YOU DON’T OWE YOUR PARENTS ANYTHING
IT WAS THEIR CHOICE TO HAVE, KEEP AND RAISE YOU BUT IT WASN’T YOUR CHOICE TO BE THEIR CHILD
ANY EXPECTATIONS OR IDEALS THEY TRY AND ENFORCE ON YOU ARE BULLSHIT IF YOU DO NOT AGREE WITH THEM
THEY SHOULD ACCEPT THEIR CHILD AS THEY ARE NOT JUDGE THEM ON A MINOR DETAIL THAT DOESN’T AFFECT THEIR LIFE
DO NOT FEEL BAD IF YOU AREN’T THE PERFECT CHILD YOUR PARENTS THINK YOU SHOULD BE
|—||Graham Burnett, Permaculture: A Beginners Guide (via hipocampo)|
Amazing 9 year old Asean Johnson brings the crowd to their feet at Chicago school closings rally
Asean (ah-Shawn) goes to Marcus Garvey Elementary School, slated for closure by the Chicago Public School administration, an un-elected board who’s members are appointed by Mayor Rahm Elmanuel, former Chief of Staff for President Barack Obama
Daaaamn. Watch this 9-yr old student stand up and spit hot fire at a mass rally against the Chicago Mayor and Public School administration who are trying to close his and dozens of other schools in mostly non-white neighborhoods.
Crying. Black and brown children shouldn’t have to grow up so fast. This kid is absolutely amazing, but I wish we lived in a world where he could just play with his friends, hang out with his family or spend time worrying about if that girl down the street has a crush on him, instead of having to take on the responsibility of advocating for himself and other black, brown and low income childrens’ education. POC kids can never just be kids, man.
Bolded that last sentence for the cot damn truth.
You know how it is, right, ladies? You know a guy for a while. You hang out with him. You do fun things with him—play video games, watch movies, go hiking, go to concerts. You invite him to your parties. You listen to his problems. You do all…
this is cute but 10 seconds later that kangaroo kicked the shit out of that kid and put it in a sleeper hold and suffocated it because kangaroos are real as F*ck
|—||Sylvia Plath (via oh-girl-among-the-roses)|
Intrusive Reporting: Virginia GOP Nominee For Attorney General Would Force Women To Report Their Miscarriages To Police
If a woman in Virginia has a miscarriage without a doctor present, they must report it within 24 hours to the police or risk going to jail for a full year. At least, that’s what would have happened if a bill introduced by Virginia state Sen. Mark Obenshain (R) had become law.
And yet, the Virginia Republican Party wants to make Obenshain into the state’s top prosecutor. This weekend, Virginia Republicans selected Obenshain as their nominee to replace tea party stalwart Ken Cuccinelli (R) as the state’s attorney general.
Under Obenshain’s bill, which was introduced in 2009,
When a fetal death occurs without medical attendance upon the mother at or after the delivery or abortion, the mother or someone acting on her behalf shall, within 24 hours, report the fetal death, location of the remains, and identity of the mother to the local or state police or sheriff’s department of the city or county where the fetal death occurred. No one shall remove, destroy, or otherwise dispose of any remains without the express authorization of law-enforcement officials or the medical examiner. Any person violating the provisions of this subsection shall be guilty of a Class 1 misdemeanor.
Under Virginia law, a Class 1 misdemeanor carries a maximum sentence of “confinement in jail for not more than twelve months and a fine of not more than $2,500,” so Obenshain’s bill could lead to a woman who decides to take a day to grieve the loss of a pregnancy she’d hoped to carry to term spending a year of her life in jail for that decision.
Even without Obenshain’s bill, Virginia law already treats many miscarriages as potential crimes. Under existing Virginia law, “[w]hen a fetal death occurs without medical attendance upon the mother at or after the delivery or abortion or when inquiry or investigation by a medical examiner is required, the medical examiner shall investigate the cause of fetal death and shall complete and sign the medical certification portion of the fetal death report within twenty-four hours after being notified of a fetal death.” Obsenshain, however, would treat many women as if they were criminal suspects at the moment they are confronted with a deep personal tragedy — and imprison them if they would rather deal with that tragedy privately with their family than share the vulnerable moment after a miscarriage with law enforcement.
i wish i was a mermaid so i could have a nice shiny tail and a pretty seashell bra and a beautiful voice that i could use to entice cute boys and make them crash their ships and drown at sea so human women could rise as the dominate gender of the land
well that escalated quickly
paige i’m a lesbian why would i entice cute boys where did you think that post was going
via Tiny House Swoon
As I get older, as time goes by, I care less and less and less about whether someone can talk pretty. I care about action. At the end of the day, I don’t care how well you can articulate your perfectly punctuated anti-oppressive political points, I don’t care how many buzzwords fall from your mouth, I don’t care if you name-drop a thousand acronyms or theorists – I care if you will show up. I care if you will fucking show up.
And I know that showing up is complicated when you struggle with whether or not you can get outta bed. Sometimes showing up means biking to a friend’s house with coconut water & ginger ale & Saltines when she has stomach flu. Sometimes it means sharing your leftover pain meds from your emergency root canal when a friend has a pain spike. Sometimes it means making soup in a friend’s kitchen, stocking his fridge & freezer, blowing him a kiss across his bedroom & miming tucking him up under his sheets, because you can’t actually tuck him in or kiss him good-bye, because your own immune system is fragile enough as it is. And sometimes it means texting a little emoticon heart from your own sick bed, where you are laid up with a shoulder that aches so bad when the weather gets damp (which is a lot in San Francisco), or stomach that can’t digest a fucking thing, or clogged-up sinuses, or a throat on fire, or a wet raspy cough. Sometimes it just means saying Honey, I love you. Honey, my sick heart reaches out to your sick heart. Honey, I wish I could be there, and I can’t, but I can do this. You mean the world to me. Sister. Brother. Love.