Growing up as a child there were some strict arbitrary rules I was obligated to abide by - no makeup, no pierced ears, only white underwear. We had a secret knock when I was left home alone and was too short yet to peek through the spy-hole, various code words exchanged to be used in a variety of circumstances (specifically, on the phone , this will become important again later), and there was an antique ladies hat pin, an extremely deadly type of hat pin , a literal hairpin dagger about 11 inches long my father instructed me how to use in the living-room of Mentor Square Apartments, when he was still employed at Ohio Rubber, he showed me how to use it as a skillful weapon. All afternoon in the living room. Teaching me to stab testicles, eyeballs, and windpipes. With an antique hatpin. I was maybe 6 years old? 7? As soon as my dad got custody of me, he put what was basically an extension of himself, because he's a Malignant Narcissistic, on lock-down. But in ret
Where conspiracy theories meet feminist theories. (And sometimes there's poems).