As women, when we’re children we’re taught to enter the world with big hearts. Blooming hearts. Hearts bigger than our damn fists. We are taught to forgive - constantly - as opposed to what young boys are taught: Revenge, to get ‘even.’ Our empathy is constantly made appeals to, often demanded for. If we refuse to show kindness, we are reprimanded. We are not good women if we do not crush our bones to make more space for the world, if we do not spread our entire skin over rocks for others to tread on, if we do not kill ourselves in every meaning of the word in the process of making it cozy for everyone else. It is the heat generated by the burning of our bodies with which the world keeps warm. We are taught to sacrifice so much for so little. This is the general principle all over the world.

By the time we are young women, we are tired. Most of us are drained. Some of us enter a lock of silence because of that lethargy. Some of us lash out. When I think of that big, blooming heart we once had, it looks shriveled and worn out now. When I was teaching, I had a young student named Mariam. She was only 11 years old. Some boy pushed her around in class, called her names, broke her spirit for the day. We were sitting under a chestnut tree on a field trip and she asked me if a boy ever hurt me. I told her many did and I destroyed them one by one. I think that’s the first time she ever heard the word ‘destroyed.’ We rarely teach our girls to fight back for the right reasons.

Take up more space as a woman. Take up more time. Take your time. You are taught to hide, censor, move about without messing up decorum for a man’s comfort. Whether it’s said or not, you’re taught balance. Forget that. Displease. Disappoint. Destroy. Be loud, be righteous, be messy. Mess up and it’s fine – you are learning to unlearn. Do not see yourself like glass. Like you could get dirty and clean. You are flesh. You are not constant. You change. Society teaches women to maintain balance and that robs us of our volatility. Our mercurial hearts. Calm and chaos. Love only when needed; preserve otherwise.

Do not be a moth near the light; be the light itself. Do not let a man’s ocean-big ego swallow you up. Know what you want. Ask yourself first. Decide your own pace. Decide your own path. Be cruel when needed. Be gentle only when needed. Collapse and then re-construct. When someone says you are being obscene, say yes I am. When they say you are being wrong, say yes I am. When they say you are being selfish, say yes I am. Why shouldn’t I be? How do you expect a woman to stand on her two feet if you keep striking her at the ankles.

There are multiple lessons we must teach our young girls so that they render themselves their own pillars instead of keeping male approval as the focal point of their lives. It is so important to state your feelings of inconvenience as a woman. We are instructed to tailor ourselves and our discomfort - constantly told that we are ‘whining’ and ‘nagging’ and ‘complaining too much.’ That kind of silence is horribly violent, that kind of insistence upon uniformly nodding in agreement to your own despair, and smiling emptily so no man is ever uncomfortable around us. Male-entitlement dictates a woman’s silence. If we could see the mimetic model of the erasure of a woman’s voice, it would be an incredibly bloody sight.

On a breezy July night, my mother and I were sleeping under the open sky. Before dozing off, I told her that I think there is a special place in heaven where all wounded women bury their broken hearts and their hearts grow into trees that only give fruit to the good and poison to the bad. She smiled and said Ameen. Then she closed her eyes.

A Woman of War by Mehreen Kasana (via pbnpineapples)

I had no idea you all liked this so much. I’m humbled. Thank you. (via mehreenkasana)

mehreen this is beautiful and deeply affecting. thank you. miigwetch.

(via aakwaadiziwin)
(Reblogged from benditlikebeckhamsadnessblog)

tarcaryen:

destroy this new idea that a woman can’t be strong if she cries over a man she’s lost. destroy the idea that you have to be cold and emotionally detached in order to be a strong woman

(Source: spookywildling)

(Reblogged from deputychairman)
I swear to every heaven ever imagined,
if I hear one more dead-eyed hipster
tell me that art is dead, I will personally summon Shakespeare
from the grave so he can tell them every reason
why he wishes he were born in a time where
he could have a damn Gmail account.
The day after I taught my mother
how to send pictures over Iphone she texted
me a blurry image of our cocker spaniel ten times in a row.
Don’t you dare try to tell me that that is not beautiful.
But whatever, go ahead and choose to stay in
your backwards-hoping-all-inclusive club
while the rest of us fall in love over Skype.
Send angry letters to state representatives,
as we record the years first sunrise so
we can remember what beginning feels like when
we are inches away from the trigger.
Lock yourself away in your Antoinette castle
while eat cake and tweet to the whole universe that we did.
Hashtag you’re a pretentious ass hole.
Van Gogh would have taken 20 selflies a day.
Sylvia Plath would have texted her lovers
nothing but heart eyed emojis when she ran out of words.
Andy Warhol would have had the worlds weirdest Vine account,
and we all would have checked it every morning while we
Snap Chat our coffee orders to the people
we wish were pressed against our lips instead of lattes.
This life is spilling over with 85 year olds
rewatching JFK’s assassination and
7 year olds teaching themselves guitar over Youtube videos.
Never again do I have to be afraid of forgetting
what my fathers voice sounds like.
No longer must we sneak into our families phonebook
to look up an eating disorder hotline for our best friend.
No more must I wonder what people in Australia sound like
or how grasshoppers procreate.
I will gleefully continue to take pictures of tulips
in public parks on my cellphone
and you will continue to scoff and that is okay.
But I hope, I pray, that one day you will realize how blessed
you are to be alive in a moment where you can google search
how to say I love you in 164 different languages.
(Reblogged from andikilledelevenofthem)

youngblackandvegan:

accras:

queensphynxe:

She just stared for the longest time.

OMG…I love this. This is important.

v important! representation matters more than words can express

but this picture about sums it up :)

(Reblogged from strugglingtobeheard)

youngblackandvegan:

accras:

queensphynxe:

She just stared for the longest time.

OMG…I love this. This is important.

v important! representation matters more than words can express

but this picture about sums it up :)

(Reblogged from strugglingtobeheard)

itsjustsatanthings:

cumber-bitches:

caswantsdeansassbutt:

cumber-bitches:

cumber-bitches:

I have fruit polos and lollypops be jealous.

omg do many people not know what fruit polos are? they are heaven

image

image

image

In America, we call them lifesavers. They can be chewy or hard candy. 

polos aren’t chewy and they also come in mint.

image

image

(Reblogged from a-scandal-in-tumblr)

veganasana:

amoying:

maplesuhtori:

j0shdngr:

chill it’s cos your rare

the entire female population of east asia is rare?

homie ur about to be cooked medium rare and sacrificed

Omg

(Source: impastabowl)

(Reblogged from blackmagicalgirlmisandry)
(Reblogged from navigatethestream)
Stop praising mediocre white men for their sexist, boring works of fiction.

From The Emperor’s New Clothes (The Myth of Moffat’s Scriptwriting ‘Genius’) by Claudia Boleyn

"If a female writer had produced such an almighty mess, you can bet she’d be despised by now."

  (wlllgrahams)

(Reblogged from andikilledelevenofthem)

(Source: tawdrysquid)

(Reblogged from iamnotafeministtbh)