‘Boys will be boys’, that’s what people say. No one ever mentions how girls have to be something other than themselves altogether. We are to stifle the same feelings that boys are encouraged to display. We are to use gossip as a means of policing ourselves – this way those who do succumb to sex but are not damaged by it are damaged instead by peer malice. Girls demand a covenant because if one gives in, others will be expected to do the same. We are to remain united in cruelty, ignorance, and aversion. Or we are to starve the flesh from our bones, penalizing the body for its nature, castigating ourselves for advances we are powerless to prevent. We are to make false promises then resist the attentions solicited. Basically we are to become expert liars.
—  Hilary Thayer Hamann
Trachette Jackson

Trachette Jackson was born on July 24, 1972 in Monroe, Louisiana. Jackson works in the field of mathematical oncology, creating mathematical models of tumor development. She is co-founder and co-director of the Mathematics Biology Research Group, and her research has garnered international attention.

Happy birthday, Trachette Jackson!

By Amber Amour Huffington Post

Feminist Wednesday | Amber Amour #StopRapeEducate

Meninists: “All women, everywhere, get off on being teasing, unattainable objects! They taunt us!” Me: “You know that is nonsense,right? Women are usually as sick, sad, depressed and confused and lonely as you dudes are. A pussy ain’t a magical object that fulfills all your fantasies and desires. Frankly, I wish it was. I own one, after all. But I know, fine well, it’s not.”

we forget that time goes lonely,
and growing up goes frantically slowly,
till we become smudged words by our own hands,

but if the old drinking song is correct,
we once painted happiness with our shades, a silent presence
remembered by a rebellious strand of light and those
fragments of delights bellowed in someone’s shitty backyard;
we once held valor in our collars and wrists, with tongues stuck-out
for all those wild dreams, pressed against the half-made terrace in
the abandoned park as we hummed with summer rains solemn goodbye;
we were once so us that I could not tell our shadows apart, I fell
asleep right there cocooned by the sound of roaring jets, the heat wave, and the promise of I’ll wake you before the world is dead

“Those are the summers I hope to never forget” // wp