I bite my fingernails bloody with love.
from Bikini Kill: A Color and Activity Book (Issue #1)




In the beginning, there was a sense of Heaven that went like this: I am beautiful and popular and you are a foxy babe stud sports guy. We are in love but our parents don't want us to be together. As white people, this is our only way of life, our warped sense of oppression. I guess the concept has something to do with a brush of death, ie, one can't truly appreciate life till one has come close to losing it. As white kids, being denied free sexual access to each other is our glamorous oppressed state. Real oppression isn't fun, you can cut off a haircut that you get beat up for having, but you can't chop off your tits or your skin or where you got born.

I fall down in the hallway from not eating. In my Heaven I am the only girl to ever have an eating disorder. I am a fragile fascist. You, stud, are in control of my emotions and I am a fawn grazing at the grass above your balls and I am the ruler of my waistline.

The hallway is full when I faint. I fall into a perfect "C", a lovely half open-mouthed position, my shirt is pulled up a little high to show my trim cheerleading tummy. I would never be so bold, but then again, I am no longer in control. I'm unconscious. The ambulance drivers are handsome with brown hair as they lift me onto the stretcher.

The second sense of Heaven is about being with my best girlfriend and she says she likes me more than a friend and we put on black and lavender fancy underwear and watch movies in bed together. Then we start touching.

My third Heaven doesn't even exist because I know it never will ever happen so even the possibility is like Hell. (I don't believe any of this)

I am listened to. My father never called me a cheap slut that he wished would die cuz I was wrecking everything. I can say what I want. I can cry and sing in public. Tampons are free. I quit my job at the rape relief and domestic violence shelter because men have stopped abusing women. I am not afraid of the dark. My mother writes a book about her life and goes on an adventure around the world. AIDS has never existed. I am listened to.



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