Intuition with a side of sap.

You ask, "Do you want to?" and the entirety of my being blisters in a pulsating no. Still, with a ticket burrowed deep within your pocket, entry has flourished into such a tangled expectation. Take a moment and I’ll bring my knees to meet once more, as I swallow this memory like the toxic cum of your existence.

No excitement, you can't even look at me, as the only thing that builds inside me are the feelings I had so conveniently convinced myself I had cast aside alongside with broken mirrors and clogged syringes.

Stirring until I melt into complete self-hatred, I find sex distilled into something I do for you. Do for you? Twist and churn, I'm inside out, stripped, pulped, naked and stark because tell me, what exactly, have you done for me? So you don't know that you are one, but you probably wouldn't care. You won't even remember me. No, not even at all.

So I muzzle some sickly phoniness into your ear, in an attempt to hurry this along. We migrate from such different worlds, and although storybooks and pop songs have taught me otherwise, where I come from such acts require basic levels of care. How naive of I to believe such nonsense, for long ago have I graduated from wearing my heart on my sleeve. Unstitching that abstraction, and upon crushing that damned organ into a fine powder, it now neatly resides within each and every one of my pores.

When you leave me, I am left emptier than before because sex doesn't soothe the orphaned child searching for mama nor does it quiet the gun in a soldier's hand, or loosen his grip around his woman's throat. Affection, adoration, and other nine letter words I am certain you are not capable of feigning.

How daring to sashay into my sphere only to remind me that the sole reason I chose to exist is precisely the reason it's all jiggled and jangled. You want to talk about fairness? Fine. But erase that steady smirk for I am not some vase in which you manipulated and poured yourself into, because my dear, don't you think every empty glass is just waiting to be filled?

That's why they call it a one night stand for to do what we do, do what we did, for more than a night, is nothing but masochistic, but fear not for you shouldn't be surprised. You are well read and suitably versed in my self-destructive patterns. Silence. Let us again satisfy the bastard with talks of fairness and feelings.

Ask and I shall answer quite honestly, I didn’t forget, just couldn’t find the time to care. Kiss me, for ‘tis something to feel nostalgic about later. With a blackened soul doctors claim they simply cannot cure, my fingers spun around the knob as you instead filled my cup with a bitter series of justifications. Hand me a paintbrush, and I’ll modge-podge myself into a series of oblivion. Darling, won’t you do the honors? Glue me with labels. Eventually the wind too has to sleep, and how sad it is to watch a lover fall victim to a superior ship.

I’m just another stock character in the plot you call life.

Pride & other less important reasons I have the privilege of calling myself a feminist.

Feminism does not resonate with me the same way it does with one of my colored fellow feminist sisters living on government assistance or a single mother of four, nor does feminism affect my daily life the same way it affects a homosexual feminist man’s daily life. My ancestors, the feminists of the second wave, cannot define my feminism for they do not fully comprehend the demands of my time. The definition of what it means to be a feminist varies by social-economic class, race, sexual orientation, and generation, however we, as feminists, are bond together by a common goal to end exploitation, prejudice, and oppression that occurs as a result of one’s sexual and/or gender identity and/or orientation; my desire to redefine the word “feminist” itself, my belief of gender as an essential aspect of one’s human identity, and the extent to which feminism plays a role in my daily life allow me to rightfully credit myself as a feminist.

Ani DiFranco once said, “You are either a feminist or a sexist/misogynist. There is no box marked ‘other.’” It is both ignorant and misogynistic to not identify as a feminist.  We must not allow bigots, like Rush Limbaugh, with their sexist definitions of feminism as a movement “established to allow unattractive women easier access to the mainstream” or the poisoned and “patriarchal mass media” the privilege of influencing what modern society considers feminism to stand for and consist of (hooks 1).

By declaring oneself a feminist, and then leading a positive, successful, and progressive life, one accomplishes two things. First, identification as a feminist implies that feminism is something one should desire to belong to and be proud to declare, instead of something to be ashamed of or something to be avoided. Secondly, by leading a positive, successful, and progressive life, one continues to dismantle the stereotype that feminists are somehow nothing more than hostile combat-boot-wearing misandrists, but instead highlight the reality that feminists are people of all religious beliefs, racial backgrounds, sexual identities, and genders, linked together by their goal to “end sexism, sexist exploitation, and oppression” (hooks 1). It is we real self-proclaimed feminists who get to decide what feminism means to us and the societies in which we live, we, who share the responsibility of taking back the word and educating the public about how feminists think and live.

Furthermore, when we identify with a particular political party or as partaking in a particular dietary lifestyle, we make a conscious decision that this is part of who we are as people. Just as political parties and dietary lifestyles are conscious choices we make, so too is identifying with or without a particular gender. Thus, as gender is a choice, it should exist as a conscious and empowering aspect of our identity. This focus on the importance of gender and how humanity uses it both to understand themselves and as a means of socialization is common debate within the feminist movement.

            Lastly, my LGBTQ+ and end rape culture activism, together with my devotion to writing a blog focusing on feminist news and women’s rights issues, further emphasize my identity as a feminist. As a senior in high school, I founded my high school’s first Gay Straight Alliance, and spent much time focused on LGBTQ+ activism.  Additionally, I have participated in Cleveland’s annual SlutWalk protests, a demonstration with the goal of ending rape culture.  That is not to say that showing up to a weekly club meeting, or simply walking in a march makes one a feminist. Neither does staying current with global news and popular culture and writing opinion pieces in response. I only use these examples to show how feminism exists in my daily life and how feminism significantly affects how I chose to spend my time. These three examples highlight how feminist objectives are a profound passion of mine, as essential as water to my very functioning and well-being.

