avoid
violent hands
You, Coppertone Baby
will never be known as Cheri,
just like today,
we are branded into the clothes made to hide our bodies
but couldn't do it enough
we are the voiceless

We are the shadows hiding behind anatomy
we are nip-slips
we are on the front cover
of ******* magazines
You grew up not expecting it
merely existing
only knowing the words,
"mommy and daddy."

Welcome, Coppertone Baby,
to the present, not so much a gift
where your first words are now,
"thank you"
the camera is constantly pointed
constantly asking you to sit pretty
you will learn to avoid beaches
and only buy the clothes
that suffocate your skin


I know you were meant to sell sunscreen
but how can I ever buy your product
if I can't even hardly
go outside.

I have learned from a young age that I would attract a certain kind of attention. Prepped for the stares I would receive for being more well endowed in the areas that spark lust in men. From a youthful age sexualized, only sought after for one purpose. One glance and thoughts are shifted to fantasy. Never asked about feelings or emotions, just questioned about how I can satisfied needs. I am only looked at as a fun time never a long time. They all believe that because I look a certain way, that I must have all these men in my bed, and that I am only in their presence for pleasure. My sanity is often questioned, once they realize that I am not a seducer or temptress that falls in to the hands of multiple men. But they also have the mentality to wonder why someone like myself is distant, guarded and closed off.
(Looks gone to waste in their eyes, tainted in my own)

When I met you I was new, raw. Unkissed, unloved, unfucked. I was equal parts young as I was stupid. The day you left I ran around my house and counted every hole in the wall; did you know that not a single one looked like you? My mom is convinced you are a psychopath and your father thinks I was just a crazy ***** but I think you just weren’t strong enough to handle the hurricane that I am. Remember when I swam too close to the boats and you saw your life flash before your eyes?  You taught me how to clean a gun, and I wonder if you knew I thought about what it would be like to shoot you. You weren’t the first person to over-sexualize this body but you were the first person this plump, over-sexualized body loved. My therapist tells me that trying to remember the good times will help remove this lump from my throat but I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. I don’t want to remember the time we danced on the roof as the sun was setting and I laughed so hard about what a cliché that was that I almost fell, I don’t want to remember the time we laid side by side in your room with the lights off and listened to music, I don’t want to remember the night I broke, when you pressed your forehead against mine and swore we would be okay. I don’t want to remember how it felt to love you. I loved you so fully I don’t think I will ever be able to love like that again. I killed myself for you. I guess I’m bitter, I guess I’m broken. I guess I’ll never be the same, but I’m still really glad we broke up. Because for every ounce of love I had for you there was a gallon of fear, and love isn’t supposed to hurt. Love isn’t supposed to be black and blue, and that is the only “love” you know. So yeah, I’m glad you left. I’m glad you ****** her. I’m glad I kissed him. I’m glad we got away from each other before we went too far, I’m glad we got out before it killed us both.

since when did anatomy become strictly a school subject and not a ******* art? Stop practicing "oh no that's too much skin" "oh man she's a ****" "aw dude you can see her ******* poking out" "she must be asking for *** with this picture/outfit/gesture/whatever the **** it is" well I want to say I'm TIRED of the shaming, the judgement, and harassment of people, not just women but people, being themselves and showing their bodies. we are all the same, we are all human. We all have the SAME. BODY. *******. PARTS. And if you can't handle that, a fact of life that is in your face every single day, then what the hell are you doing? Skin is and will always be strictly skin; it is an amazing thing, protecting our insides and keeping us sheltered, so why are we ashamed of it? Why do we place bans and judgements and assumptions on something so beautiful and substantial to living? Why is it so sexualized that a woman can't even breastfeed her child in public without saying "ew gross I can see her *******". Who ******* cares? EVERYONE has *******, and ******* for that matter. I bet people weren't saying that in Rome when people were always naked because it was considered "purity" but now that is the opposite in today's terms. So many wonderful pieces of history are being watered down or suppressed simply because *** and ****** are too "touchy" of subjects. Well I will not let such an artistic, beautiful, and innate thing such as my body be limited to what someone has to say about it or who it offends.

