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LIBERATION by Jennifer Sharkey

“Thinness has not only come to represent attractiveness, but also has come to symbolize success, self control and higher socioeconomic status… Rodin, Silberstein, & Striegelmoore (1984), suggest that this thin ideal is unachievable for most women and is likely to lead to feelings of self-devaluation, feelings of dysphoria (depression) and helplessness… women and girls are also consistently taught from an early age that their self-worth is largely dependent on how they look. The fact that women earn more money than men in only two job categories, those of modeling and prostitution serves to illustrate this point(Wolf,1992).” Breasts constricted, pushed and pulled, conformed into two fleshy pillows
-are they big enough for you?
Jeans grab-rub- cut off blood flow
-does my ass look shapely enough to you?
Why don’t YOU wear suffocating stubborn pants that show your bulge
or lack there of
What are you afraid of?
What are we
that walk on this earth with a slit and hole between our legs
trying to prove?
-Journal (October 10, 2002)

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Saline breast implants are often mistakenly thought to be safer than silicone-gel breast implants because they ‘only’ contain saline instead of silicone gel. It is important for every woman considering augmentation with saline implants to realize that they will be exposed to the very same chemicals that women with silicone gel implants are exposed to. Silicone gel implants were removed by the FDA from the consumer market several years ago because of their potential harmful side-effects.

Would you still love me if I scratched off my pretty face of skin
-leaving it all to conform to one big scab, then scar
Would you still want me if I sewed my vagina closed?
Would you suffer without some hole to stick it into?
Would your heart stop beating if I were to
-cut off-
that smaller appendage of yours?
Why do you hold onto it as though all life emanates from it?

Make us smaller- lose more weight, be even more frail- don’t be heard, don’t have an opinion- cause then you’ll be a loud bitch. One day my fist will crash so hard into the ugly face of oppression you have lain here- stomp on it- break it with all your strength that seeps out the souls of your feet.

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What has happened to me that I can be at times so over sensitive, and all the rest of the time not be at all? Nothing impresses me- no that’s a lie- I’d like to shut the world out- but let them all in, invite them to feed off my supple breast of a mind.
What’s the point in doing anything?
Frustrating like…
trying to escape through a tunnel you have to dig with a plastic spoon-
like trying to speak to my parents who are in constant denial-
like trying to exceed the first impressions that judge me, that stereotype me-
like trying to build the world in only seven days-
like going a day without being disappointed by you-
like trying to explain myself, but never finding the words to take the form of expression, the voice, the image, the shape of what I am dying to portray
like screaming in an empty deserted city for help- they are all ghosts and shadows that walk around, by me, next to me, alongside me,
I could walk right through each of them- where is the substance?
Angry at the world- is it my responsibility to help others learn, to see the way-
Who is going to teach me?
I want to know all the answers,
but just like I grew to find my father did not know everything,
and in fact he was wrong most of the time
the fulfillment to those questions will never be found.
– Journal (October 10, 2002)

Pulsating, living, breathing, thriving- dedicated flesh flowing, earthing…

“The revolution is here- ima make you all see more clear.”

I am sick of reciting the same stories and feelings and experiences. Over and over, just to new people, I wonder how many times can I come up with a better way to say it? It usually ends up being the same thing. I know I have something STRONG- powerful to say

“Rub-pull on my fingertips. Help me let that shit out, Pete.” -me

Like the strong slightly painful feeling- anxiety- gotta let it go- feel the warm trickle drip down my leg. Hold it. Don’t let it go. Let it burn like anticipation inside you. Don’t push- force it out. Let it go- no hold on, it’s a part of you. Why do we feel the need to let go- why is that the answer? Feeling drained. I must stop, energize- don’t let it all go.


Letting a car hit me, metal and flesh fighting for the same space- more condensed, metal overcomes, cutting through pigment and epidermis. Blood raises the white flag of mercy and surrender.

Vulnerable -would you like to see me bonded by the strands of muscle and power you enforce? Maybe I can be on my knees, ass in your face- do you feel like more of a man now because you can control me, rape me, hold me down. Do you feel like a man? Thrust you swollen member in me, like a knife cutting into the soft fleshy pink of strawberry pound cake. Take your frustrations out on me, bruise my wrists with your testosterone backed strength. Don’t think just do. Am I just a hole covered in flesh that you can grab and squeeze and rip and watch bleed? No second thoughts, just warm, uhh- oh shit- you busted. You left me there. Walked out. No wordsJust the pain still throbbing off my skin, just my inner child curled up inside me in the fetal position, battered and scared. You left me there to die- carcass inside- but a costume on the outside of the still living. And I walk around with this body, you stole from me. If I could, I’d kill you. Everyone who gets close enough to see my scars is disgusted. I am the used and abused no one wants to deal with- too much baggage to carry all at once- too much to balance and understand. Like the burning wind that causes my eyes to well up- a silent tear.