Overall, my belief for the advancement of women, men, transgenders, intersexuals, and all those who do not identify, to no longer be oppressed and restricted due to what lies between their legs, or more simply put, their sex, allows me to label myself a feminist. The contents of the essays I chose to read, and the blog posts I write, along with my LGBTQ+ and end rape culture activism, constitute my feminism, but must importantly, my pride in my identity, as a Caucasian, middle class, bisexual woman, make me a proud feminist.

Works Cited

Cochrane, Kira. "'I'm considering a Revolution'" The Guardian. The Guardian, 9 Oct.

2007. Web. 02 Sept. 2013.

Hooks, Bell. "Feminist Politics: Where We Stand." Feminism Is for Everybody:

Passionate Politics. Cambridge: South End, 2000. 1-6. Print.

Limbaugh, Rush. "Study Confirms Undeniable Truth of Life #24." Rush Limbaugh.

Premiere Radio Networks, 16 Apr. 2012. Web. 02 Sept. 2013.

Miley's VMA performance, and how yet again, white feminism has completely ignored our sisters of color.

Perhaps I'm a little late in contributing my commentary regarding Miley Cyrus' Sunday, August 25th Video Music Awards (VMAs) performance, but upon reading article upon article in response to her actions and overhearing the news circulating college classrooms and dormitories, I have been left revolted and disappointed. Allow me to tell you why.

Somehow, not surprisingly, in our discussion of Miley's right to explore her sexuality, and the slut-shaming young Miley's performance has aroused, we have silenced the discussion of the racist nature of her performance. Instead of discussing the tightness of her apparel, or how stupid her hair looked, can we discuss her use of people as literal props (her back-up dancers, all black, wore Teddy bear costumes), or the fact that Miley's newfound sexuality can only emerge in the presence of black female bodies? How about the fact that her performance perpetuates the notion that black women are somehow inherently more sexual than their Caucasian counterparts; hyper-sexual, animalistic. Let us discuss the fact that her performance mimicked aspects of blackface minstrel shows? Not a single black person won an award last night, yet Miley mimics black culture and music all she wants.

As feminist media is saturated with financially stable white women, instead of discussing these issues, they have instead written piece upon piece about slut shaming. Now, don't get me wrong. Slut shaming is an important issue that deserves attention, but what I'm so disgusted by is the fact that the mainstream feminist media, has successfully ignored the racial implications of Miley's performance.

From slapping her dancer's ass, to her implication of rimming, Miley has turned black women's bodies into a good, a product to be devalued, sold and traded for entertainment purposes. Her only interaction with any of her dancers was her repeated slapping of one bootilicious black woman's ass, thus implying that a colored woman's only worth is the extent to with she can be sexualized, because ya'know what else does an African American woman have to add to a VMA performance besides her voluptuous behind?

Additionally troublesome, Miley's explicit attempts to belong within black culture, and then running off and performing in the manner in which she did, suggests that black culture is all the same, or simply put, that all black people twerk and listen to a similar musical genre. Miley, there is much more to being black than a style of sexualized dancing. Note how Miley declared her desire for a "black sound," but did not explore Afrofuturism, or the blues, or jazz, she headed straight for an urban sound. Urban music is not the entirety of black culture, and it does not resonate with the entirety of an entire group of people. You want a more urban sound for your next album? Fantastic. Don't squeeze all African Americans into one generalized genre in the process.

I have heard two major defenses regarding Miley's performance, each equally problematic. First, that Miley's only twenty, and therefore, "just a kid," that we're all being too hard on the poor girl. But the thing is, Miley isn't just a kid. She's a multimillionaire teeny-bopper phenomenon well aware of her influence and she knows exactly what she's doing. Just a kid? No. She has been quoted saying her new album has "a black sound." Her attempt to further her career and break free from her good girl image by submerging into traditionally black aesthetics is clear. Secondly, I have heard journalists defend Miley by stating her performance was just an attempt to explore her newfound sexuality. Okay, that defense is so troublesome it stings. That implies that in order to be sexual and express one's sexual being you need black bodies. This suggests that to be sexual is to be black, and to be black is to be sexual.

So Miley, you want to be down with colored folk? Then you need to get your fucking shit together and start treating them like actual human beings, not objects to be broken down into sexualized bits and pieces. Secondly, crack open some history books and get yourself a tutor, because you clearly know nothing about the culture in which you demand to borrow from and so desperately wish to belong. You can celebrate Black culture without perpetuating all the stereotypes and without contributing to the rhetoric that black women's bodies aren't their own.

I'm not saying we can't borrow aspects from cultures that are not our own. That'd be ridiculous and regressive, but when you borrow something, you treat it with care, you know it's history and significance. You do not fling it on and off and get rewarded with praise and career advancements in response. African Americans, Native Americans, the LGBT community, etc, etc, do not have the privilege of taking that identity on and off, thus if you are to borrow from such a culture, you are to respect such culture. We must all work towards a borrowing that empowers and celebrates, not isolates and offends. When we borrow from another culture, we must not put it through our culture's individual filter, as Miley did with black culture.

On a lighter note, I bet Miley's little latex panties gave her a mad yeast infection...that shit's unbreathable.