Dai bastardo, spogliati e fammelo vedere. Agita il culo, irrigidisci le chiappe, ungiti i muscoli e balla. Balla, muovi le zampe o inizierò a schioccare la frusta accanto ai tuoi piedi.
Now shut up and trumpet!
is International Women's Day.
The waiter's apron, but no pants, and when you turn after leaving the cake on our table mimosa, smashed it to him on the buttocks. Why now commanded us.
is International Women's Day.
Husbands, lovers and boyfriends at home. It is the day, one year for which we fought because we are women, and once a year we want to be free to put € 10 in g-string of an object to be humiliated.
We are women, and we proposed to save the world. Let's career and we are emancipated. We have an agenda swells, on which we wrote in ink the names of men that we can contact, as the sailor in every port. We are exceptional women, we make the weekend of sex libertarian, and we are like animals in order not to soften the skin. We struggle to keep to tear chunks from a young jaws.
is International Women's Day.
A single day in which we can make the party a man, without having to be ashamed of drunkenness harassment, trucker beaten by, or that he had put his open hand on the cheek of that boy there, Luckily for me on 8 March and I can do, maybe paying for. A necklace? A pin? And if he is young, well why not bring your dad, pretty bird?
Only one day to vent, and then re-think and remember. A day pass to wait for the evening, and we are what we deserved what we wanted. And tell us about it for many days to come ...
Maybe during the next event, one where we all come together in the streets to reclaim our dignity.
Rita Pani (stateless who has never celebrated the March 8 in his life and is allergic to mimose)
http://r-esistenza-settimanale.blogspot.com/rss.xml 
0 comments:
Post a Comment