…for those hard to reach fragrance pulse points….

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Three basic techniques used to establish superiority or power are size, attention, and positioning. People in charge of their own lives typically stand up straight, alert and ready to meet the world. In contrast, the bending of the body conveys unpreparedness and submissiveness (Goffman, 1976).


When women are shown in positions of powerlessness, submission, and subjugation the message to men is clear. Women are always available as the targets of aggression and violence, they are inferior to men and thus deserve to be dominated, and women exist to fulfill the needs of men. (Kilbourne, 1999).Ý

Dismemberment or body-chopping in ads occurs more frequently for women than men. Women’s bodies without heads, faces or feet lead us to believe that all that truly matters about woman lies between her neck and her knees (Cortese, 1999).

Should I take it as a compliment that I can make you cum faster than any other fleshy hole has before?


I am not the “uptight and prudish religious fanatic man-hating radical angry dyke bitch feminist.” Please, don’t misunderstand. I am for the bettering of the human race and ending violence against women. You are as distant as the imperceivable heaven they all speak of. I’m too complex- like the large knot in your sweater you’ll never be able to undo unless you take your sharp scissors of a voice and cut into me- Can you guide me there? Like the rainbow I look for in unexpected places. So naive. Are these the words… what the fuck do I know- except that I do. TRUE HAPPINESS
does it come in the form of
chocolate morsels or
crystallized sugar in candy you suck on
and suck on
until it dissolves on your tongue
that you eventually shit out

Short satisfaction
-like the fast fuck in the dirty dark bathroom next door.

You held my legs like I was all you had to keep you from falling.

The wall he puts up squeezes my mouth closed, silencing my thoughts and words. He says it feels “natural”. Like instant coffee we brewed together to an understanding… Do you feel my arm around you?
-is it heavy
does it bring you down?
Can you feel me?
Or are you numb to my touch?
When you look into my eyes
Do you see me?
Why do you only open your eyes halfway?
Are you afraid to see all of me?
Like a sleeping dream
Each night I lie next to you
-absorbing your energy
-your soul
don’t let them slip
slipping through the indents on my skin
I breathe you in
absorbed through every pore in my body
I tremble at your…

“He wants the world and so do I…” -me

I drown in the cafÈ de sus ojos. I get lost in their rich colors. Never thought I would find someone who would enjoy touching my thick Latina hair- you see my curves as beauty- like your mother taught you to-

Hold my hand, each finger imposed between mine- palms pressed up against each other- skin heat, slightly moist- exchanged. Can you feel…? Your strong man hands man handle me. Be cute, in a manly way. Your kiss, juicy like the peach left out at room temperature too long, dripping with sweetness by the touch of a light finger.Ý


Did I affect you?

Can it be true? Is the media really to blame? Did they make you do it? Did they subliminally tell you to hurt me? Why does society support this? We see it everyday: “400-600 advertisements bombard us every day in magazines, on billboards, on tv, and in newspapers. One in eleven has a direct message about beauty, not even counting the indirect messages.” – www.about-face.org

You’ve been a good girl- you’ve been passive and let society take you. You must be silent now, don’t break through, stay in this mold I have here for you, society has it right here, has it placed all around you. ***

I have been a victim of society; it has bruised my wrists with its testosterone backed societal strength. I am just a minority of a minority- a half Latina woman; can it get any worse? Do I really need to rip, tear at my body, to shapely fit into your mold? A victim of rape, no a survivor. One day my therapy, my passion will reach its climax, and I will truly be able to express, to scream, “Hear me!”-through the art of writing, the flow, the spillings of my mind onto paper. Thoughtless- in that the action is so simple- relief- from where my mind can be so strained. The flow of thoughts, transcending down from my mind to the movements of my hands, down to the ink onto the impressions left on the paper; thousands of words and phrases run through my head, sometimes keeping me up at night, the only way to let them go is to write it down- RELEASE! Like a stone through water, I must let myself fall. You cannot resist. Let yourself fall to the bottom and become a part of the wet dirt underside- embrace it. I love me- my depression, my impulsiveness, my anxiety, my tendency to analyze everything to death, my depth, my diversity, my personality, my body. My confidence is the result of understanding myself. I am free. I am different. Sin miedo, sin excusa, vive !!!