Author Topic: a short poem about consent  (Read 2046 times)

Ari

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a short poem about consent
« on: June 22, 2020, 02:33:21 pm »
No.
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Ari

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Re: a short poem about consent
« Reply #1 on: June 22, 2020, 02:44:58 pm »
[context]

almost two years ago i dared to just live *my* life.
to simply exist, publicly - without holding back who i am. i don't bother people. i simply exist and do everyday life shit. just like everyone else.

sadly. where i live, there are a lot of men who, well. let's just say: they can't handle their testosterone. and on top of that, their hypermasculine ways are ever so fragile.

it took me a while, to learn that i just can't be in certain places any longer, especially at certain times of day.
but even considering all those safety vectors - in broad daylight, when i just go get my groceries --- i will meet them; and i am afraid. with reason.

this is all normal. any woman i talked to understands.

but they don't understand what happens when my womanhood is taken away at a whim;
when i become neither - just an IT, a freak, a thing --- and the vile nature of these men; just to establish they aren't gay (which they weren't to begin with) means that i am gonna get the stick again. or the fists, and the boots. and then some. that is when the hypertesto goes into overdrive.

i can't fight back. hrt has made my muscles melt, and in this country i can't even carry a gun to equalize the imbalance of power. pepper spray only goes so far; and they are always so many. too many. too sudden. the police - if they even show up - are too late, and i dont have time to make a call when the flurry begins.


and now they organise. in box clubs, mma clubs. these people are ... trained to dominate by physical prowess. fueled by social injustice and that damn testorone they can't handle.
their knuckles flat, their chests swollen - one asked for a light, and i was stupid enough to check my pockets; only to get blindsided with a fist.

i am the one running for my life again and again. once in the streets to get away from them; and then for weeks in the sheets: for the dreams come back, and there is only so much a brain can take, before it blacks out.


i am not even here.
yet i find myself, with quill and knife in hand -
making a choice each night.

what makes this even worse;
is that everyone is just looking, and walking away.
as i stain yet another part of the pavement.


i don't mean to just lament about it: i am moving away from these people. soon. as soon as i can.
contract is cancelled. dunno where i go; but i will go.


and most of all: it pisses me off,
because they won.
« Last Edit: June 22, 2020, 02:47:13 pm by Ari Atari »
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minuspace

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Re: a short poem about consent
« Reply #2 on: June 22, 2020, 04:53:59 pm »
Nope. They didnít. See, that kind of attitude, hyper-masculine dominant type, itís beyond fragile. IT is so set in its ways of dickishness that it CANT PHYSICALLY FEEL in any intimate way. So when push comes to shove and they ďhit the sackĒ in any meaningful matter, the reward for their dominance is NOT BEING THERE to engage with a partner in any significant manner. They are the exiles.

Ari

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Re: a short poem about consent
« Reply #3 on: June 22, 2020, 05:27:24 pm »
Nope. They didnít. See, that kind of attitude, hyper-masculine dominant type, itís beyond fragile. IT is so set in its ways of dickishness that it CANT PHYSICALLY FEEL in any intimate way. So when push comes to shove and they ďhit the sackĒ in any meaningful matter, the reward for their dominance is NOT BEING THERE to engage with a partner in any significant manner. They are the exiles.
What are you even on about?


The fragility of their concept is the root of their violence towards anyone outside the norms; and my mere existence does destroy their social convention - and thus, they seek the nearest target to reassert themselves within their group.

They did win, they did mark their territory - cause i shall fuck off after so many months of wanting to believe that i can just live my life here. Push came to shove more than once, and i am done risking more "occurences". It really fucks with the brainbox, and that thing is fucked up enough already.

Trees that don't bend, break. I am not gonna break over this shit. It's done enough damage.
This is not about "feelings" or their expression; this is about how the day2day operates... and what it means to never be safe among the hypermasc types. About always having to run numbers and probability vectors, just to make it home unbloodied.


