Loud Mouth Brown Girl

For decades I was the person whose voice genuinely did not matter to the men who caused me harm.

For decades I was taught being a witch was evil, and then I learned that “Witch” is just another word for “Woman,” a word that men made up to define a creature they can’t understand but try to control the way they control horses.

Eight is the number of infinity and perfect unity. It’s a symbol of respect in many countries, and in some countries it means “Vengeance until death.”

I prefer the happier prettier ideals of the number, which tells us that life continues after the world we know today.

Too many stories, and too many tales tell about worlds that exist outside of the world of Earth, and I think we don’t pay enough attention to that.

I’m already considered psychotic when it comes to what I believe about my life, so this year I’ve decided I no longer give a fuck.

I do not care if you think I’m a cunt, a bitch, a rat, a whore, a slut who got off and “Getting back” at men who didn’t “Choose” me, because the truth is all the women saying this shit are trying to excuse the reasons they know damned well their men did what I claim.

I no longer care. I no longer care about any man, woman, or person, who tells me that it was more important to protect the lives of “Prominent members of the community,” then it is to protect the children of the community.

Too many adults are too comfortable with child abuse happening under their very noses, often because if they are willing to abuse the children then “What would they do to me?” Who gives a fuck?! That’s my fucking answer.

If you know a child is in danger, or was, and you did nothing to help them then you are the pedophile scum I am fighting against.

“A 14 or 15 year old can consent if their partner is less than five years older, and there is no exploitation or dependency. A 12 or 13 year old can consent if their partner is less than two years older, and there is no exploitation or dependency.”

This is the law in British Columbia according to Google.

Now how the fuck is that okay? Every single one of those men can say that I consented and because it happened so long ago and because I couldn’t speak up as a child, there’s no one to say otherwise.

I don’t really know what the legal age of consent should be, because I knew lots of girls who were perfectly happy having sex. But that’s not what I was doing, I was being raped.

I’m not anymore, and now that I am not I am starting to realize that the medication although it helps, is hiding a far more feral far more angry side of myself than I am comfortable with.

This year I would like to try and find a way to get trauma therapy so I can deal with all those feelings of resentment, I want to get better, I want to literally show folks that yes, it takes fucking work, but yes, also, it can be done.

No, it’s not easy, and yes it can feel fucking impossible some days, but like the song says “We are our mother’s savage daughters, we will not cut our hair, we will not lower our voice.”

For decades my voice was meek and often felt broken, and only when I was lone would I open my mouth and sing to the universe. I don’t do that anymore, I’ve wrecked my voice with smoking, and I think I did it on purpose because I was tired of screaming.

I am so tired of being angry, I want to funnel this anger into doing something positive for the women in my community, I’m just not entirely sure what that looks like yet.

I need to spend some time with myself – really with myself, actually focusing on what my inner self needs, instead of what I think I need to do, just so I can “hurry up and heal.”

Right now I need to focus on healing this ankle so I can go to the gym, and after that…well you know my motto, we’ll get there when we get there and when we do we’ll know where we’ll be.

Until tomorrow,

Sending all my love,