Sunday, 5 June 2016

do not : call him

you're sipping on the taste of his tongue through the ice cold water 
you hold fragile like liquid
crystal in a hollow cup and its
-4 outside but all you can feel is the heat behind your eyelids as your skin crackles
papery soft whispering to your cheek to 
calm down 

and you make note of the holes in your mouth and the
cavities in your chest and the gaps between your thighs where
he stubbed you out like a cigarette
and everything is warm warm warm even though when you breathe
(if you are even breathing)
there is a cloud of white that 
evaporates into the air

and it burns burns burns in your stomach like the acid is taking a trip 
up
your throat and barefoot and naked you lay curled
upon the grass in your front yard willing strangers
to watch you moon bake

and the taste of his hair litters your pillows and you wish you didn’t
have a name that he could have ruined
like your bed
at 4am one summer morning 
and all the people in the street 
heard it 
not as a name, but as a 
prayer

and your mother sits you down at the table and makes 
you tea and you sip it softly until it too, is cold

when your hipbones dig into the mattress at night, 
when the trees bend and dance into each other, 
when the man at the petrol station looks like
him, 
when the shower water is steaming upon your skin, 


do not call him 

dreaming of: extra sleepy days, muted tones, soft light, a good book, nice company, rain, sleep







/grime/


the dust covered the pavement like the fine layer of grime
upon his skin that you could smell
days after letting him touch you
and you wash         
                                    scrub       
                                                       scrub
                                    wash
                                                      repeat

but you still reek like his greasy hair
the sweat that
                                    dripped
off his forehead
onto
your lips

you place your foot right over the cracks because
you want to break your mothers back
her face 
                                    hands
                                                      mind
that told you,
you deserved this

salty lips and sandy feet and you crawl into the bottom bunk after
swimming naked
milk
skin 
aquamarine glimmers in the
waves

and he places his body between you and the light so that
all you can see is the dark human like figure instead of
one hand around your throat
one between your legs

youre trying not to cry
and like a broken record you say,

(but you think he heard it like a plea to keep going)

afterwards youre sitting in the leather backseat of a car and
you can feel the tears are finally coming but you dont let them
a pool
of water
reflecting a rainbow made of
oil

sharp bones dig into the sheets at night and you lather
vanilla
cinnamon
tangerine
scents onto your skin
but your pillows and ribcage still
stink of him

sweetheart
                                                                                                            honey bun
                                    sexy
                                                                        darling

the words reverberate against the sky
the windows shatter as the voices fade out leaving
you barefoot and lost on wet asphalt somewhere around the start
of june

the next time a boy touches you
you curl your body like a mantis and he asks why youre
shivering
                                                                        (its not cold)
but its so cold here in my body
always so


Wednesday, 25 May 2016











 R A I N  D A Y  


Got your hair all done up 
Like a woman again 
Got a feeling of gaze 
At the doorway again 

I feel alone for you 
I feel alive with you 
I feel a sin fading 










i've been listening to hope sandoval and the warm intentions and it's been raining softly outside my window all morning. you know that half light where the sun is hidden so it's a kind of milky glow radiating from the window but not reaching the walls?

i've been thinking about the ignorance of our society and how i'm very much apart of that. how we work to afford a house that we can't even live in because we're always at work. how we work to eat food so we have energy to go to work. how we work to afford a car so that we can get to and from work. and we post all of this online, so we can feel close to something, to other people's dreams, to validate our meaningless existence, to feel close to the lives we wish we had. looking at 'dream lives' on instagram you really feel like it's attainable, oh look, it's right there. maybe i can do it one day.

but it's all a big lie, in my opinion. you have to work so hard and you hardly get anywhere. can you really make anything in the world happen? can all of your dreams come true? can you truly start over or will we just go back to where we came from?
I feel like our lives and our personalities and our priorities and our morals and values are too deeply ingrained in us by the time we reach adulthood and are fully able to reconsider and evaluate what we want out of life. by the time we reach maturity we've already developed our habits and the kind of person we shall be.

