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this is an open letter to oppressive structures and all who support them by not explicitly fighting against them. i am twenty, queer, non-gender conforming, trans, black, mentally ill, and despite being college educated and situated in america, i do not expect to live long. the news reminds me to be realistic. in 2012 police officers killed an average of two black men a week. in 2013, the national coalition of anti-violence programs reported that there were over 2,000 reported incidents of anti-LGBTQA+ violence in america. 72% of lgbtqia+ homicides were against trans women. 89% of those were transgender women of color. when not consistent from previous years, these statistics rise. i, too, am rising. every week my eyes climb higher as i watch the number of murdered black people,...
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To my rapists, Four whole years later.. finally able to say that word. It took me years to be able to identify you as the ones to blame, not me. It was you who took my innocence at fourteen. Fourteen years old. Do you remember that night? I barely do. Funny how that worked out for you. I wonder what goes through your mind these days if you ever think about what you did to me. I bet you think I didn't hear about all the times you joked around to your friends in school about how you should do it again, how fun it would be. I wonder if you knew your effect on me every time I caught a glimpse of you in the school hallway. Living in constant fear, always anticipating the next panic attack. I wonder how you think it felt to tell my parents, almost a year later, when I finally...
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Okay, so things have changed since I was first passed a note in fifth grade from one of the twins about how the other one wanted to be my boyfriend. Truth be told, I probably had a bigger crush on their best friend {the dark, elusive type}. Could this maybe be a glimpse into my future? For the first decade or so of my dating life, I did it without the internet {*gasp*}. I have to say in hindsight, with the exception of a few stellar moments/days, they were probably the best of my dating years so far. Eyes meet across a crowded school dance/sporting event/regular Thursday night bar/lift at work - and the rest was history - for a few months or a few years. The following decade was a combination of online dating and eyes meet across a crowded boardroom. Although the former had its...
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Dear Mr. Pacquiao, I truly believe that you are just expressing your opinion. Yes, you are entitled to it as human being and for that I would have let it pass and not comment but let me remind you Sir that you hold a public office representing a populace and boxing icon. Mr. Pacquiao, I am not sure whether this will reach you but nonetheless i will take my chances and hope it does. 50 years from now everyone who knows you and will read this letter will either be old or no longer in this world. You and me will reach the end and vanish to oblivion. You will be written in pages of a book but let me ask you Sir, is this the legacy you want to leave behind? The legacy where you tell and teach future generation that when they see "a person loving another person with the same gender...
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Dear, "Angry" Jake Norvell Please DO NOT Review every Adam Sandler Movie ever if you and Rayn reach your goal. I know you would do anything to help your family and that's awesome, but you shouldn't have to do this. You are so much better than this. I am probably your biggest fan and I don't want this. I saw what That's My Boy did to you. Are you sure you want to go through that again? It's not worth it. Sincerely, Robin Hansen
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The other night my girlfriend and I were walking home after eating out, we'd had a nice time and were minding our own business when two guys walked past. As they were a little past us, we both heard one of them aggressively shout "taking our women!" to me. I laughed it off at the time but then it really began to play on my mind and my girlfriend and I had quite an interesting conversation about it. Perhaps I should begin by telling you a little about my relationship and my girlfriend. She is a beautiful and talented mixed race young woman. I never know the 'PC' way to term her race as for me it doesn't matter and it feels weird having to even bother spelling it out, but to avoid any issues she is half white-British and half African American. I'm white British and we've been together...
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You know who I am, I know who you are. You probably hate me a little bit and I don’t blame you in the slightest. I get it. We are human and things happen. Feelings are a hell of a drug, huh? And miscommunications are just icing on the cake. Right? We talked and got to connect with one another or at least I thought, before it came to a spiraling end. If I could take back all the conflicts, I would. But we seem to be past that point unfortunately and maybe that's all it was ever meant to be. I like to think otherwise, honestly. I refuse to believe that some things are better left unsaid. To this day, the fall out doesn't sit right with me and I can't help it. It's just the type of person I am and I don't expect you to understand. Our relationship (if that's what you'd even call it...
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Dear SH, I am not sure what this cryptic email is supposed to prove. It says nothing, and it looks fake. Obviously, you’re trying to cover your a**. You still haven't told me what I can do to help my financial and housing situation. You told me to get a loan against my Workers’ Comp case—a Payday Loan when these are illegal here in California. I've already let you know that I am homeless. I'm sleeping in my car. It's ironic that at my deposition, you cared to bring up my dog. Surely, you must know that I cannot go to a shelter with a dog. On the other hand, is my having to decide whether to abandon my 15-year-old Chihuahua that I've had, since he was 7 months old, or to seek shelter only for myself–not a concern for you? He and are both disabled. Your consistent actions show...
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I don’t need your pity. I don’t need your opinion about my whole being; I know what is wrong with me and picking it out does not help me either. It just makes me hate myself more and don’t tell me that I should this and that because I really want to. But I just can’t. I am ashamed of myself. I am ashamed of what I turned out to be. I am afraid to hear what exactly I don’t want to hear. So please, stop. You are not helping me; you are being another burden. Every single time I eat, there is that lingering thought in my head. “This is why you’re fat.” And “This is why nobody takes interest in you.” Don’t feel sorry for me because you pity me for turning out to be like this but I feel sorry for you because of the things that you said that make me feel uncomfortable; you are bringing me...
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Dear David, Like millions of us, I know you will be reeling after the horrific attacks in Paris. How can anyone with an ounce of humanity not feel compassion, grief and solidarity with the innocent victims and their loved ones? I hope you will take a brief moment, pause before you take any action. Take a minute to listen to an English Muslim woman speak about how millions of Muslims including my family and me, stand side-by-side with you. Wanting justice and our enemies caught. The people who have claimed responsibility for this atrocity are Daesh (Isis by their name). Daesh hate me and they hate you. They would like to slit my throat just as much as they would want to do the same to the person next to me. They hate us all. Especially moderate Muslims who dare to expose...
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