If she bites your lip when you’re kissing her , dude you better grab her butt.
You know, if you watch the lion king closely, you can find a lot of simbalism.
She’s mine. I don’t want anyone else getting the same butterflies I get when she smiles or says my name. I don’t want anyone else making her blush or calling her “babe.” Call me selfish I don’t care. She’s mine.
Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.
When I was a kid I would be like “ew boys” and my mom would say “darling, some day you’ll like boys” but congratulations mom I’m a lesbian so ew boys
I wanna be that one girl who looks really cute but also gives off the vibe that she could snap your neck if you disrespect her like is that possible for me
- be thin
- give birth
- cook for you
- have long hair
- wear makeup
- have sex with you
- be feminine
- be graceful
- be fashionable
- wear pink
- love men
- be the media’s idea of perfection
- listen to your bullshit
- have a vagina
This is very true, but it’s important to remember that if a woman is feminine, graceful, shaves, diets, wears make up, or does any of these things in the list, it doesn’t make her a slave to patriarchy or any less of a feminist than you.
Sometimes I think to myself, “do I really want to buy another chocolate bar?”
And then I remember that there is a super volcano under Yellowstone that is 40,000 years overdue and when it erupts it could potentially cover most of north America in ash and create a volcanic winter that kills half the worlds population
And I’m like, fuck yeah I want that chocolate bar
This is one of the most inspiring posts i’ve ever seen