Hazards Of The Trade: A Disclaimer!

We’re nearly 6 months deep into this blog. And I like to pride myself on being as honest as possible without being too blunt or deliberately offensive. Sadly, sometimes this can be a little difficult. What I perceive as inoffensive, someone can take to heart. This is sometimes applicable when you’re talking about something that others consider taboo or that others don’t want to think about at all, or ever again.

I’ve never been one so shy away from what inspires passion in me…I do, however shy away from those who try and put a stopper in my passion or silence me when I know, with all my heart, that I am doing what is right.

Last week, on Tuesday the 8th of March, I celebrated International Women’s Day by doing a besties make-up and taking part in talks for Reclaim The Night: Portsmouth 2016. I gave a small review of the topics covered, a small review of my experience and then said the poem I wrote at the end of my PTSD treatment in 2014.

I think the biggest fear I had was speaking the poem and being rejected. Maybe people would walk out, accuse me of lying, talk throughout or call me names, accuse me of being disgusting or filthy. Not a single part of me feared judgement…but who doesn’t get a little skittish at the thought of an angry mob?

None of this happened. In fact the opposite happened. I was praised for sharing it. I was hugged in thanks of displaying bravery and for showing my strength.

That wasn’t the reason I shared it; Joan Of Arc, I am not. It was to show that we are still having the same discussions, the same arguments. And there are still the same excuses for why a woman is assaulted being uttered under peoples breath.

“Was she drunk?” “Can she prove it?” “What was she wearing?” “She was asking for it.”

2010 to 2016…and there is no change!

Regardless of my reasons, I find it remarkable that I am actually having to fight the corner of me and every other woman in that room, against a rather surprising set of opponents. Often those close to us want to ignore or outright refuse that these things happen at all. No one likes to imagine that someone they love experienced an event that “won’t happen to me”. It is shocking when we sometimes have to prove ourselves to those we love or those who claim to love us, and convince them that we are not lying.

This, in itself, is a true testament as to why I will never shut up. My words and the words of every other woman whom has suffered at the hands of a known or unknown predator must be heard. And not because the reality of human suffering is the most pervasive connection we have; but because human strength is the most powerful influence we have on each other. If you deny our stories, if you deny our experiences (sexual assault, chronic illness, bullying in the work place, an insult to our child rearing, a bad haircut from a crappy hairdresser); then you deny us a very important part of our humanity.
Strength and passion are catching. They’re contagious. Contagious like laughter or someone humming Sheryl Crows “All I Wanna Do”. No one changed the world by keeping their mouths shut; so I’m gonna keep shouting.

So here’s to being offensive. Beware: Shit’s about to get serious again.

Clothes are short cut; short but short of nothing but the word “no”
Is embroidered on me from head-to-toe.
Cross stitch, pearl stitch with not a stitch
On but stinking piss
Seaming down my legs. “You okay?”
No- no way.
Go ‘way.
There. Stay.
And don’t come near.
Because I fear- of course, I fear!

Lonely light. Camera type? No. No dice. A lonely price
for pissing in the private night.
“You okay?”
I’m fine, okay? Stay that way? No, not today.
Skin, black. Night, black. All black. All over, Jack!
All over me.

It doesn’t hurt me, no agony in that cavity
where his fingers have no right to be.
Blind in my prefontal cortex
A dissassociated vortex
Of no thought, every thought;
Distraight notions of how and what I should feel next.
Nothing.

Mind is gone; all is wrong. From this point on we’re physical
and nothing is so trivial
than how long I have to think
and drink in the thought
of the brink being close
and the stench of some unwanted, foreign stink.

His hands crawl upon the former wretch; A motionless wall of flesh
while I become a being, fresh
with primal bite and primitive, spite-
ful screaming to the waking night.
And he will run from what he has done,
from whom he’s done.
As I, with mighty fury, have won.

Tomorrow morning views two inches of local paper’s news:
Girl fucked up in Festing Mews.
And four more years of closing doors
and drunk dance floors; still screaming
while that Girl is reeling
to break free from feeling
every thought, no thought. Nothing.

Empty girl is forever mourning another morning
of empty motion and no emotion.
But not this morning. Nothing for it.
Grin and bare it.
And stare it down this time.
The trial is not behind, or in front but now.
And wow….
I am powerful.

It was disgusting, it was filthy, it happened to me and it was real down to every last word. I am powerful. And I am a force to be reckoned with. And I will make sure others who experienced the same thing know that if one person is capable of such strength then they are too. Comment below to show your support. Write your own blog. Share the strength…

I… Wanna Soak Up The Sun…I wanna tell everyone to lighten up!

Peace out!

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Putting Girls To Werk! 

Hey there. 

So yesterday was International women’s day and I spent it with one of my most beautiful female friends. We spent the entire day watching reruns of RuPaul’s drag race. Why, you may ask? Because nothing makes one feel so feminine than watching several beautiful, fancy drag queens work their way down a runway and that is work with an E. 

We did this so I could conserve my energy because later on in Portsmouth I took part in talks to support the Reclaim The Night movement; started in response to sexual assault and attacks on women in the street who are then blamed for being too drunk, too scantily clad or generally too female for a man to resist raping or abusing her.

RuPaul’s drag race is a celebration of femininity, the female form and challenging gender norms. In response to that my friend allowed me to make her the most draggiest of drag I have ever done with make up. There was nothing much in the thought process. I simply told her to close her eyes and let me work my magic. And her mother absolutely hated it. But she absolutely loved it and that’s what mattered. She felt glamorous, she felt gorgeous, she felt beautiful, she felt powerful.

  

That’s the thing about appearance; when we think of women dressing up we think of us looking at them and we think of how we appreciate how they look rather than thinking about how they feel about how they look. This is the crux of the society that has created a theatre out of a woman’s appearance. Vogue, Cosmopolitan, Look, Now, Americas next top model, The Voice. These shows and magazines pride themselves on playing on people’s appearance in contrast to who they are. 

The first thing I asked the woman because I’ve never done the guys make up yet is what they want me to create and most of the time they will say just do what ever. And I have a problem with that because how I want them to look is not how they feel it’s not who they are it’s not what they want. That would be me creating what I want. And that can change from day to day. That is an accurate representation of how they feel about themselves. 
Obviously I’m a beauty blogger so I’m not exactly a massive advocate of conventional “natural beauty”; but I am an advocate for personal beauty. There is no point in making up a face if the brain behind it can’t carry the look. 

My friend is a drag queen. She is gorgeous, she is sassy, she is charismatic, and she is strong in the face of adversity in a world that would otherwise shun her; so I gave her a delicious pink and yellow look like strawberry lemonade so she could make the world eat it and … we didn’t even leave the house because it ain’t about them out there.

So the next time I’m doing your make up think about the face that you wanna put out to the world, think about who you are, think about what you wanna be on that day. Don’t be confined by the constraints pushed upon you by other people’s interpretations- glitter roots, gradient brows, tape contouring, mink lashes. If you wanna wear bright blue eyeshadow and a neon pink lip because you wholeheartedly believe that the 80s ain’t dead; tell me and I’ll do it. In a dark ass world painted grey, be a girl on fire! 
See you anon!