Ink & Wine Bottles

Perhaps the most important love letter I can ever write. To me. One that will undoubtedly be written and rewritten many times over the course of my life – and right now, I am the person I love most (as it always should be). Before I get into the lovey-dovey, I have a little something to talk about. The female body is hyper-sexualised, yet it shouldn’t be sexualised at all. This is just skin. Why aren’t my breasts allowed? What’s the difference between my nipples and the man who lives next door who proudly walks around the neighbourhood topless? At what age is a part of my body seen as ‘inappropriate’? As ‘sexy’? As ‘should be covered up’? 3? 7? 12? Why do I have to conform to your box of beauty, of sexy… Of ‘girl’? I watched a short video on Instagram of an NY artist asking ‘why the fuck do I see people so often being like “yeah, she’s somebody’s sister, she’s somebody’s wife, she’s somebody’s mother”. Is the only way that I can get sympathy is if I’m somebody’

These doodles combine and compile the things that have been fluttering around my mind lately. From letting leg hair grow, accepting and  loving the stretch marks and scars that litter my body (or at least trying to) from growth spurts and falling over, music that reminds me of Spring and of beautiful people, feelings - both good and not-so-good, and fighting for my femininity. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me the past few months. They've brought more tears and heartbreak and love and pure joy than I've ever felt.

Eucalyptus, thistles, sampaguita – All blooming. Where our roots are planted, Where our seeds have been scattered. We’ve grown up. We’ve flowered. Our lives and vines, Intertwined.

Set aside ten minutes. Right now. I want you here, listening, and I hope you’re ready. This is important. It affects the people in your life. It’s up to you to help keep this movement moving and to make a change. This morning I woke up to a message from a friend who’s living in England. She had sent me a link to a news article of three girls who had protested against the taxes of sanitary items in front of Parliament across the pond by bleeding freely in white trousers. Peaceful protest. Making a huge statement. Now there have been similar movements lately, with M.I.A’s drummer, Kiran Gandhi running the London Marathon without a tampon and bleeding freely. Sikh poetess, Rupi Kaur shared one out of a series of photos about monthly bleeding on Instagram. It was taken down. Twice. She protested, and posted it again, and finally it was allowed. A group of Sydney girls (and Tony Abbott’s sister) rapping to Drop It Like It’s Hot with lyrics about the ‘tampon tax’. They proved

Here's some tips - tested and true.

I know you said 'We'll try again'. I know you lied, So does this pen

You say, ‘Leave it up to fate’.            Don’t you know that we are fate? Fate doesn’t have two hands and a shoe rack. Fate isn’t a someone. Fate will not tell you over coffee that you were wrong. Fate will not knock at either of our doors begging for a second (or third) chance. If you’re leaving – it’s you. If you stay – it’s you. There’s no third person helping us get to where we’re supposed to be. Just us.