Wigs Vs Trims: I am my hair. Pt 2.

“It’s not easy to grow an afro”

“Hightops are childish”

“Trims are easier to maintain and keep neat”

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The fat friend.

My girl no need to tuck in your belly

Breathe out

Imagine wearing that outfit

Without immense feelings of doubt

Putting on that tight dress

And those shorts that “aren’t for your body type”

Clothes are clothes, an act of expression.

It’s not about what “looks right” but about what feels right

What does it feel like to exist while fat ?

To live in your own body but not feel like you can own that

Because everybody has an opinion on your weight and your health

From strangers to family members, can’t people just focus on themselves.

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Chapter 5; Jelly.

Jelly was jelly. Wobbly but firm. You never quite knew how Jelly worked, how she managed to be fixed but so easily shaken. Nevertheless, she stood, and often with an irritating confidence. Jelly had a playfulness to her that would put a five-year-old to shame. The phrase “more energy” was not one Jelly had reason to subscribe to, if anything people wanted less. Fortunately, Jelly wasn’t the kind of girl who put much thought in to what people wanted. Jelly’s priority was Jelly. Other’s perceptions of her were their own personal problem. She refused to live her life futilely attempting to please others. Which though worked in her own favour, often left her friends in a position where they had to feel the brunt of the embarrassment and chaos, which seemed to follow Jelly wherever she went. Read more

Chapter 4; Because. Life.

When she asked why he loves her, he said it was because she made him feel like a man. He told her he loves her because she cooks for him, because she cleans for him. He loves her because she doesn’t talk back, because she lets him lead. He loves her because she plays her position, he says she’s a real woman, a rider. It was because she never left that he loved her, because even after all that he had done to her she stood by him. He cupped her chin, placed his lips against her ear, “I love you because no other female would do the things you’d do for me”. A rogue tear escaped onto his forehead, he wiped her eyes and grinned, obviously impressed by the impact of his little monologue. Before she knew it, a cold finger was circling her inner thigh. She tightened. But was quickly told to relax and let him show how much he loves her. If Larissa wasn’t already 100% sure he didn’t truly love her, the 6 minutes of uncomfortable thrusting and reckless hair pulling was enough to confirm it completely. She thought about love, what it means to be in love, and if he would feel the same if she wasn’t able to do all these things for him. The 7th missed call from her mum signalled it was home time. As her toes searched the hard carpet for her thong, she felt his hand grip hers. “Larissa, so why do you love me?”. She flicked her thong into the air and when it landed in her lap she took a deep breath, kissed his forehead, and told him “Because you need me.” Read more

The myth of Misandry; Why The Slumflower isn’t wrong.

I lay in silence.

He lay on top of me.

I cleared my throat.

He refused to get up.

I raised my hand.

He ignored it.

I told him he was hurting me.

A group of men appeared.

I told them he was hurting me.

They told me they’d do me no harm.

I told them it hurts when they watch and say nothing.

They stopped watching.

I pleaded with him to stop hurting me.

He told me he wasn’t.

I told him I was in a great deal of pain.

He said he couldn’t feel a thing.

I screamed at him.

He told me I was getting on his last nerve.

I shuffled uncomfortably.

He told me to stop moving.

I punched and I kicked and I yelled to be free.

He looked down, tears in his eyes, “Stop! You’re hurting me.”

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