Welcome to America, in 2016.
Where "all lives matter"
Except Syrian refugees
Where you can't even breathe
Without offending somebody.
Where parents are taken from their children,
Because of the color of their skin.
Where we normalize police brutality.
Where you can be a racist,
And still run for president.
Where injustice is served, with a side of GMOs.
Where the citizens of Flint have been without clean water for how long?
Who knows.
Our minds are diluted by capitalism and celebrities.
Where people will look at you crazy for saying,
"Save the bees"
Meanwhile they're out there, planning WWIII.
When you're told "your vote counts!"
But we're stuck with Trump & Hillary.
Where women on the red carpet are glamorous and sexualized,
But if you're ***** they'll ask,
"Well what were you wearing that night?"
A guy selling marijuana will serve his whole life.
Whereas Brock Turner was released in what felt like overnight.
Where white privilege has never been more real.
And our generation is learning that
"You're weak if you feel."
People being told we have nothing to fear,
Meanwhile the media is controlling what we hear.
People fighting for clean water, as if that wasn't our God-given right.
Our women are afraid to walk home alone at night.
You can work 40 hours a week, and still not make enough to live.
But if you ask for government assistance, you're a "lazy *******."
When in reality, it's just enough to feed your kids.
The Elite have created this illusion of seperation.
They have torn us apart as a world, and as a nation.
The color of our skin doesn't make us any different.
I promise you can love someone who practices a clashing religion.
Underneath it all, we're all the same.
All this person on person violence just makes us pawns in their game.
We should be coming together as humans, who have lost their humanity.
Maybe this all makes my "liberal."
But in all honesty, the current state of the world has me questioning my sanity.
Love thy neighbor, respect their spirit.
Or we won't be around much longer to experience it.

Welcome to America in 2017.
We forgot how to love one another so we were wiped out, mercilessly.
If only we had come together before we tore ourselves apart.
If we remember who we are,
We can be our own light in the dark.

i scratch my *** in school and disgust myself
im sexualized
i stand in church
listening to the priest
AMEN AMEN AMEN!!!
everybody repeats mindlessly
im thinking to myself,
everybody in here probably masturbates
i wonder if the priest watches ****
i bet
i bet they all watch childporn

(edited, updated, bigger, longer, richer, and better than ever)
(hilz says hi)
#obviouslyshepaidme
#idonthaveamindofmyown


when your opponent’s husband
(who, by the way,
is an entirely different
human being
than his wife, and is not
running for president)
has an affair,
or is accused of
****** assault,
the claims are
absolutely
100% true.
the women
must be believed.
he* is
a criminal.

your candidate will go
so far as to invite
some of those women to
the debate to
shame his opponent,
and show
how *supportive he is
of these women.
(because they are
serving his purpose).

your opponent’s husband
is a liar,
a ******,
a pig.
absolute filth
that should be
thrown in prison.

in fact,
your opponent
is even worse than him,
she attacked
those women. she
didn't believe them.
this is proof of
her hatred
of women.
(oh, the irony is
not lost on me, no sir.)

(also,
let’s pretend that
your candidate didn’t call
that exact man, your
opponent's husband,
a “victim” in regard to
the exact same situation
in 1998.)

oh wait,
i forgot you don’t care about things that
happened any
longer ago
than yesterday. unless we
are talking about
the opponent. because then
OBVIOUSLY
it doesn’t matter
when in time
she said or
did something.)
duh.

(this is what we like
to call a double standard.)

moving right along.

if the same thing
happens to your
own candidate,
accusers come forward,
OBVIOUSLY
everyone else on earth
is lying EXCEPT
him. in fact,
every accuser (i lost
track of the number)
is an absolute liar,
too ugly for assault,
and getting paid
by a massive
worldwide conspiracy,
controlled by your
political opponent who
you also describe as never
having accomplished anything
in her life.
(strange how that works.)

when your candidate’s
wife does pretty
much the exact same
thing your opponent did,
(stand by her husband)
proclaim his innocence,
and discredit the claims,
(for which you
label her
a liar,
an enabler,
an enemy of women)
it doesn't matter
anymore, because it
was your wife
saying it.
think about that for a second.

i’m just checking, guys.
i’m just trying to figure this out.

