FUCKBOYS: FUCK OFF

this is why i stopped fucking with guys: the misogyny got way too much for me. i am not a cumsock nor a fuck hole for you to unload your ego into. i am not here to pick up your fragile masculinity or to stitch it back together. i am not here to blow on the wounds of your bruised ego. i have stayed silent for far too long about the way your knees brush against my front or the way your hands linger on my ass. every fling i’ve ever had had one thing in common: there was a guy who wanted to feel superior, but this was a chick who was too aggressive and too loud, so she got dumped. for years i have preened when i am described as fiery, but now i am tired of it. why is it that the guy who spoke over me during our feminism debate not fiery or aggressive? why is it that the boy who speaks passionately about screwing girls any less /radical/ than i am? why am i held up to double standards? when a guy touched me today i turned to glare at him, but he smiled before scowling. you lie under the euphemism of fuckboy when you are a sexual predator. society has made you an acceptable aesthetic. you embrace the name fuckboy but when i call you a predator you bare your teeth at me and i remember what a privilege it is to be angry and not afraid.

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this is why i scream: men are T R A S H

hail ye: an ode to feminism

WHAT I LEARNT FROM SCHOOL

I AM BEING EXECUTED for letting my frittered, frantic brain take a break when there are two tests next week. when there is no homework you must assign more for yourself because here in college you are an adult who has only one a choice to work to the bone hard or prioritise your mental health be lazy.

MAY IS MENTAL HEALTH AWARENESS month and the school prattles about trivializing/generalising mental health patients such as myself when they don’t know what it’s like to be us how to help your friend if she’s depressed and anxious! they end it off with a sale of overpriced and unethical cute socks and half assed online stolen beautiful calligraphy notebooks. i’m extremely thrilled to know how i have no place in society heartened that we do so much to help the mentally ill, even if autism is a joke, triggers are h-i-l-a-r-i-o-u-s, and r*t*rded is a part of everyone’s lexicon.

more thrilled, that the school play this year is titled triggered and i’m an overly sensitiive social justice warrior/snowflake/feminazi when it screams far right republican ideal!

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the world is ablaze: it scorches my skin

NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO BURY IN HELL

something tells me that the sweet taste of eternal freedom from bigoted fuckers who use triggered like my fears are your fucking joke, chemistry tutorials that i am magically able to do after my lecturer reads out my notes out like Jacob Sartorius’ latest flops, inconsiderate public transport users who scuff my white shoes trying to win musical chair in the 8am rush and a life i care nothing for is what i crave most.

bloody let me burn in my frustration fueled tears like lava running down my cheeks. i am mount vesuvius burying my depression anxiety feelings personality under the influx of D grades over-commitments (un)reasonable homework. my tear tracks are dead springs that come alive, anger hatred despair snaking across my face but i can never conceal this hate in me.