They ignore the one core sentence at the very start of this thread.
And i feel, you did as well.
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Doktor Howl

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Re: a short poem about consent
« Reply #4 on: June 22, 2020, 05:31:19 pm »
Nope. They didnít. See, that kind of attitude, hyper-masculine dominant type, itís beyond fragile. IT is so set in its ways of dickishness that it CANT PHYSICALLY FEEL in any intimate way. So when push comes to shove and they ďhit the sackĒ in any meaningful matter, the reward for their dominance is NOT BEING THERE to engage with a partner in any significant manner. They are the exiles.
What are you even on about?


The fragility of their concept is the root of their violence towards anyone outside the norms; and my mere existence does destroy their social convention - and thus, they seek the nearest target to reassert themselves within their group.

They did win, they did mark their territory - cause i shall fuck off after so many months of wanting to believe that i can just live my life here. Push came to shove more than once, and i am done risking more "occurences". It really fucks with the brainbox, and that thing is fucked up enough already.

Trees that don't bend, break. I am not gonna break over this shit. It's done enough damage.
This is not about "feelings" or their expression; this is about how the day2day operates... and what it means to never be safe among the hypermasc types. About always having to run numbers and probability vectors, just to make it home unbloodied.


They ignore the one core sentence at the very start of this thread.
And i feel, you did as well.

What particular sort of hellhole are you in?  Rural, urban, suburban, college town?
Molon Lube

Ari

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Re: a short poem about consent
« Reply #5 on: June 22, 2020, 05:53:48 pm »
What particular sort of hellhole are you in?  Rural, urban, suburban, college town?

Gentrified urban-ish? It's one of the parts of this town where rents are affordable; the students who got daddy money live on the other side - and pay double what i pay, for a smaller space. Here, they dump everyone with low income, or "exotic" heritage - it's a melting pot of a variety of cultures, religions. In theory, this could be a place, the place - to create something great - in praxis - it is just another hellhole where humans do human stuff.

This is all normal, Dok.
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minuspace

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Re: a short poem about consent
« Reply #6 on: June 22, 2020, 06:01:41 pm »
Nope. They didnít. See, that kind of attitude, hyper-masculine dominant type, itís beyond fragile. IT is so set in its ways of dickishness that it CANT PHYSICALLY FEEL in any intimate way. So when push comes to shove and they ďhit the sackĒ in any meaningful matter, the reward for their dominance is NOT BEING THERE to engage with a partner in any significant manner. They are the exiles.
What are you even on about?


The fragility of their concept is the root of their violence towards anyone outside the norms; and my mere existence does destroy their social convention - and thus, they seek the nearest target to reassert themselves within their group.

They did win, they did mark their territory - cause i shall fuck off after so many months of wanting to believe that i can just live my life here. Push came to shove more than once, and i am done risking more "occurences". It really fucks with the brainbox, and that thing is fucked up enough already.

Trees that don't bend, break. I am not gonna break over this shit. It's done enough damage.
This is not about "feelings" or their expression; this is about how the day2day operates... and what it means to never be safe among the hypermasc types. About always having to run numbers and probability vectors, just to make it home unbloodied.


They ignore the one core sentence at the very start of this thread.
And i feel, you did as well.


Not my intention. I just meant to say they are actually stuck with themselves. Iím sorry about how they treated you and that you feel unsafe. That is not acceptable.

Doktor Howl

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Re: a short poem about consent
« Reply #7 on: June 23, 2020, 12:27:01 am »
What particular sort of hellhole are you in?  Rural, urban, suburban, college town?

Gentrified urban-ish? It's one of the parts of this town where rents are affordable; the students who got daddy money live on the other side - and pay double what i pay, for a smaller space. Here, they dump everyone with low income, or "exotic" heritage - it's a melting pot of a variety of cultures, religions. In theory, this could be a place, the place - to create something great - in praxis - it is just another hellhole where humans do human stuff.

This is all normal, Dok.

It is in fact all depressingly normal.  I often forget, because I live in probably the one city in America that doesn't belong in America, and this sort of senseless bullshit is the exception, rather than the rule.

I am sorry you have had to deal with this.
Molon Lube