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Tag Archives: patriarchy

Keep Ya Head Up

When the fears start to reveal themselves, but your no longer afraid you’re just so sad it took you this long to understand. Then the tears run down your face because of all the pain you put yourself through, and you wonder how you managed to pretend you were so strong when clearly you were wrong. It’s like a self-inflicted wound that gives you ecstasy, but drains and brings along so much pain after the fact. But no one is there to kiss your scars, and until you find a way to love yourself in the aftermath of this craziness you’ll never allow anyone to come close enough to. You’ll spend your life pretending. Not trying to pretend, but you’ve become so disoriented that any idea of comfort or love fills the void he left when he took your most prized possession.

You go over and over it in your mind, blame falls on yourself each time. Because society tells you it’s your fault you got drunk, and that you wanted it. So you feel at a loss and things no longer feel the same. You’re in search of an emotion you can’t describe or never had, see he took away that chance too. You begin to look for that love and connection in every encounter you have. Although with each encounter you feel more and more drained and your energy and aura are no longer the same. Some will lie and you’ll fall for it, and it will make you feel even more lost when you discover your illusions have fallen ill. It becomes so bad to the point you feel it’s best to be alone, but the inner innocence that is still left in you tells you that there is more out there, there must be.

The dreamer in you believes in hope that someday women won’t ever have to go through this, and men will cherish the creators of this world. That the patriarchal society will someday break, and things go back to the natural order. That people won’t judge what they won’t ever come close to understanding being that, that person can’t even begin to figure themselves out, because a big piece of them was taken. Losing all self-worth one day I hope they will begin to see their true selves. I hope one day I’ll be able to see my true self.

 
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Posted by on October 24, 2013 in Her stories

 

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this is what the worship of silence looks like

“White supremacy has taught him that all people of color are threats irrespective of their behavior. Capitalism has taught him that, at all costs, his property can and must be protected. Patriarchy has taught him that his masculinity has to be proved by the willingness to conquer fear through aggression; that it would be unmanly to ask questions before taking action. Mass media then brings us the news of this in a newspeak manner that sounds almost jocular and celebratory, as though no tragedy has happened, as though the sacrifice of a young life was necessary to uphold property values and white patriarchal honor. Viewers are encouraged to feel sympathy for the white male home owner who made a mistake. The fact that this mistake led to the violent death of an innocent young man does not register; Mass media is worded in a manner that encourages viewers to identify with the one who made the mistake by doing what we are led to feel we might all do to ‘protect our property at all costs from any sense of perceived threat.’ This is what the worship of death looks like.”  ~ bell hooks on George Zimmerman

Malintzin, malinche, mala. Vendida o vendio?

We are not co-opting our movement. We are not dividing our movement. We are not defeating our movement. We are making our movement stronger, better, more durable and able to stand defiantly alongside our values of social justice and  openly confront and dismantle all forms of oppression. Our words may be hard to look at, may be hard to swallow, are not pretty and may make you shudder with unease but are essential in all periods of growth and reflection. Yes, we will be the reflectors of things that go bump in the night and make your heart go pitter-patter. That boogeyman, the cucuy of all those silent screams in the darkest midnight hours from all the womyn who absolutely collapsed from the inside out because no one had faith in her words, because capitalism doesn’t have faith in womyn and capitalism is a sickness we breath into our lungs each and every day.

It’s not about trying to change other people, it’s about building what we want with those who want it too, and not building for the sake of something so light as egos, but building for something that honors all things, all Life, all us- we who have a spark of life in them and who want that spark to grow. This is to those people, who I know sometimes feel that they litter the lands with dreams that they are forced to walk over and over and over.  But those dreams keep lifting, by their own weight they float, and this is to Life we know that wants the better things to grow.

Its 2013 and we have no justice. It’s important to remember the realities of our ancestors, the “justice” system in this country has never and will never protect us. It didn’t protect Trayvon Martin, it didn’t protect Jose Antonio Elena Rodriguez, Saleh Elamareen, Brisenia Flores, Carlos Lamadrid, Aiyana Stanley-Jones or Emmett Till. It will certainly never deliver justice to queer womyn of color like us. When and where did we learn to sell out our sisters to protect our ideals? Fuck that, remember who you are, who we are and where we have been. Our legacy of love, rage, sadness, dignity and strength we inherit through our mother’s blood and tears. We are no longer silent and we are not going back. We are growing. We are many. We are strong.  We are not afraid. We are walking the walk and talking that talk. We love ourselves, we love you and this struggle, this resistance, this transformation. We always have and we always will. We are dedicated, we will not back down.  We are your sisters, your mothers, your aunties, your wives, your lovers, your friends, your comrades. We are valid and we are right. We are crazy and we are telling the truths. Don’t ignore us, don’t cut us down, don’t fuck with us or you will only be fucking yourself.

This is to all those (all of them: birds, crickets, rivers, all of them) who want the profane death to stop. How is it that those who want death seem to hold all the power and we have none? Because we forget that our allegiance is with all of Life, All of it.  And all of Life is in alliance with us, so we should stop forgetting, and start again Honoring all that is and could be, was, will be. All of Life wants to live, Trust in that.  

