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lizzymercierdescloux1979:

things girls do that I love:

  • offer their friends sips of their coffee drinks without being asked
  • scratch each others back
  • say things like “smell this lotion I bought this weekend”
  • compliment each other’s eyebrows 
  • that thing when they agree with you and their eyes get really wide and they nod their head solemnly 
  • throw out each others gum wrappers or chip bags when they get up 

This is the rape joke:
My best friend was four years old the first time his father came into his room at midnight and tore out his throat. He still has days when I cannot hold him because the memory of a bleeding trachea haunts his doorway. He has not been home for the holidays in many years, but – even now – hands are seen as weapons.

This is the rape joke:
I have been told by more than twenty people that they have been raped. To all of them, I asked where the rapist was. From none of them, I heard ‘jail.’

This is the rape joke:
Once my brother told me that I was so ugly, I would be a virgin forever. Unless someone raped me. But even they wouldn’t come back for seconds.

This is the rape joke:
I believed him.

This is the rape joke:
I now look at every woman on the street and wonder if the space between her legs is a crime scene, surrounded by ripped caution tape. The statistics tell me that this is so common that I will never be in a room that does not contain a survivor. Not even if I am in that room alone.

This is the rape joke:
I was thirteen years old, and he was supposed to be just a friend.

This is the rape joke:
When his older brother came home, the boy pulled away. He wiped the tears from my face and said ‘we should do this again some time.’

This is the rape joke:
When I finally told my parents, they asked what I had been wearing.

This is the rape joke:
I had been wearing my innocence. My trust. I had worn the love I held for humanity and expected to be treated well. I had never been taught that I would be that girl, the one who keeps a mine of secrets between her legs – that girl was the slut. I wasn’t supposed to be breakable.
What had I been wearing? I wore the rape joke, then I became it.

This is the Rape Joke | d.a.s

After Lora Mathis’s poem “the Rape Joke

(via ragyo)

chaoticsilence-524:

baronessvondengler:

rosefire:

gaywitch-practisingabortion:

situationalstudent:

purplespacecats:

professorbutterscotch:

kiskolee:

THIS.

I have never thought about it in this context

that’s actually really, really creepy.

I… fuck.

Yeah, basically.

I once pointed this out to my mother and she just stared at me, in stunned silence for ages. 

There will always be a girl who is less sober, less secure, with less friends walking in a darker part of town. I want her safe just as much as I want me safe.

THE BOLDED

the bolded

(Source: bigfatphallusy)

neurowonderful:

aspiegirlspeaks:

how many people with autism can do math so well is because they have the ability to associate large sums, numbers or equations to shapes…this is considered a type of synesthesia. In autistic terms, if we can see it, we can do it. that is why some autistic people like me struggle so much with learning new languages or algebra…because we can’t picture such things in our minds, and we are visual thinkers.

Synesthetes represent! My discovering Synesthesia was what led me to discovering that I have SPD, which in turn led me to figuring out that I am autistic. I think Synesthesia is neurowonderful!

I’m an associator with my coloured graphemes and most tactile feelings. I’m a projector with my coloured sounds/voices/music, my coloured smells and tastes, and with some tactile feelings.

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