i know i'm taking a negative outlook on all of this, i'm aware. but i think it's important to analyse and reflect on why we do things and why our society thinks things are normal as a whole, actions and ways of being. a lot of people just carry on, because 'that's life' and it's 'what we do'. but what if you don't want to do those things? what if there's more to your existence than just following everyone else? does everyone have to live the same life? make a family, go to uni, go to work, get a car, get a house, start a diet, quit a diet, watch sport on weekends, do some gardening, work all year to save for a one week holiday...

it's all ridiculous and i'm a spoilt privileged brat to write about how it's unacceptable here, because we do have no choice, money rules everything i guess. i could move to an island and become a castaway but really. it's unrealistic.

i need to think about what i truly love doing, what i like doing, what i want to do. because if i'm making money doing something i love, then it won't feel like work, it will be a life with purpose. and that's what i want.


Monday, 23 May 2016

( ( (hurt me) ) )



‘All they want is my body.’ How many times have you heard this statement, from young people, and more importantly, especially from girls? The concept of men only wanting women for their body is an old one, a deeply ingrained idea in our society. Many young women and girls only just reaching puberty will most likely relate. In my opinion this is not only a problem of men’s opinion of women, and how they’re raised, but that of another prominent issue, violence against women.

Ahh, queue eye roll from my readers. ‘Violence against women’ is such a frequently repeated statement that it seems to have lost most of his impact. It no longer follows with discussion of how often it may occur, or ways to tackle it, but now by a sigh and that’s it. It’s as if when something gains momentum and publicity, it becomes less talked about, ironically. When was the last time we truly thought about it, this violence. I don’t mean in those brief news articles or television ads about domestic violence, I mean a proper investigation into the background of it, why it occurs, and why it’s still so common.

This violence that I talk about is probably not the ‘violence’ that you’re now picturing in your head. Maybe you’re thinking about a woman hiding bruises from her ‘loving husband’ when she picks up the kids from school, or maybe it’s the image of a young woman at a bar getting grabbed by a stranger without being able to defend herself. Yes, this exists, this is common, but I think it’s important to go deeper than that. Where do these actions come from? Why is it so entwined within a woman’s life that she may not even recognise this violence when it’s happening?

‘Life changing pussy’ is an idea that is thrown around casually amongst friends, young people, groups of boys, memes, and found all throughout current social media. All you have to do is scroll a tumblr feed for 5 minutes and you’ll encounter several posts about how one woman’s ‘sex game’ has changed a man’s life, and even more currently now, he’s decided to turn his life around because of it. What does this mean? Do we not realise as a collective of young people that this is still minimising a woman’s worth to good she is at sex? How good she is to her boy in bed?

It bother’s me, as a girl who hated herself for a long time, being reduced to my body and its physical worth really messed me up. I connected my worth to what boys thought of me in bed. I was only ‘the best fuck’ and ‘her pussy is bomb’ rather than, ‘she is kind’ or ‘she is articulate and intelligent.’ I’ve never had a boy actually like me. I know that I’ll get arguments, but let’s be real. No boy has told me they love me, or even, that they have feelings for me. But I couldn’t count the amount of times boys have told me I’m the best they’ve ever had, and that they could fuck me for days.

When a boy tells me he can’t live without me, it’s because the absence of me equals the absence of my pussy, and my ability to please him. When a boy tells me he missed me, it really means he misses fucking me, and can’t imagine me doing the same with someone else. I’ve had ‘relationships’ with boys, never officially, where they’ve acted more possessively and more manipulatively than what I would call an abusive relationship.

Halfway through last year I was ignored for two weeks, and yelled at, because I’d accidentally matched with a friend of the boy I was seeing. Mind you, I didn’t know they were friends, and I hadn’t even replied to any of the messages I’d received from the friend. Yet, I was in trouble. How dare I talk to his friend? How dare I betray him like that?

That was the problem all along apparently, that I couldn’t be trusted. 4 months later in the relationship that wasn’t really a relationship, just sex, the guy I was seeing informed me he’d been talking to 4 girls the whole time, and he had started seeing one of them. That was it, I was heartbroken, but what could I say? It was different, and it didn’t matter, what was he doing wrong? ‘It’s not like we are dating.’

