Sometimes I reblog poems not because they’re relevant to my life at the moment but because I like the writing
I honestly feel very bad for the women who bow down to the stigma that society has placed on sex. You are allowing yourself to be oppressed and you don’t even realize it. And, on top of that, you are contributing to the oppressing of your own kind. Why is it wrong for a woman to enjoy sex? And why is it wrong for ANYBODY to have sex? And who are you to determine whether or not somebody’s sex life is healthy or not? If they are being safe and they are comfortable with what they are doing, why do you care? The problem is that you have allowed yourself to be brainwashed by a misogynistic society that says that YOU, a woman, are not allowed to have the same view on sex as a man. YOU, a woman, are a slut if you have sex but, at the same time, a prude if you don’t. Sex is being used as a tool for your oppression and you are sitting idly by and allowing it to be or, worse, USING it yourself. You are weak. You are pathetic. YOU are disgusting. And you are all of these things because you try to tell somebody else that they are these things.
Sexual liberation is a part of women’s liberation. Women need to stop sitting around calling each other “sluts” and “whores” because those words are around to oppress YOU. Stop being afraid of sex. Stop putting so much importance on sex. Stop judging each other for what they think about sex. Stop allowing sex to define you as a woman. And STOP trying to define other women based on sex. Because when you do you are only hurting yourself. And I feel sorry for you.
I am in a very strange place mentally lately and I can’t quite pinpoint it. It’s like I’ve realized the sad inevitability of my fate and I’m not exactly sure how to handle it.
There was
something beautiful
in the way
she gazed at him,
hidden behind
a wall of hair,
breath ragged,
arms wrapped around
hidden imperfections,
internalized demons.
There was
something fragile
in the way
she flinched under
his fingertips,
recoiling with
questioning eyes,
an unsure smile.
There was
something unsettling
in the way
her lips parted
and her breathing
stopped suddenly,
pleading with
tired eyes
as if to warn him,
“Do not love me.”
Just a reminder that your moral compass is there for you and nobody else.
I will always look in the mirror and find a flaw. I will always compare myself to other women, thinking “why don’t I have that?” or “why can’t I look like that?”. I will always pull at my clothes and my hair, wishing that they were different. I will always grab at my body with a frown and wrap my arms awkwardly around the parts that I don’t like. I will always shift uncomfortably under your gaze and hope that you don’t see what I see. No matter how many times you tell me that I’m beautiful, I will never believe it. But just knowing that you love me anyways is enough.