-

you do not like
that your opponent
has money. or seeks power.
that makes
her a disgusting,
horrible,
conniving,
***** *****.
(and DEFINITELY
has nothing to do
with the fact that she is
a woman).

and i guess the thing
that we are all
pretending
(right? we are
pretending this?)
that
she has
more money
than he does.
(she doesn’t).

anywhoo,
but because she has money,
she pays off literally everyone
on this blue planet.

she's probably even
paying me right now.
i'm probably a liberal
operative,
born in a lab,
bred for vengeance,
and the destruction
of these united states,
and this is
the culmination
of my life's work.
i jest.

but in fact,
your candidate has
MORE money
than her.
at least he says he does.
of course to you
this does not
matter and you
see no contradiction
in your thinking.

we don’t even
consider for
a moment that
he pays
people off.
because, yeah,
billionaires don't
have any political
connections).
but how can we
even prove it?
he refuses
to submit his
tax returns to
the public, after saying
on record that he
would, but
don’t worry about that,
we don't care that he lies.
that’s not suspicious at all.
(for the love
of everything holy,
can you imagine the
fire and brimstone
if obama refused to
release his?!)
i mean it's so
ridiculous it makes me laugh.

alrighty then, moving along, once again.

when she
changes position
on a policy,
she is a liar.
a manipulator.
cannot be
trusted,
a flip-flopper,
being swayed by
special interests.

when he does it,
he is “evolving.”
i can't even say that
with a straight face.
(and let’s not for one
second pretend
he hasn’t flip-flopped
on almost every single
issue (guns, immigration,
foreign issues, his opponent,
nukes, wars, abortion, etc.).
see link at bottom for ***** and giggles.
-

she lies. she’s a liar.
we hate liars.

you use that
as your shield.

he never lies. (a-hem)
he LITERALLY LIES on
video, contradicting
HIMSELF, and his
own campaign,
within minutes.
not even years. minutes.

i mean geez,
it’s not like you
can scour
the internet for
proof or anything.

-

he respects women.
hmmm...let us
look at the evidence, shall we?

calls women accusing him of  ****** assault
ugly, out for money, liars. all of them.
because i guess
attraction = rapeability?
(it does not)
(even though he admitted to doing whatever
he wants to do to women, without asking, in his
own words)
it's on record.

he talks about
young girls
in sexualized terms.
it's on record.

he agreed
that he doesn’t
respect women.
it's on record.

he agreed he was
a ****** predator.
it's on record.

he said it’s dangerous
for one’s wife to work.
it's on record.

he said he loses his
**** when
dinner isn’t on the table.
it's on record.

he said
he can do whatever
he wants to
women because he
is powerful
and rich.
it's on record.

women who
breastfeed are
disgusting.
it's on record.

he doesn’t like
flat chests
or fat girls
it's on record.

all women
are gold diggers.
it's on record.

he doesn’t like to
give a woman
negotiable assets.
it's on record.

dogs,
pigs,
it's on record.

he wants to
repeal roe v wade.
it's on record.

he bragged about
walking into
beauty pageant
dressing rooms
full of naked
teenage girls.
it's on record.

hmph. it’s so hard to
figure this out.

(if i could roll my eyes
any harder they would
pop right out
of my head).

these aren't even
ALL THE THINGS.
straight from
the man's own
godforsaken mouth, unedited!
not opinions.
facts.

-

although his campaign
has received millions
of dollars in free
advertising,
and his entire
life is based
upon being in
the media spotlight,

the entire media
is a left wing
conspiracy.

(unless they report
something positive.
then it's not a conspiracy
anymore, then it's true)

side note.
i guess if he wins,
we can expect to see
just a SERIOUS
overhaul of the election
process, you know,
because it's so rigged.
and the whole thing
will be brilliantly
torn down and remade
within 4 years,
and be without
criticism
before it's time
for re-election.
because he wouldn't
want us all to go
ahead and try to vote
for him again in a
rigged election.
he cares about us.

and the media will just
be torn to shreds,
you know, but still free
and everything is
going to be so fair, you guys.
i mean things are going
to be so fair you
are going to get sick of it.
and really,
he's a super sweet guy
if he accepts the
presidency in an
election he
knows
is rigged.
cuz that's what
any upstanding
citizen would do.

-

she is an insider.
(i.e., what some of us like
to refer to as a professional)

he has been
talking about
running for president
since the
1980’s,
but OBVIOUSLY
HE would never
take money
for favors.
HE hasn't been planning this.
HE would never
seek power.
HE would never
politicize things
for his own best
interest.
only politicians
do that, and
he isn't one.
HE is for
the working man.

