Tag Archives: feminism

For All the Fat Girls

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For All the Fat Girls

This one’s for the fat girls…
For the girls, like me, who have had people poke their nose on our plates. This is for all the girls who’ve had people judge our lives like we put out an ad on craigslist for a second opinion. This one’s for the girls who would rather chew glass than go shopping because of how hard to find something that actually fits. I’m talking about the 38 DD and bigger, size 16 and sexy club. I’m calling out to all my “smile politely and endure unsolicited dietary advice from a stranger” fat girls. That’s right! It’s a roll call for all the stretch marks and cellulite fat girls. The not so tiny tummy and thunder thigh fat girls.
This is for all the ones who, like me, have heard all the criticism before- in both whispers behind our backs and  in front of people we know. I’m speaking up for all the “try to take a joke as your grandma critiques your weight at Christmas dinner” fat girls and the “get asked condescending questions when you eat” fat girls.
Because, you see, I’m no average fat girl. This fat girl has an answer for all of those pressing questions.
Question:“Isn’t that a lot of food to be eating?”

Answer: Isn’t that a lot of your business you should be minding?

Question: I’m worried you’ll catch diabetes

Answer: You should be worried about catching these hands

Question:“How does sex even work with you?”

Answer: Ask your man if you need a road map.

See I’m different breed of fat girl. I’m the “put you in our place” type of fat girl. I’m a “take no shit” kind of fat girl. Just ask the poor turd who tried to Snapchat me eating while he and his girlfriend laughed at me. Poor thing didn’t have a drop of color in his face or a pea shaped ball in his sack when I got in his face. That’s right, I’m standing up for ALL the fat girls. The “put a pillow on my lap when I sit down” fat girls, the “I love this game but won’t play” fat girls, the “take a selfie from the neck up” fat girls, the “you’re cute for a big girl” fat girls and especially the invisible “who’s your friend?” fat girls. I have been all of these fat girls at one point in my life. I was even the “don’t eat in public” fat girl once.
This one’s for my fat girls who know what it’s like to be insulted with “tough love”. With the rising epidemic or heart disease and diabetes, you can’t blame people for wanting to help. But let me tell you why the “tough love “ act does more harm than good. Loving your body is a journey. For all my depressed fat girls and my genetically predisposed fat girls you know what I mean. Don’t you think we’ve tried the low carb diet? The Zone diet? The south beach diet? The “it’s all about self control” diet? The not eating after 7 diet? The only eating fruit diet? The eating absolutely nothing diet? The eating everything in sight then throwing it all up diet? Believe me, we’ve tried. The one underlying factor in each of these is self-loathing and trust me, we don’t need anyone’s help to get more of that. This one’s for my insecure fat girls, who have been yo-yo dieting since the age of twelve. I’m the type of fat girl that will eat my Lorenzo’s extra cheese slice with a classy finger in the air for anyone with even a breath to say about it. This is a call to action! II want every fat girl to be:
The “turn heads when I walk” fat girl
The “I’m not pretty for a big girl, I’m pretty period!” fat girl
The “vivacious and lively” fat girl
The happy fat girl
The unapologetic fat girl.
Love yourself enough to be happy. Love yourself enough to be healthy. Most importantly, love yourself no matter what anyone says. I’ve learned this in a very hard way. It’s why I will forever be proud to be a fat girl. A curvy, thick, slick- mouthed fat girl.

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Anybody wanna buy a heart?

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Anybody wanna buy a heart?

She passed the fragrant smells of cheap perfumes and diamond dreams. The thrifters and salesmen of the market buzzed past her in negotiations as she neared the dingy wooden table in the corner of the booth. She padded the footsteps that wheezed out of her scuffed shoes, black bag in hand filled to the brim with hope that this would be the week she would sell her most valued possession. The usual pleasantries were exchanged between her and her neighboring stands. The conversation kept closely to the topic of weather and avoided the obvious darkening rims under the two chestnut traitors spilling over her fears down her face. She is patient. She has no more fear of the hours soon to stretch past her. Her frail hands reach into her black bag with barely enough strength to lift the glass jar out of it. She’s given up trying to display her possessions as her fingers, with nails chewed to the bed, had no strength to wrap around the lid. Her stone body sat still, head hanging low as she was unwilling to watch the hands one after another pass her by.

Closed fists with knuckles white from their turn in the jar, squeezing, bruising, crushing, bleeding her dry.

