I want a shirt that says ‘I spent most of my teenage years blogging about Dan Howell and Phil Lester and all I got was this stupid shirt’
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Because when I was 13 years old, I was sent home for my tank top straps being a little too thin, but a boy could wear a Cool Story babe, Go Make Me A Sandwich shirt and not be looked at twice.
Because when I was 17 and I told a guy “No” and the next day the word tease was painted on my locker.
Because when I was 18 and just wanted to be friends, I was a bitch.
Because I feel the need to say “I have a boyfriend” instead of “No” because guys respect other men more than they would ever respect me.
Because society screams “don’t get raped” instead of “don’t rape”
Because I am scared to walk alone at 10 PM
Because being beautiful is the most important thing I’ll ever do.
Because when I wear my favorite skirt “I’m asking for it”
Because the song Blurred Lines exists
Because no means no no matter how you fucking spin it
Because a girl was drugged and raped with a beer bottle, and the boys who did it are out on bail.
Because I owe you nothingBecause pepper spray is a gift I receive yearly.
Because I am asked if I have a boyfriend more than I am asked about my mental health
Because my clothes say more about my consent then my mouth does.
Because the wage gap exists
Because “not all men are like that” is said way too often
ENOUGH ARE
Because I feel the need to say “I’m not a feminist but…”
Because I’m writing this fucking piece
When you ask why I’m angry? (via crazeist)
We had lunch last Sunday.
At my best friends house.
You were wearing that shirt I like and i had my glasses on which I always knew you found kind of sexy.
We were both a bit hungover from last night after drinking a bit too much and after having yet another drunken kiss, in a corner of a dying party, lips salty, foreheads touching, breathing mingled in the dark.
We always had these kind of moments.
I have been in love with you since we were sixteen years old. You had a girlfriend then who you loved more than she did. And she hurt you. But I was always there picking up the pieces.
Now we’re nineteen.
And I still love you.
You do too, just not the way I deserve or I want you too.
So we’re having lunch and you’re staring at me across the table. I am avoiding your eyes. I really wish that this time you would change your mind. I need you too.
So after another lame attempt to catch my attention, I look up at you and that smile I reserve only for you inevitably escapes me. It warmed you. I know it did.
But you have no intention in seeing me seriously. You know you have me. You know I’ll always be there. And you care only for that. You care only for these little nameless moments that you can confirm that yes I’m still crazy in love with you and you can tuck your insecurities away for a short while.
So yes you are my almost, you will always be my almost. And for you I will always be that girl who could be your savior. But you never dared to try.
Well, maybe someday…
- white women: omg i read an article that men hate high waisted skirts so i wore 17 pairs on top of eacha other to school because fuck the patriarchy and my principal told me to take it off because it was a hindrance so i spit acid into his eyes. ANY WOMAN SHOULD WEAR WHATEVER SHE WANTS. #feminism
- tumblr: 200000000000+ notes
- black women: i can't go shopping without dressing like i'm going on an interview. i have to prove with my clothing choice that i have money to the store clerks because if i go out in sweatpants and a t-shirt they'll accuse me of stealing and perform embarrassing and degrading searches on me in front of everyone. white women may be free to wear whatever they want, but i am not.
- tumblr: 3 notes.
I fear I’ve gone mad. I am enamored with the temblor of my pale hands that are intertwined with rays of green and blue. Green and blue that pound red. Red that washes over my insides. Red that taints the white when the razor blade sets it free. And then it’s the brown. An ugly brown colored patch that conceals the red and contrasts the white. The white that turns from creamy milk to golden sun-rays which flow and cascade down the white in delightful fragrance. The gold that daringly and occasionally kisses the pink. The soft luscious pink that conceals the words and keeps in or throws out the thoughts. The pink that’s stained with a touch of brown; just a dot, a ship in a vast full ocean of pink. A sea at the feet of a hazel colored sky. A sky that has been condemned to night. Night that’s Black. Black that turns out the lights. Lights that gave life to the colors. And when the light has succumbed to the darkness, there’s gray in what used to be multicolored.
Isn’t that a fall out boy song title?
my god it could be
I JUST PUT MY SHIRT ON AND THERE WAS A SPIDER IN IT!!!!!!!!
or did you just put a shirt on that a spider was already wearing?
thats so rude
me: *watches criminal minds for 9 hours*
anything: *makes a noise*
me: I’m looking for a white male between the ages of 25-45 probably a loner probably most definitely hates women probably drives a red late model dodge truck probably lives alone his moms name is Helen and his favorite color skittles are the red ones
Anonymous asked:
I wish I was black so I could get a free pass all the time and pull the race card.
steviemcfly answered:
I’ll tell you what. On behalf of all black Americans, I’m willing to make a trade. If we get to be paid 30% more on average, be in charge of almost all Fortune 500 companies, have the next forty-three Presidents in a row be black, have 90% of auditions in Hollywood be exclusive to black actors, receive 14% more of the total scholarship funding than our portion of the population, do and deal drugs at higher rates but be arrested less, not be killed every twenty-eight hours by the police, have our literature and history be almost exclusively the source of all compulsory education curriculums, be chosen for jobs if we have felony convictions over you even if your record is clean, be held as the standard of beauty worldwide, and hold a disproportionate amount of the country’s wealth, you can have the “race card.” If we can legitimately switch places, you can “pull the race card” every day and say the n-word eighty times on a megaphone every night before you go to sleep.
if I ever see a girl in public who is clearly going for something really bold with her look (crazy hair, makeup, outfit) and looks like she’s maybe uncomfortable or nervous about rocking it, I make sure to go up to her and tell her she looks fierce. It took a lot of courage to go out like that and somebody ought to notice.
changes lives. be sure to do that at least once a day.
you’re the type of person this world needs
bless you