smallerinfinites

minn2x:

As a black person this makes me really proud but at the same time it really frustrates me because the news never focus on the positive qualities of blacks which in reality actually out weighs the negatives but the media only focus on the negatives.. why does a 4 year old black boy cussing makes huge media headlines but a 4 year black girl genius does not……that’s what really frustrates me. 

assbutt-in-the-garrison

ghost-hooves:

thespacegoat:

the fact women are viewed as being more sexy at 15 than 40 is the creepiest thing in the world

when i was 12 years old my health teacher told us all that he thought girls were the most beautiful at age 14-15 and we would never be that beautiful again for the rest of our lives
back then it scared me that i wouldnt stay pretty
once i got older it scared me that he found no shame in saying that, and neither do countless other men

feminspire

When I was a kid, adventure movies and stories usually had a male protagonist. And when men talked about traveling, it often seemed so reckless and unobtainable because they took risks that women are socially discouraged from taking.

But then I read autobiographies and heard stories of women traveling, and I [thought], “Oh, maybe I can do that.” And the more stories we have out there, I think more women will feel empowered to travel. And the more women that travel, the more capable we are of creating safer travel experiences for each other.

Aliyah Khan, Who What Wander contributor

In response to “Why do we need to experience traveling through a feminist lens?”

(via whowhatwander)

lesbianmulder

They say I’m a beast.
And feast on it. When all along
I thought that’s what a woman was.

They say I’m a bitch.
Or witch. I’ve claimed
the same and never winced.

They say I’m a macha, hell on wheels,
viva-la-vulva, fire and brimstone,
man-hating, devastating,
boogey-woman lesbian.
Not necessarily,
but I like the compliment.

The mob arrives with stones and sticks
to maim and lame and do me in.
All the same, when I open my mouth,
they wobble like gin.

Diamonds and pearls
tumble from my tongue.
Or toads and serpents.
Depending on the mood I’m in.

I like the itch I provoke.
The rustle of rumor
like crinoline.

I am the woman of myth and bullshit.
(True. I authored some of it.)
I built my little house of ill repute.
Brick by brick. Labored,
loved and masoned it.

I live like so.
Heart as sail, ballast, rudder, bow.
Rowdy. Indulgent to excess.
My sin and success—
I think of me to gluttony.

By all accounts I am
a danger to society.
I’m Pancha Villa.

I break laws,
upset the natural order,
anguish the Pope and make fathers cry.
I am beyond the jaw of law.
I’m la desperada, most-wanted public enemy.
My happy picture grinning from the wall.

I strike terror among the men.
I can’t be bothered what they think.
!Que se vayan a la ching chang chong!
For this, the cross, the Calvary.
In other words, I’m anarchy.

I’m an aim-well,
shoot-sharp,
sharp-tongued,
sharp-thinking,
fast-speaking,
foot-loose,
loose-tongued,
let-loose,
woman-on-the-loose
loose woman.
Beware, honey.

I’m Bitch. Beast. Macha.
!Wachale!

Ping! Ping! Ping!
I break things.

Sandra Cisneros, “Loose Woman” (via someothermonstra)