-

please, tiny, sweet baby jesus
with tiny jesus hands
help me.

-

it’s not hypocritical
at all for
him to constantly
talk about how awful it is
that jobs are
going overseas,
even though he
does THAT EXACT THING
with his own companies.
jesus, guys.
obviously he's just SMART.
(really? is that the word
we want to use? is that the
word we use to describe other
business owners who do
the same thing? uh, no, it's not.
i'm pretty sure they are
compared to criminals,
and labeled unpatriotic.)

because if you
believe something passionately,
like you claim to,
like american goods should
be created and manufactured
in this country,
and you are a billionaire,
with vast resources,
that owns businesses,
employs people in this country,
and you love your country
and all it's people,
and you have a sense of
right and wrong,
you don't cheat.
you don't take advantage.
other businesses do it the right way
why can't you?
that's what IT ******* MEANS
to have principles.

he is an opportunist.
he takes.
see the difference?

-

when she
calls your supporters
a bad, bad thing
(a basket of deplorables?)
she is a
disgusting,
unpresidential,
elitist
***** that
can never
be forgiven.

he would never,
EVER even
think about
calling anyone names.
never ever.
(i seriously don't have
the time in my life
to even attempt to list all
the examples.) although
the new york times
did a pretty decent job.

but you do recognize sarcasm, yes?

-

jesus,
people shouldn’t get
so friggen offended
all the time!
he says.
being
politically correct
is stupid.
it’s better
to be honest, like him.
(except he's not honest)
he just says ALL
THE THINGS
we are ALL thinking
but don't have
the ***** to say.
(um...really? you can
count me out of
that particular
generalization.)

-

he is not weak,
or a coward,
or a liar,
or corrupt,
everyone
else
is.

he would never
get offended
by an snl skit
and cry like a baby
about it,
because that's absurd.

or claim
that literally everything
is unfair,
because that sounds
like a whining child.
(which his wife
compared him to).

-

when someone
accused him of rigging
a pageant,
he sued them.
because "proclaiming
fraud is serious."
the accuser is clearly
just a loser. a bad loser.
(that's what he said).
OBVIOUSLY this
does not apply
when HE
claims elections
are rigged.

also, he doesn’t care
that the GOP Primary
was rigged,
(whoops, did you
forget that was
rigged too?)
because he won.
(yep, he said that too.)

-

i see patterns here.
(i learned about patterns
in kindergarten.)

-

he spends
campaign funds
on his personal
businesses.
(we don't care)

sued
for unpaid taxes,
discrimination,
****** assault,
fraud,
ripping
people off.
(again, we don't care. actually,
all these things are
probably just
further proof of his
very level-headed,
thoughtful, and
superior intellect.)

bankruptcies,
failed businesses,
using charitable donations
to benefit himself,
(while viewed as bad
things for all other
human beings, are
actually strengths of his.
because up is down.
and quite frankly,
we.
don't.
care.)

has sued literally
thousands of times.
(i thought people
who sued all the
time were jerks?)
welp,
not him.

-

when other people
settle lawsuits
that is an
admission of guilt.
(yep, he said that)
(so did his campaign manager)

when he does it
OBVIOUSLY the
opposite is true.
and he's done it MANY times.

-

he mocked someone
with a disability.
it's on record.

-

he mocked someone
who is deaf.
it's on record.

-

he has made
disparaging remarks
about the military.
it's on record.

he incites and
encourages
violence.
again, on record.

i'm gonna go ahead and say,
not so much
into the brown people?
or the gay people.
or the woman people?
or the poor people.
or the fat people.
or the refugee people.
or the science people.
or military people.
or government people.
or journalist people
oh yeah, or education people.
or people that disagree with him.
or stupid people who pay their taxes.

but like, totally into
everyone else, like
white, male people.
that agree with him.
that are into violence.
and are rich.
and cheat the system.

he maybe sorta kinda
(ok, just flat out said it)
hinted at using the
second amendment
to **** his opponent.
on record.
god, you guys, seriously,
learn to take a joke.
because murdering your
political opponent is super funny.
i mean, it's fun, right?
it's especially funny in those
other countries. and for the murdered people.
it's not like kids are listening.
or like there are any crazy card carrying
white *** people
that think that might be a good idea.
gosh, get a grip.

