I’m sorry, but if lesbians can control themselves in a girls only changing room with ass naked woman waltzing around. Then I figure men should be able to control them selves with clothed girls walking down the street. Just a thought.
I hate when I’m in class, working on my personal writing and someone leans over and goes “WHat R U wRITing” like your eulogy if you don’t back the fuck up you soggy lampshade
"When I love you,
I really fucking love you.
There are no in betweens.
I don’t know what grey is.
My love is black and white."
you are my wonderwall
please stop asking me about my future ill cry
*sucks guys dick*
*dies of nut allergy*
did you know that proteins in brazil nuts can be transmitted sexually so if someone had an allergy and the guy had eaten brazil nuts then they could literally suck dick and die of a nut allergy
now I do
You are ten years old the first time
a man on the street whistles at you and
it makes your skin crawl. Your friend says,
“That’s just how boys pay compliments.
You should be flattered.”
The moon is full that night. Full and hovering
just outside your window. You want to
grab at it. You want to be a part of it.
You are thirteen years old when they
pull you into the office and tell you that you
are breaking dress code — your shorts
are an inch and a half too short.
It is 90 degrees outside and you wear your shame
like a parka for the rest of the day,
and you don’t know why.
The book you’re reading mentions Artemis,
so you google her when you get home and
you read about Actaeon, and how
they tried to tell Artemis she was “asking for it”
and she shot moonbeam arrows into
You are seventeen when the boy at the dance
calls you a slut for smacking his hand away
when it tried to climb up your thigh
and pull your prayers out from under your skirt.
The moon hangs like a beacon in your
rearview mirror, a reminder that no matter what
there is always someone rooting for you.
Artemis didn’t owe anyone anything, and darling,
neither do you.
I want people to stop saying this to me. Every time I hear it I cringe. I want to scream don’t tell me that dammit. Do not make me hope for sunny days again. Because I know my days will always be full of rain and lightning. I know until I get help for my head that the light will never see my sky.
But I don’t know if help will even work. Once you get so use to living with something I don’t know if you can ever get rid of it entirely.
I could wake up one morning and randomly see sunshine. And it could stay forever. But that won’t happen because my sunshine is a man that doesn’t want me and my rainy days clouding up his eternal sunshine.
So don’t tell me it’ll be okay. Or it’ll get better. Or that I will make it just keep my head up and say strong.
Well guess what. I don’t feel okay right now and let’s face it, there might not be a tomorrow. I might not get better. Some people live their whole lives fighting depression and other mental diseases. Sometimes people don’t get better and it sucks. But it’s a possible reality just like me getting better is. And right now my sky is so dark and stormy that I don’t think sunlight could even begin to break through to me. My head is up and dammit this is me being strong. Don’t tell me it’ll be okay. Or that I’ll get better. Because dammit you don’t know that. And I don’t want to have to be the girl with her hopes so high she never saw the plane that crashed into her coming again.
this dog brings me great joy and eternal peace
If your favourite musical is something popular like Wicked or RENT, that’s okay.
If your favourite musical is something no one’s heard of like Ordinary Days or The Burnt Part Boys, that’s okay.
If your favourite musical just came out, like First Date or Beautiful, that’s okay.
If your favourite musical is an oldie like Annie Get Your Gun or High Society, that’s okay.
What’s not okay is telling someone they can’t like that musical.
Too mind bending not to reblog!
i feel like this is exactly what Vincent Van Gogh saw and now i am crying
GOTTA FIGURE OUT HOW TO WATCH THIS IN THE OCULUS!!!