I’m trying a thing where I do a piece of creative writing every day. Cos I used to love that shit, but I realised I’d not written anything but angry essays and rants for about 5 years. Because I’m desperate for validation, I’m gonna share the things I write with you here on my blog. Feel free to tell me what a creative genius I am or compare me to Harper Lee or one of the Bronte sisters. You can catch up on previous days’ work here.  — I had never planned on being a river. A pond, maybe. A nice puddle, perfect for jumping in, sure. But a river? Never. Rivers were intimidating. Murky. Divisive. Cutting cities in two and forcing people’s hands. Can’t build there, the river flows right through it. Don’t walk there, the river might swallow you up. No one really likes you when you’re a…

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I’m trying a thing where I do a piece of creative writing every day. Cos I used to love that shit, but I realised I’d not written anything but angry essays and rants for about 5 years. Because I’m desperate for validation, I’m gonna share the things I write with you here on my blog. Feel free to tell me what a creative genius I am or compare me to Harper Lee or one of the Bronte sisters. —  “Taxi!” Two voices screech into the wind simultaneously, hands launching out at the exact same time. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” Beth says sheepishly, turning to the stranger on her right. She’s met with a silence and stony stare. No meet cute here. A yellow cab pulls up to the curb, and the stranger – a man; white; mid-to-late 20s – reaches for the door. Beth resigns herself to another…

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I’d never thought of myself as one of those girls. You know the ones I mean. The ones who stare at themselves in the mirror for hours on end, painstakingly grabbing at every inch of their body that they dislike. The ones who carefully turn the pages of the glossy magazines, savouring every image of thin people with thin people problems. In fact, I’d never been particularly aware of my body at all. Or at least, not the size of it. I was a dancer, so I was aware of how my body moved. Aware of the lines it could create, the emotions it could evoke. But the size of my thighs? That had never crossed my mind. Of course, I was lucky. I was relatively thin, and dancing six days a week had left me with a fierce metabolism. But I also just wasn’t that fussed. My body was…

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On Tuesday, I wrote about how we can solve the problem of white feminism. Today, I went on yet another Twitter rant about the failings of white feminists. It would not, however, be fair for me to continue writing and talking about this issue without acknowledging my own hypocrisies and white feminism. — When I was 16, I stood up in front of 75 of my fellow students and talked for 20 minutes about why we still need feminism. To this day it remains one of my proudest achievements. It was the start of my journey as an outspoken feminist, and it sparked my passion for talking about feminism publicly and without shame. It was also the epitome of white feminism, failing to mention even in passing the struggles of women of colour or trans women or disabled women or women who were in any way not like me. Thankfully,…

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The world is not big enough for women. There are just so many incredible white men out there. By the time society has rewarded all of them, there simply isn’t enough room for all the women. It’s not that the world doesn’t want to let women in. It’s that letting too many women will upset the careful balance society has spent decades perfecting. It is not misogyny, it’s science. Too many women spoil the broth, or something. At least, that’s what we’ve been told. From birth, women have been told that there’s only a limited amount of space at the table for us. When a woman does get into the special all-male clubs, therefore, it’s an exciting moment for womankind. But getting a seat at the table as a woman is nothing like getting a seat at the table as a man. For a start, it’s widely accepted that the men…

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