said he could
shoot someone
in broad daylight and
wouldn't lose votes.
for realz? yes, for realz!

having one standard
for yourself
and the opposite standard
for everyone else
is dare i say,
the very definition of
i n e q u a l i t y.

if you think
you are
superior,
then just say so.
own that ****.

if you desire violence,
proclaim it.

if you desire inequality,
then shout it
from the rooftops.

if you think one
group should get richer
while others get poorer,
say it. support it.

if you think
women have no
value other
than the size
of their *******
and their *****,
by all means,
let us know!

because that's what he would do.
that's what he does.

don't hide behind
this excuse
of a man.

don't paint
yourself a
patriot,

regurgitate
outright lies
without doing
any research,

and don't think you
speak for
all of us.

because you don't.

pretending something is real
does not make it real.

i’m getting
tired of this.

hypocrisy
is gross.

after years of being told how good my body was
i went through puberty.

after years of being asked how much time i spent at the gym
i grew hips
and disconcerting  looks from grown men who thought my fifteen year old thighs were too thick to be sexualized.

after years of wearing sundresses
and being applauded for being the first girl in my grade to grow *****
my metabolism slowed down
and i was made to feel like a cowbell in the least practical sense of the word.

i was thirteen and hunched over a porcelain toilet bowl when i told my friend i had purged and she called me gross as if it wasn't because of feeling "gross" that i was there to begin with.

and i'd grown used to my good-gened friends with their tiny waists and size 32 jeans telling me they wanted to join a gym in hopes i'd run along and lose some weight.

because when i was 13 and weighed little enough to turn heads i felt empty while looking whole.

and when you're fat you can't have an eating disorder, because illness can be seen so how good of a job my ana was doing depended solely on how faint i felt by midday.

in a world where nobody buys magazines it's easy to pretend we don't care for skinny bodies anymore, but when every smartphone is linked to an instagram page and every newsfeed is filled with "slim thick baddies" you can't help but wonder.

if i were to feel physically full why am i so empty?
i cheated myself.
she probably went and cheated on me because my body wasn't slim-thick enough to eat.

and it's easy to say this doesn't apply to me when you see the pictures on the beach but you don't see me scrolling through pinterest at 2 in the morning looking at "How To Lose 10 kgs in 3 Days" posts.

if i were so lucky i'd be a success story and could probably post before and after pictures of my body but you can not hear the ache in my belly screaming at me that it'd rather just be cut off.

when i was fourteen i could no longer wear shorts in public because grown men with wives would turn and watch my thighs clip-clap together as i walked with my dad.
i was asking for it.
i resented summer and the fact that i'd run out of clean pairs of jeans to sweat in.

but if i dare love myself, what then? do i apologise to the girlfriends of the boys who visit me for coffee? do i drink coke light with my whiskey? do i start writing poetry?

