Fuck that, it’s not a dichotomy. Let’s not act like mascara glues girls eyes so shut that they can’t read a word of Dickens or solve a trig problem. Let’s talk about how no boy has ever been asked if he’d rather get his Bachelor’s or get married; no boy has ever been told that he’s too handsome to run for office. So why cover up my tits so you can take me seriously?
“It’s difficult to hear your own voice when there are so many others talking, telling you what to believe in, who you should and shouldn’t be. You’re fat. Fat is ugly. Skinny is ugly. No, everyone is beautiful in their own way. No, beauty is an absurd concept. Pray to God. Don’t pray to God. Who’s God? Don’t believe in anything. No, believe in everything. Homosexuality isn’t right, because the bible says so. No, biology says so. It looks weird. It’s actually cute. Whiten your skin. No, tan is better. Don’t fall in love yet. You’re still young. No, fall in love now before it’s too late. Grab the chance. No, let it slip by. Don’t do this. Don’t do that, either. It’s okay. Do that. Here. There. Now. Later. Right. Wrong. Stop. Go. See? The world is too noisy. Everyone has an opinion on everything. At some point, you just have to close your ears and focus on the sound of your own voice. Be selfish. Strive to do things as you desire. Drown out everyone else’s expectations. Only you know what’s best for yourself, after all.”—(via cresmix)
FUCK YOU if you think that street harassment is a “compliment” or “no big deal” or that it’s “irrational” of us to be afraid because “what’s actually gonna happen.” Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you some more.
I actually really love it when someone remembers small details and quirks about me or addresses me by my name at unexpected times like at the end of a sentence and I don’t know why but I just really, really do.