Jenerally

My Eyes Said ‘Stop’ [Trigger Warning: Rape; Rape Culture]

My eyes said ‘stop’

But my skirt said ‘fuck me’

My lips whispered, “don’t”

As you touched me roughly.

I don’t owe you anything,

I never said yes

But you think this is okay

Because of how I’m dressed?

My eyes cried ‘stop’

But my panties yelled ‘caress me’

My lips screamed ‘don’t’

As you held me forcibly.

You need to let go

I’m not yours to use

I need to go

I’m not yours to abuse

Now I asked you nicely

To get your hands off of me

I tried to do this politely

But I’m about to get feisty

Back the fuck up,

And don’t you dare come near

What part of “no”

Didn’t you hear?

Your touch and your breath

That tainted my neck

A feeling so vile

I will never forget

Your lust for power

Has corrupted my fate

But there is nothing about me

That justifies rape

My eyes whimpered ‘stop’

But my skirt said ‘judge me’

My lips moaned “don’t”

As the courts ruled against me.

(Source: jenerally)

intersectionality

I’ve been seeing that post about intersectionality and how a Black woman makes this much to a man’s dollar and that it’s less than the typical “women make ___cents per every dollar a man makes”.  Both of the common figures are white statistics.

So here’s the thing, it ends with “intersectionality matters”, and hell yes it does. But just like how feminism shouldn’t stop at gender inequality, intersectionality doesn’t cease to exist after race and gender are brought into the picture.  Now I realize that for statistic purposes maybe that’s all that gets looked into because once you know the stats you can see the inequality in our system quite clearly and The Man doesn’t want that. But I really wish the original post made more of a comment about intersectionality.

Gender identity and express, race, ethnicity, class, age, sexuality, mental health, ability, size and more make up a person’s identity. I am white and I am a woman who presents femininely but I’m also queer, 20, Canadian with European decent, petite, middle class, I have social anxiety and I’m physically and mentally the “norm”.  All of these matter to me. I am all of these things all of the time, some are obvious, some aren’t. 

All these factors will play into my experiences and how I make sense of them.  Pieces of my identity that are visible, self-identified or assumed will play into how much money I make.  

This is not to say that the original post is garbage or whatnot, it is successful in bringing to light that these common statistics are products of whiteness and living in a white culture and therefore only represent the dominant groups.  I just think when discussing intersectionality more than just race and gender need to be included. Especially when a lot of people are already living in the margins and excluding their identities from “intersectionality” can recreate the oppressive forces we’re trying to break down.

(Source: jenerally)

Bite Marks

There are bite marks on your skin,
I can trace them with my finger.
Pretty little indents,
I watch them as they linger.

Your flesh is a vibrant red,
But will soon fade subtle blue.
No marks are left to trace,
Just a multicoloured bruise.

I have signed my ardent desire,
In your smooth, ivory skin.
On the dotted line it says:
Lust is my favourite sin.

(Source: jenerally)

[Trigger warning: rape and rape culture] Sugar Coated Rape.

A couple months ago I had a rather strange experience, one that really put things into perspective for me.  My best friend’s ex/my ex’s best friend and I would text occasionally, we had an unsaid commonality of broken heartedness.  But all too soon it became very uncomfortable for me.

I have never been very good at outwardly displaying displeasure but I did my best.  I would say things like, “No, I couldn’t do that, I would feel to guilty” or “No, I wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret from either of them.”  Through all of my discomfort I still wanted to preserve his self-esteem.  I didn’t want to say, “I don’t find you attractive, leave me alone, you’re creeping me out.”  I must admit, a part of me held back because in some way or another I was flattered that even after such a bad break up someone still found me attractive. But again and again I politely rejected him.

Then he said something really disturbing. At the time I wasn’t fully aware of the implications, but after thinking about it a bit I’ve realized how important what he said was.

“I’d do it if no one would find out”  ”I wouldn’t, I’d feel to guilty” “I’d do it if you wouldn’t know.” 

That would be rape.  Had I realized it then I probably would have torn him apart because that is unacceptable.  

I recall reading a book for a paper, it was some large report done by Ms. Magazine about rape statistics (possibly focusing on acquaintance rape, I can’t remember).  I remember it discussing how when college men were surveyed they were far more likely to admit to rape or possibly raping someone when the language of the question did not use words like “rape” or “sexual assault” and instead said “forcing someone to have sex” etc.  

Rape culture is all around, all the time.  But I’d never seen such an ugly side of it in person. This experience made me realize just how vicious it is. He admitted that he would rape me, but to him I’m sure rape never crossed his mind. That’s terrifying.  It’s almost as if rape has been sugar coated, rolled in caramel, and dipped in chocolate.  So covered in euphemisms that many people don’t even recognize what was coated, rolled, and dipped.   

(Source: jenerally)

So here’s the thing.

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[Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault; Rape Culture]

For my women’s studies class we need to write a journal regarding every topic we discuss.  I chose to get creative and write the journals in letter form.  This is a letter to Rape Culture. 

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(Source: jenerally)

The ground is covered in snow and there is a subtle crunch every time my boot makes contact.  The wind is still, and civilization outside of this forest seems non-existent.  The snow is untouched by anyone else’s foot prints.  Serenity. Peace. Bliss. 

Juno trots along beside me, her tiny paws imprinting perfect little prints.  I almost want to memorize each one, to remember her at every second we share together. I notice Juno’s paw prints on the other side of me, ahead of me.  But that isn’t possible, we haven’t walked there yet.  I look around curiously, yet cautiously. I see no footprints like mine, no two legged creature’s imprints in the snow. It’s just Juno and I, and this mysterious dog. 

I walk closer to a tunnel that goes under the road, the water is frozen over and it’s easy to cross without getting your feet - or paws - wet.  On the other side of this tunnel is more forest, only that forest is home to wild dogs that yip at night and scavenge the nearby area.  The mysterious dog’s footprints turn and walk away, I take this as a sign, a warning.  My companion and I turn away from the tunnel and head back towards the walking path.  Juno and I continue straight while the other set of print’s turns away from us.  I am curious to follow, to continue on this peaceful adventure through the nearly untouched snow, but I am in no hurry to come face to face with any wild animal. We all need our space.