i'm 19 years old
from northampton, uk
maths student at UEA
sometimes i just want to get a fake orange spray tan and bleach my hair blonde and wear hollister and a&f and american eagle and uggs exclusively and wear frosted lipglosses and make ducklips faces and care about jersey shore and gossip girl. because apparently “nice” dudes hate when girls that because it’s “fake”, it’s “slutty”, it’s overdone/tasteless/”dumb” but fuck you. everything is fake. all persona is persona including what you’ve been conditioned to perceive as a “neutral”/”inoffensive” appearance.
because i don’t want your “respect”, and i certainly don’t need your advice on how to “respect” a body. i don’t need your fake concern about skin cancer and burns on my scalp when my body doesn’t even feel like mine sometimes. when breast cancer becomes selling sex to teenage boys who wouldn’t tell you about the lump in your breast they felt while they were feeling you up. your concern for my body will always be mediocre until it is mine to create/destroy/create, and even then it wouldn’t even matter because you do not inhabit this flesh, or these organs, or this mucus/snot/bile/blood/spit/fluid/fluid/fluid. so stop trying to crawl into my bed of skin, asshole. stop trying to own my ugliness. you can’t have it. too bad, so sad.
i don’t want you to wait before i leave the room to talk about how gross i am. i want my skin to be greasy and leave big orange stains on every man who touches me and who i choose to touch. i want my hair to make you puke. i want my clothes to remind you of how capitalism lives in tube tops and booty shorts just as well as it does in jeans and a t-shirt or whatever the fuck makes you feel like the girl you wanna fuck is real “authentic”, real “down-to-earth” or whatever. i want to remind you that every picture is posed. no expression can be pure when you can see the camera and the camera can see you. i want you to know that i spent three goddamn hours straightening my hair and putting on my eyeliner over and over again and removing it over and over again so there’s light grey rings under my eyes and when i reapplied my lipgloss for the 20th time tonight in the backseat of my best friend’s car it hit a pothole so it’s smudging against my lipliner and i’m still not “sexy” to your pretentious jonh lennon art school ass. my labor is MINE, and it’s ugly because god loves ugly. i wasn’t put on this earth to give you a hard on. i want to scream and drink and grind to shitty club music because i want to scare the living shit out of you. i want you to go home and post a facebook update about how “our generation is doomed” and get twenty likes from all your pretentious john lennon art school friends and all your fedora-wearing self-entitled pasty sarcastic bros and all your edgewatch xvx police officers and all your “nice guy” indie rock microbrew date rapists who all secretly wish they could make a man want to remove himself from this earth just by getting a spraytan.
i don’t want you to want to fuck me, BRO. i want you to have to look at me. i want to be the bright orange flesh you don’t want to fuck but you also can’t ignore. i want you to be very, very scared of what is going to come out of my mouth. i want you to cringe at the sound of my voice because it is both too feminine and too loud. your disgust makes me even louder, even more powerful. and it’s so funny to me, so funny to me, because you know and i know we are both just pretending we aren’t aware that deep down you so badly wish you could be a monster, too.
(via grrrlstudies)
praiseisdefiance replied to your post: you seem really nice but i think you dislike me and that upsets me! :(
bet it’s Ollie.
haha, he’s at the cinema, so probably not.
i have no idea who though! i never get asks, this is so random…
how could i dislike you when i have no idea who you are?
Also lemme break it down for y’all with a little somethin’ somethin’ about the hijab.
The hijab, niqab and other head coverings did not always mean or represent what they do today. Back in the day in Egypt wearing a niqab meant that you were an upper class women, and both Muslims and Christians wore it. Head coverings were a mostly cultural thing. I believe at the turn of the 20th century Qasim Amin (a dude, might I add) wrote a book called The Liberation of Women, which fed into the colonizers idea that head coverings are backwards and inferior, as they are tied to an Islamic society. A lot of people cite this book as the start of making women a battleground over East v West, backwards v enlightened, and like as some peg to rate how good a society is, over the personal choice of a head covering. Contemporary women writing about women’s issues in Egypt at the time usually did not talk about head coverings, because idk if y’all know this but there are other things that a women wearing a hijab might have to worry about.
Anyone could correct me on this quick history if I’m wrong, but I hope to show that this idea of a woman’s headscarf being a marker of how progressive her society is and how oppressed she is is kinda bullshit.
(via faineemae)
(Source: sonofbaldwin, via newwavefeminism)
- Dr. George Tiller’s killing was not justifiable homicide, it was murder.
- Blowing up abortion clinics is terrorism.
- Defacing and covering abortion clinics in graffiti is vandalism.
- Chanting “You’re next!” at doctors and clinic administrators is threatening them.
- Preventing patients from entering a clinic by shouting at them, distracting them, walking in front of them, blocking their way with your bodies, or preventing them from exiting their cars is harassment.
You’re not a good person if you in any way, shape or form support, defend, or ignore any of these actions. Stop deluding yourself.
All of this.
And if you do these things, you are not “pro-life”.
(Source: blck-grrl, via ladyatheist)
(Source: iloveyougeorgiahubley, via zombieslutfromhell)