This is for Saleh Elamareen, Aida Refugee Camp, Bethlehem, last wintertime in Palestine,  16 years old, was shot in the head by Israeli soldiers (identities unknown) funded by U.S. Government money while walking along the Apartheid Wall in the Aida Refugee Camp which is now literally hemmed in – like curbside in front of your house – on three sides by this Israeli/U.S. military wall – sniper towers and all. In Palestine the United States government is paying to see death and to see destruction, and it’s a sickness because the U.S. government is trying to destroy the Palestinian people and they have no right to do this, to profane anothers’ sacred land and ways.

This is for Jose Antonio Elena Rodriguez,  16 years old, shot 9 times in the back by  U.S. Border Patrol agents – Identities Still Unknown despite camera footage in the possession of the FBI which is “currently undergoing” a 9month+ (and counting) thorough investigation into the matter with their associates, the Border Patrol. Jose was walking beneath the Wall on the hill dividing Nogales between two colonial governments called the United States and Mexico between whom money flows like bullets do, like drugs do, like war does, and like lies do too

This is for Trayvon Martin, 17 years old, shot by George Zimmerman, a neighborhood watch captain in Sanford, Florida. Zimmerman calls 911 to report “a suspicious person” in the neighborhood. He is instructed not to get out of his SUV or approach the person. Zimmerman disregards the instructions. Moments later, neighbors report hearing gunfire. When police arrived they reported finding Zimmerman standing near Martin, who was lying face down in the grass and unresponsive. Zimmerman acknowledges that he shot Martin, claiming it was in self-defense. Zimmerman was found not guilty.

Remember.   Remember.

This is for

All those who suffer

With hope for a better day

This is for Justice which we know is due, and whose debt must be paid.

Our words speak for all these stories and more, stories projected out through the media to further instill in us  a sense of defeat- a sense that we cannot protect our sons and daughters.
We speak in order to counter these stories regurgitated through mainstream media only meant to remind us, justice will not come for folks like us.
And our words speak for all those stories which never left their community, which never left mouths, which only remained in silence.

 
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Posted by on July 19, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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A Night Out

Let me make this clear. I DO NOT get dressed up to look this good for you.

I know I look smokin hot but I am not here to impress you or get with anyone. If you try to creep on me; if you touch another girl on this dance floor without her permission; if you “accidentally” brush my breasts one more time I will kick your ass you sorry, lazy, lonely, entitled, small minded, motherfucker.

I came here to dance – to have fun, relieve stress and move my body, not to give you a hard on.

I am tired of being told by security and management that I just need to tell them to leave me alone. Fuck you. As management it is YOUR RESPONSIBILITY to make sure that women feel safe at your establishment. If someone complains about harassment or if you are actually doing your job and notice harassment then you need to escort the perpetrator out immediately. If he had a gun he would be taken out, but since he is touching and grabbing girls it is my job to tell him to stop? I call bullshit.

I should be able to dance how I want, wearing however little I want BY MYSELF without being harassed.

 
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Posted by on March 19, 2013 in Her stories

 

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Selfish Lover

“It doesn’t always have to be about you.”
It is always about me though. You make it about me. You make it about me making it about myself. But it isn’t about me. It’s about you. You take my silence for anger, instead of hurt. You justify your actions by blaming the situation on me. You shrink me, because you can, and when I refuse to let you, I’m being an overactive heartless bitch.
“You started it. You said something hurtful, so I said something even more hurtful back. I had to one-up you. You act like you’re the only one who got their feelings hurt.”
Take some fucking responsibility. We’re not a couple of kids. If I hurt your feelings, fucking say SOMETHING rather than try to hurt me back. Call me out on my aggressive behavior. HUMANIZE ME. Make me see the wrong and why. Don’t belittle me in your reasoning for the hurt you caused.
“Stop being dumb. You started it. If you didn’t say something mean in the first place I wouldn’t have said anything mean back.”
You’re right, but you’re wrong and you know it. That’s why you keep using me as an agent for justification. You think my silence is guilt; that I am not speaking because I don’t want to admit that you’re right. I don’t want to admit that you’re right. I don’t want to admit that I can be a kid sometimes when I get angry. I don’t want to admit that you make me feel like a mouse compared to a lion when you talk down to me the way you do. I don’t want to admit that if I initiate dialogue about any of this that I will start crying. I don’t want to give you the best of me, even though you think you already have it.
 
“It doesn’t always have to be about you.”
But it does. It needs to be about me because you think it’s acceptable when we fight for you to stand over me while I lay down, so that your dick is in my face and its obvious you dominate. You have to be THE MAN, while I be the little woman, who started everything but can finish nothing. It’s your job to finish. You make that very clear and I feel like the cigarette butt you threw out the window, and your feelings are the sweet smoke you hold in your chest that comes out cleanly, precisely, and truthfully.
It needs to be about me because it is never about me. Because you either legitimize my feelings or you toss them aside. It needs to be about me because I am fucking DONE with my feelings only being the truth if you validate them. What the hell does it matter what you think about how I feel? Who are you to judge the hurt in my heart?
It’s need to be about me because this disrespect for my feelings, no matter how petty you think they are, are more important than your god damn ego.
 
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Posted by on March 18, 2013 in Her stories

 

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