Own that shit.

Giving up doesn’t accomplish anything. Working harder, being relentless, putting my work back out there does accomplish something. You have to be persistent. You have to trust and have faith in your writing. That voice you hear telling you that your voice is unnecessary and unworthy is fueled by fear because it is fucking scary to put your work out into the world and have that work rejected. Allow yourself to feel the fear and then dig deep into your stronger self and keep trying and keep writing and keep reaching for what you want. Don’t hide from your ambition. Own that shit.

Roxane Gay

misandrist spells

It’s been a monstrously shitty couple of weeks with regard to misogynistic fuckery, both for me personally and those near and dear to me, and in the world at large. It honestly feels like it is never-fucking-ending, and I’m tired and aggravated and tired of being aggravated. So I took some time and wrote up a few spells for you all. Enjoy, employ. Yours in misandry, and #banmen.

I. In response to catcalling
Prick the pad of the middle finger of your left hand and squeeze a drop of blood onto the pavement.
Spit on it.
Step on a crack with the heel of your left shoe, and with the head of the pin, mark an x.

He will suffer the fate of Regina George at the next intersection, without the partial prom queenship or eventual cathartic lacrosse career.

a. on a bicycle
Continue riding. The first time you ride one handed, your Amazon-like power will be released as a homing missile.

If he is catcalling another of your coven in that moment, he will spontaneously combust. This spell has a dual nature: You will have supported a fellow witch, and he will be charbroiled.

If he is not catcalling another, he will still spontaneously combust, and so will every catcaller in a five block radius.

Continue reading misandrist spells

give it to me

lady sits at a wooden table
warped from rain,
half-rotted.
cards spread,
she tries to know your mind
she tries to know
hers
everything feels a little less
rosy
at summer’s end,
i feel so much
older,
now
and the mirror is silent
and there’s an all day ache
and there’s a choice to make, make, make

hold it out in your hand, light
and round as an apple, proof.
poison-blood-red, the skin
cuts sharp between teeth and gums; the flesh,
as white and crisp as snow.

her tongue
burns.
she is a witch
she is a queen
she is a little girl
there is an all day ache, there is
an apple.