The few hands that took pity and pried her open only left but few cents behind for all her troubles. At first the hands were generous, leaving one or two gold coins. Eventually, the bruises blackened her only good to offer and copper coins rang against the wooden table much more often.

Who would want something so bruised? Who would want her damage?

She snatched her heart in a jar off the wooden table, clutching it close to her chest. This was hers. Bruised and beaten as it was, her heart would no longer be subject to the buyers negotiations. If nobody wanted to buy a heart, it would no longer be for sale.

She couldn’t take anymore and was near her emotional end when he walked up to her table.  He tilted his head for a moment, eyes locked on her face. Reaching deep in his pockets, the stranger left all the gold he had. His eyes flooded with hope, but her fingers clutched her jar close. She stared back with her chin pointed forward and her arms clutching the jar. Her eyes were steely, her mouth set in a hard line. He frantically checked every pocket and crevice, his eyes mouth twisted downward, and cheeks flushed. A pocketful of lint, two more coins and a rubber band later, he’d met his wits end with a sigh. Shoulders slumped, he reached into his black bag to pull out a jar with a heart inside the size of a dying rose petal. Blackened, and in shards, the barely beating heart was bloodless with promises bought but never received.  He left the jar on the table and began to walk away.

She stood, hesitant at first but presented him with her jar.

“Wanna buy a heart?”

Haven Says: Safe Sex, Paychecks

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Haven Says: Safe Sex, Paychecks

When you’re a twenty something year old woman, the world has a funny way of telling you what the next step in your life should be. It seems that your sexuality is always up for a new marketing strategy. Can you be kind of slutty if I have an education? Is it more acceptable to wear fishnets if you have a law degree? Should you be very conservative and avoid scandal altogether? No. Don’t think too hard. Just stay pretty and let the experts tell you how you can be desirable.

A room full of eager faced interns, ready to make a good first impression on the boss await anxiously in a conference room. You stand naked on the massive table waiting for what is next to come. You find yourself surrounded by faces named “mom”, “teacher”, “pastor”, and “friend”. A stout oversized man walks through the door, cigar in hand and a mean mug on. You’re the product. You are only valuable if others think you are. So what’s the tagline? What’s the slogan that will attach the most amount of value on you as a woman?

  • “Modest in life makes a good wife!”

What genius! Because clearly if you practice modesty you’re aiming to be a good wife one day. The correlation is undeniable. Let us ignore your own ability to choose. Not to mention that if you’re not modest, you don’t care about your husband. Noted.

  • “Sex for him, at his whim”

Another strike of societal genius. Alas, there is a strict guideline to establishing your value, and sexual deviance is not allowed. It is imperative to your value that you only practice acceptable forms of sex in a relationship or in marriage. Your own sexual drive or urge is nonexistent and only exists if “he” wants it. It must ALWAYS exist if “he” wants it. Let’s disregard that he too has self-autonomy and doesn’t always want it. It is vital that no one find out you are following this rule. Keep a pretty face in public and give all you can. What he wants, whenever he wants. Dually noted.

  • “Vanilla givings, happy living””

The golden rule! You are only allowed a small spectrum of acceptable sexual behaviors ONLY within the parameters of a marriage or committed relationship. You are allowed no urges of your own, or plastic/glass friends in your nightstand. You are not allowed to be sexual outside of the predetermined circumstances. Let us once again disregard the magic of becoming your own personal DJ or the curiosity of having “shes” instead of “hes” take the role of the guest star.

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It doesn’t matter that you stand two feet away from them. Your life and future are for sale. You are naked. You are silent. You are completely uninvolved. You must stand still, smile and await judgement. You will not be wanted by the public if I’m not in the right packaging and as long as you do exactly as the slogan says, you are valuable. So you stand silently, awaiting their brilliant marketing expertise on what will make me worthy. As if what you choose to happen between your legs has anything to do with the fact that you are a person worthy of respect. As if the only merit you have is to be seen as desirable. Well here are a few slogans from yours truly.

Haven says:

GREAT SEX AND PAYCHECKS.

CELIBATE AND KILLIN IT

BACK SHOTS AND CASH DROPS

NO SEX AND PROTESTS

AMAZING Os, AND CEOs

It’s amazing that the concept of sexuality as it pertains to you is a conversation that includes so many people. A dialogue when it’s meant to be a monologue. Let’s not be unreasonable. The opinions of others count. They just won’t dictate my life until those opinions pay to keep my lights on.