I am tired of being scared to walk home in the dark-
to step outside once the sun has faded and yellow lights are barely bright enough to
light the way.
I am tired of being scared that every time I look
down or away
it will be the last time.
That every rustle in the bushes is a predator stalking their prey-
that every set of footsteps behind me is bigger sounding,
louder with every intake of breath,
and it will be the last thing I hear.
I am tired of having to carry myself with less dignity than I have,
of being stared at with less respect than I deserve,
because a man has decided that
because I have
*******
and
wide hips
it is my duty to be objectified and sexualized
like I am less than
human.
I am tired of holding my breath until I am behind my locked door,
of being afraid to take the bus when there is only one other human on it besides the bus driver and
he stares at me
the whole time, gets off at the same stop I do, tries to
walk into my building behind me,
until I tell him
with steel in my voice and iron in my spine,
"you need to leave. I haven't seen you before".
And when he looks startled,
like a deer caught in my headlights,
I get angry
because he was expecting a
scared little girl
but instead he got a
strong, resilient woman.
Because I am nothing if not
strong.
When you're a size
14
and the other girls laugh at you
when they think you
can't
see them,
when they whisper about you in the bathroom when they don't know you're there-
when you're a little girl, all of
10
and crying because you'll never be a
size 4
and those other girls,
the ones you played with on the playground not a year before
have turned against you,
laughing
and
pointing
because you hit puberty before any of them and you have
body parts
that they don't-
you have to learn to build yourself a backbone.
To build yourself a
spine of iron
and
a mouth of steel.
When the entire world has bet
against you
and the house has the game rigged,
you must stand for yourself because no one else will.
You must walk in the night
anyways,
you must keep your chin held high
and your mouth set with
defiance.
You were not built like other girls.
You were never
soft
and
pliable.
Because you were forced to forge your own path to succeed.
You do not have the luxury of being built
to fit the mold.
When they made you into what you are,
when they shaped your confidence with their
words,
sharper than scalpels and hurting
just as much,
they tried to
break
you.
But you-me-
we are not easily broken.
Because we have a
mouth made of steel
and a backbone made of iron
and though their words still sting,
their words still hurt,
you have built yourself an armor
to defend.
It is coated in wax so their words slide right off,
it is made of titanium so their weapons will never hit their marks.
Even still,
my heart races when I walk alone at night,
my mind whirls and my world tilts when I see
a man
walking towards me in the dark.
It does not matter, in this moment, that I was
reborn
through trial by fire,
It does not matter that I
survived
against all odds.
That fear sits like a stone in my stomach,
weighing me down and freezing my muscles.
It does not stop when he walks by and nothing happens.
It is the fear that keeps me rooted to the spot.
I should not be
paralyzed
by this irrational fear.
This fear, with such a wicked face-
not born by experience,
but born by
statistics
and the fact that I am a
woman.
Why is it that we are trained to
throw stones
against each other?
Why is it that even as
children
we feel a primal desire to shove one another down
and hold each other by the throat,
as if we are
feral wolves
poised to attack?
We are the only thing standing between the world we live in now,
and
change.
It is only if we stop stabbing each other in the
back
that anything will happen.
It is only when we truly
believe
in each other that the world will
believe
in us too.
And maybe, if we do that?
Our little girls will not feel
my fear
when they walk alone in the dark.
Maybe our little girls will never be
paralyzed
when a man walks past them on a dimly lit sidewalk.
Maybe our little girls will not need to build such extreme
armors to keep the
hurt
out.
Maybe our little girls
will have a chance that they do not need to
fight
to be given.

I wish I could stop
My hands from stalking
your page
from refreshing just to see your name

an expert in
pushing people away

My tongue is best *******
instead of exercised

it's exorcism is backwards
demons it will spew
right into your insides

the things i say
aren't like the things i do

But my conscience blurs
all those lines when I'm with you

Who is this new host
of parasitic infection?

Making overly
sexualized suggestions

Who gave her the key and locked me out?


I wish I could stop
My hands from stalking
your page
from refreshing just to see your name

There are a lot misconceptions
When it comes to ***
And connecting ourselves in intimate
And healing ways
Enjoying and reveling in the pleasure
Being able to be in the moment
Truly awake and feeling ourselves
Feeling our bodies
And connecting with each other
*** has the ability to be a very powerful thing
It can transform two hearts
It can be a very powerful and uplifting thing
But unfortunately we have repressed ourselves
Even though we have a hyper sexualized society
We still repress ourselves in a lot of ways
We have commodified ourselves
And our bodies
And commodified *** as well
We need to be able to open ourselves up
To the possibility that there might be better
More whole ways to connect
Connecting with ourselves fully
Connecting with others fully
In healing and intimate ways
Because the way things are
It's Only propagate loathing of yourself
Loathing of your body
Even loathing of the feminine
And anything sensual
We need to break free of this
Because if we don't
We will continue to have people
That are lost and disconnected
From themselves
You will continue to have ****
And you will continue to propagate
The separation between the masculine and feminine
Not allowing ourselves to connect
In healing and sensual ways

They didn’t like my naked body.
My roughed up, pale skin
My nestled dark hair on the sides of my armskins
My tiny ******* peeking, cusp of womanhood

“The naked body isn’t natural, you’ve misunderstood.”

Oh okay, so today I’ll put on my miniskirt.

“You clearly hold no respect for yourself and are conforming to these Hollywood standards that a woman must look like a ****. How un-feminist of yourself.”

Oh, then today I’ll put on a dress.

“What are you doing? Conforming to patriarchy? To this idea that you must be the epitome of innocence and revel in this idea a girl must be a silly fool?”