But if you flipped the roles, I’m sure it would be a very different story.

My sense of self turned into what men thought of me. If I wasn’t validated in some way by them, my existence didn’t matter. If a guy didn’t want me anymore, that was it. I’d begin to become extremely depressed, just because I felt like without their approval or want of me, I didn’t matter. I don’t think it’s right to excuse them either. They purposely go into things with the intent of hurting us. I’m not a special snowflake for thinking this, and I’m sure I’m right. They never have any want to continue the relationship, or invest in the relationship. They just want to be pleased, they want us to always be there at their beckoning call, to please them and make them feel good, but god forbid we ask for the same in return.

Isn’t the deliberate destruction of one’s sense of self a type of violence? That’s what they were doing, and are doing. They took away my ability to feel good about myself, unless I was a ‘good fuck’ or had a ‘good pussy’ that they wanted. Because only then would they text me regularly, ask me how I am, ‘miss me’ and want to see me. It made me feel wanted, like I had a purpose, like I was good for something. Even though that something was just sex.

This has caused me to be in many abusive and dysfunctional relationships, and like I said, never officially. But when they ended, I felt like my world was falling apart. Why? These boys never showed me love, they never showed me happiness, never treated me well. But the choices I made were to please them, everything to try and make them want me.

There’s this lyric in an A$AP Rocky song that goes:

"Head so good, make a nigga feel good,
‘Till the point I wanna marry her"
This contains such common and yet scary connotations, he only wants to marry her because she’s good at making him feel good, only wants to make her his so she’s not sucking any other boy’s dicks? Are women only ‘life changing’ for the way they are in bed, if they are loyal to him with their bodies, and they way they use their mouths?

This physicality shouldn’t exist. The message is that men don’t want us, and that we’re no good if we’re not a good fuck. The only time they want to make us theirs, is if they don’t want us to use our bodies for someone else. It’s not a matter of love, it’s a matter of the ownership of our bodies. They better make us ‘theirs’ before we go use our talent elsewhere. What kind of message is this portraying to us? To our wellbeing?

That we’re worth nothing unless we’re giving a man what he wants. This can go as far back as the argument of virginity. The other side is that in our society, there’s this ridiculous thought process that a man’s dick can be so life changing, that we lose something. The science behind actually losing something is empty. What on earth are they taking from us when we decide to have sex? In my experience, if you haven’t ~lost your virginity~ by the time you’re 18, there’s something wrong with you. If you haven’t had a dick inside of you by the time you finish school, you’re weird and unattractive. It sounds bloody stupid when you put it like that doesn’t it?

But in discussions of feminism, sex and equality, I don’t like to play the victim. Talking about my personal experiences is fine, but it doesn’t cover the half of it. I’m well aware that my thought processes should change, that I shouldn’t put my worth into a boy’s opinion of me, but that’s besides the point. We should be looking at why this type of relationship exists, why boys treat girls this way, and why it’s so common and yet rarely talked about

Going back to talking about my own personal experiences, there are a few reasons behind why I think I put up with it. One is that my own self worth is so damaged that I believe I deserve this type of treatment. I also blame that on some of my relationships with boys, it’s all I’ve known, so it’s all I think I deserve. It’s also a way of self harm for me. I know these boys are going to hurt me in the long run, I know they’ll leave from the get go, and yet I pursue it with everything. I know it’s going to break me, and yet I go for it. Maybe because I know it will reassure my theory of this, that I’m only wanted by boys if I’m using my body.  I was reading through a DBT course book recently and there was a paragraph that really resonated with what I’m trying to say: “The suffering of the woman who submits to dull, loveless sex without saying a word is different only in degree from that of the woman who stays in a relationship in which she was violently raped by her partner. Many women live in such a perpetual nightmare of pain and discomfort that they don’t recognise pain and suffering…This in itself is a painful discovery, for a woman must suddenly confront the fact that she was taught by a culture to accept suffering and pain as natural for her.”