I feel excavated. Like a buoyant log atop a sea stampede, shafted from the earth and cursed by the sun to bleach.
11 Feminist Memoirs and Essays to Ignite Your Rebel Side
So, here's to women who live beneath a glass ceiling, lobbing rocks into the abyss and hoping their culmination of cracks will cause its very weight to crumble, allowing a collective sigh of relief.
I hate the sound of my voice
I hate the sound of my voice.
Those inaudible contractions,
anchored in the wet depth The fracture of bone.
A Letter To Audrey
With every second that passed, my fists clenched so hard that the blood drained from my knuckles, leaving a white fleshy mess. My throat tightened as I remembered that message left longingly on his IKEA-supported desktop.
Beauty is in the Eyes of the Magazine Beholder
There was nothing natural about her, unless you count the recipes for kelp face masks and brown sugar body scrubs tattooed on the page next to her impeccably constructed face.
Mind The Mess On Mondays 