“Let someone love you just the way you are – as flawed as you might be, as unattractive as you sometimes feel, and as unaccomplished as you think you are. To believe that you must hide all the parts of you that are broken, out of fear that someone else is incapable of loving what is less than perfect, is to believe that sunlight is incapable of entering a broken window and illuminating a dark room.”—Marc Hack (via happinessprinted)
today we studied gender and language, and how language is misogynistic with words like “slut”. so i wrote “fuck the patriarchy” at the top of my page for fun. then we did an exercise on describing colour. for number 1, i wrote “mustard”, because it was a dirty yellow colour. then she moved on, leaving me with these notes:
it just looks like i got really angry about sexism then started a grocery list
This includes letting your ideas, stories and head-canons marinate in your head on a daily basis to the point of not writing any of it down because you’re either afraid of how it will turn out or too fucking lazy to write that shit down.
erryday all day
"a lot" really not even remotely describes the action going on in my head…
Just because someone’s parents are together, someone has a nice house, has nice clothes, isn’t poor, eats every day and has a loving family doesn’t mean they can’t be depressed, have anxiety, an eating disorder, self harm issues, or any other problem.
“It is terrifying to think that one day you will trust somebody enough to let them see you naked. You will undress and remind them that you’ve stretch marks and birth marks and scars from having chicken pox when you were little and scars from all of the other things now. You will blush thousands of shades of red, painting yourself as a rose losing its petals. And that person - that person will take it all in. And I wonder if they will reassure you. But mostly, I wonder if they will even see anything worth reassuring you about. I hope they see each freckle on your back as if it’s a star and you are the whole universe to them.”—(via fawun)
all women were bigger and stronger than you
and thought they were smarter
women were the ones who started wars
too many of your friends had been raped by women wielding giant dildos
and no K-Y Jelly
the state trooper
who pulled you over on the New Jersey Turnpike
was a woman
and carried a gun
the ability to menstruate
was the prerequisite for most high-paying jobs
your attractiveness to women depended
on the size of your penis
every time women saw you
they’d hoot and make jerking motions with their hands
women were always making jokes
about how ugly penises are
and how bad sperm tastes
you had to explain what’s wrong with your car
to big sweaty women with greasy hands
who stared at your crotch
in a garage where you are surrounded
by posters of naked men with hard-ons
men’s magazines featured cover photos
of 14-year-old boys
tucked into the front of their jeans
and articles like:
“How to tell if your wife is unfaithful”
“What your doctor won’t tell you about your prostate”
“The truth about impotence”
the doctor who examined your prostate
was a woman
and called you “Honey”
you had to inhale your boss’s stale cigar breath
as she insisted that sleeping with her
was part of the job
you couldn’t get away because
the company dress code required
you wear shoes
designed to keep you from running
And what if
after all that
women still wanted you
to love them.
For the Men Who Still Don’t Get It, written 20 years ago by Carol Diehl.
She wrote a post about the history of this poem that is worth reading.
“in this story, your mother isn’t the villain.
in this story, you find a way to pick the lock, to wake up, to climb out of the tower yourself.
in this story, you’re angry.
in this story, you meet a dragon and
it is afraid of you.
in this story, you don’t need to be saved.
in this story, your mother raised you
to recognize a prison from a home.
in this story, they don’t fall in love with you before they know you.
in this story, they aren’t better than you.
in this story, you have claws.
in this story, happily ever after has bite marks in it.
in this story, you are free and terrifying.
in this story, you get away.
in this story, you bleed.
in this story, you survive.”—in this story | Caitlyn Siehl (via mortal-husk)