Fine, today I’Il put on a T-Shirt.

“Goodness! No sense of style! No sense of class! No sense of taste! As a woman, you should be trying to look the part of one that is polished!”

What a ******* mess.
FINE! Maybe I should wear a nun’s dress!

“Oh no, today that’s suggestive, a costume for Halloween,”

Waxed
Shaved
Scrubbed
Plucked
Trimmed
Moisturized
Se­xualized
Materialized
Labelled
Packaged
Stored
Selling
Sold

Atheists
Atheists who believe in evolution
Lying
For example, evolution
Stealing
Satan worship
Judas
For example, Darwin

My neighbor Will
Who manipulated me into bad Pokemon trades
Witchcraft, for example, Atheism
Women’s sexualized Halloween costumes

Sexualized women, for example bikinis
Prostitution
Cussing, which is prostitution of the spirit
*** with someone other than your spouse
*** before marriage
Pictures of ***
***
The word “****”

The Ancient Greeks, who rejected Jesus
The Ancient Romans, who rejected Jesus
The Ancient Jews who rejected Jesus
(The **** Pharisees who rejected Jesus via ******)
The Ancient Samaritans, who rejected Jesus
Except one; that guy’s all good

The Ancient Babylonians, who would’ve rejected Jesus
Marrying a non-Christian
Helping your Atheist spouse to cuss or ******
Divorce
Not forgiving someone
Gollum, for several reasons

Not praying
Praying to Mary
Praying to Allah
Praying to Baal
Child sacrifice
Saying  “Just water please” but then getting pop

Bill Clinton, who did all that

Little boy, I wish you could learn
What you’ve done wrong,
But I am afraid no one will ever put you in place
Well into your adulthood.
Little boy, I hope you learn.

Where are your parents now?
Letting you sit at a park
To torment me, someone twice your age.
You stand here now to harass two girls
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
Your voice echoes with me, permanently.
While you have the freedom,
To move along with your life and forget.
Your comments about us are disgusting.
They surround my skin like the sticky summer air
And leave me feeling gross.

Do you ever think of your mother when you say these things?
Maybe your sister?
A friend?
How could you treat a girl like this
How could you not think of them getting treated in this way?
I guess you’re just a little boy and don’t realize.

You must have learned this behavior from someone in your life
Maybe your father?
A brother?
A friend?
How could you have never been thought better
Has no one put you in place?
Told you this isn’t okay?

Little boy, I hope you realize it is it okay to tell people to make out
That it’s not okay to sexualized women
Minding their own business.
That it isn’t okay to torment any stranger,
or any person in your life for that matter.
Little boy, I hope your learn before it’s too late.

I. i was seventeen and bitter and you
knew nothing, old man.
because you said, "look how she hurts him, using her gender--"
(no, her ***, her womb ******* sultry eyes they've sexualized since age five,
to make mincemeat of astronaut dreams, to make docile queens breed and)
"-- as a weapon"
would you not bring, at least, a knife to a gunfight, old man?
(have you ever had nothing but a knife against a bullet, 500mph to your head?)

II. i hate you. i hear my words in your voice,
in that awkward cadence, like you're telling an sanitized moral,
some comfortable truth, perhaps, or maybe the secret to your
moderate publishing success. can you leave my words alone

III. i'd like to apologize, maybe, a little, for the insolence.
i'm not really a rude person.
i'd like to prove that while staying honest, but what would i say?
"i'm sorry i'm a ****." "i'm sorry you're a ****"
i'm sorry this world's a ****. i can't do the reading tonight

Imagine a world
no different than our own
except that
everything was sexualized.
Where women were criticized,
for how they dress
Where women were blamed
for the crimes of men.
Where men were pressured
to be what they’re not,
Where men were demeaned
for respecting women.
Imagine a world
no different than our own
except that
everything was divided.
Where whites fought with blacks,
over basic rights,
Where democrats fought with republicans
for not seeing eye-to-eye,
Where women fought with men,
for equality they deserve,
Where countries fought with countries,
for greed, power, and prestige.
Imagine a world
no different than our own
except that
life was fleeting.
Where people only lived
for limited years,
Where time was squandered
on things that don’t matter.
Where people were consumed
by greed, power, and prestige,
Where life was controlled
by the quest for more.

Imagine a world
no different than our own.