we’re literally random people around the world sitting on the internet telling bad jokes to each other why the fuck is this the most important thing i’ve got going on
someone on my Facebook posted a status like ‘can’t tell if the person opposite me is male of female’
but then she, and whoever it is that is commenting on it are making fun and being horrendous, shit like, ‘you should have taken a picture of it, bet it was hilarious and fucking weird looking’ and shit like that
so there is someone who is androgynous sitting by you
like why would you make fun of that
— anyone between the ages of 18 and 25 (via prettyboystyles)
if youre in a heterosexual relationship like who gets to be the woman and who gets to be the other woman?
— Haruki Murakami (via purplebuddhaproject)
My anxiety is kind of a blessing in disguise because on my bad days and when my anxiety is quite high I’m like
INSPIRED MUST WRITE THE WORDS AND PRETEND I AM WRITING GOOD POETRY
You are told to mask yourself in flowers and pastels,
patterns of rosebuds,
and perfumes of the sweetest scents.
Because no one likes a woman whose words make you feel cold to the bone, and who shoots daggers with her eyes.
But as pretty as flowers are, you trample them, steady underfoot as you walk the paths of all the women who fought for you to be where you are today.
Who were chained to the cause,
trampled by horses,
for daring to speak out.
You are told to please men.
Be a lady, and always smile at his advances,
because men do not like women who are not flattered by their every breath.
And heaven forbid if you dare to prefer women.
But being a lady does not mean you have to bow down to the man,
so you replace your smile with the smirk of one who dares to take down the patriarchy with a flick of her hair and a stamp of her boot, holding her lover’s hand.
You are told to dress a certain way
and be a certain size.
don’t dress too slutty,
but don’t be too conservative,
but also don’t be too skinny,
but don’t be too fat either.
and have big boobs,
and show them off,
but not too much.
But despite their incessant demands
you wear whatever you want,
for how could you ever go wrong when the robes of a goddess grip to your shoulder blades,
like wings ready to take flight.
You are told you are a bitch,
you are told you are too butch,
you are told you are too feminine,
you are told you are too angry,
you are told you are not a lady.
But you swallow their words whole,
to fuel the angry fire growing in your womb,
ready to face the world and society’s disgusting need to always have a label,
or a stereotype.
And you walk with your head held high, their misogyny aflame around you.
You are told you are a woman.
But you know you are strong.
— You are told. (via poemsandmusings)