Holla back if you like being yelled at in cursive, receiving mix tapes that make you feel rad etc etc
My grandmother reminds me all too often that I’ve got to watch what I eat, because it’s in my genes to gain weight too fast and keep it on too long,
on my 21st birthday she urged me to stay sober because my father was an alcoholic,
and you know, those are things that get passed on.
My mother urges me to call my grandmother at least once a week,
because the women in my family have a history of falling out and forgetting to come back together.
When I stare in the mirror and lament how dark the circles are under my eyes and how they stand out against my pale skin,
she tells me I am beautiful,
reminds me that tanning is dangerous for me because the doctors removed a melanoma from under her skin and
she’ll be damned if I get one too.
I skip the ads in magazines that remind me cancer is hereditary.
Two marriages later, both she and my grandmother have finally arrived at something we’ll call happiness,
and I can’t sleep at night because I’m worried I’ll have to sew my heart back under my skin twice till I finally get it right,
and I never was really good at sewing anyway.
I collect cats like some people collect stamps,
and every time I go to my parents’ home for dinner someone asks me if I’ve found someone to take care of me yet.
My stepfather insists I’ve got to soften my edges, “Just look at your mother and me”
"She’s a cold-blooded killer at work, and a docile cougar at home."
I don’t think I’d mind being compared to a killer cat, but I keep this to myself.
The next time I call my grandmother, she’ll ask if I’ve gone on any dates lately.
"You’ve got to actually want to find love," she’ll preach.
I don’t tell her, or anyone, that my biggest fear is spending my life looking for a word,
and missing out on a feeling.
Do you feel that lost in the heart of "gender equality" movements is the undertone of resentment and sometimes bigotry of the oppressed? Is it counterproductive to this cause...? Almost as if being the "victim" is propaganda and pulp?
Rad question. Yes. No. Let’s not pretend that women are “playing the victim”, to start with. Historically, our abilities and position can be likened to a shit sandwich without bread. Obviously, we’ve made strides and come great lengths. Do I think sometimes we’re our own kryptonite? Yes. I just had a conversation yesterday where I said I understood the repercussions to insisting I want to wait to have sex, but making dirty jokes and such. Few people will take you seriously. As in the case of feminism, if we’re constantly using the smaller/weaker/not as able-bodied/ afraid of rape card, it’s unlikely that our pleas to be taken seriously will be…taken seriously. I like this conversation. Feel free to contact me and we can talk more in detail.
Still brilliant. Missed your page!
Absolutely love you to pieces.
Do not mistake my soft body for weakness,
I will slit your throat while you sleep,
Make you breakfast in the morning.
Do not mistake my broken and bitten fingernails as a lack of love for myself,
These hands have moved mountains, displaced homes and rearranged continents just to find something about myself that I
And you think my biggest concern is looking good before you wake up and see me?
By the time you wake up, I’ll be worlds away digging at the ruins of all the women before me,
To find out where you’ve been.
I told you at three a.m that I loved you, and you said,
"And him, and him and him."
I wish I had said you were wrong.
I guess I’m beginning to understand that it’s not really about what I feel for you, but what I don’t feel for anyone else.
Been sleeping on my side, because that’s the way you used to do.
There’s things I’ve learned from loving you, things I’ve learned from finding myself at the lowest of lows,
things I’ve learned because my father left,
and it’s probably just as well.
I’ve been lying here for hours, all alone and by myself,
I’ve got a nagging feeling there’s someone I should call but I can’t recall his name.
A voice in my head once told me that there is nothing rebellious about loving someone who can’t,
and will never
love you back.
And yet, here I am, feeling split in half right down the fucking middle but you’ve got my whole heart and half of my right lung,
I tried to tell myself you don’t matter, but either way I’m fucked, because you do matter and I’m just an asshole of a girl,
and the easiest way to lose something is to want it too much.
I know just where you are, you’re not so far away. But I can’t come to you like this, so I guess I’ll stay away.
Reasons why I liked the picture of your dog and not the 30 pictures of your baby:
- I don’t like babies
- I like dogs
im selling my virginity for $1000 minimum. i need money for bills and the holidays
When I was sixteen, my mother promised me I would one day blossom.
Eight years later I’m finally feeling like my petals have begun to spread.
I used to think you were the sunshine, coaxing me out and warming me from root to stem,
but I’m beginning to think you’re a cheap pesticide that someone lacking a green thumb picked up and shook too hard, poured too long till the ground beneath my leaves was saturated.
And I could feel myself shriveling up from the inside, could hear you wondering aloud,
Where did your beauty go?
I put down the mirror in your words,
and walked back out into the light without you.
I read on the bathroom wall once that sometimes you have to look back at who you’ve been to figure out who you want to be.
I used to be a girl whose favorite word was “no”, now I’m a woman who says “yes” too much and shares sheets with smiling strangers just to escape feeling lonely.
I used to rub my eyes when fighting fatigue, now I barely touch my face for fear of rubbing off the makeup that makes me unrecognizable to the people I want to forget the most, and I wonder why no one says hello when I see them in the grocery store.
I fell in love six times the year I turned twelve, now all I do is fall to pieces and push away the needle and thread my grandmother sent me because I’ve convinced myself that there is no thread in the world strong enough to hold me together.
My mother could never get me to swallow my vitamins, now I throw back a cocktail of prescriptions that aren’t mine just to fall asleep.
And much like leaving unhappy in the morning makes coming home at night not worth the effort of locking and unlocking the front door, there is not enough eyeliner or red lipstick in the world to make you blend in when someone is dead set on you, taking pills to fall asleep doesn’t guarantee you will stay asleep,
And looking in the mirror with your eyes closed is a damn good way to learn how to love yourself again. It’s hard to accept yourself as something you don’t desire,
and just because someone says it, doesn’t mean you have to accept “I love you” as an apology for lighting a match when we live in a cardboard box.
One day, someone will ask me who I got my eyes from. I’ll say
I got them from three generations of women in my family making the wrong decisions and following men,
Being a step-child taught me that blood may be thicker than water,
But no one get’s in trouble for having water on their hands.
One day someone will ask me, oh, why did your parents split up?
And I will nonchalantly reply,
Because my father decided he’d rather fuck half the neighborhood than come home on time for dinner.
Me? Trust issues?
Twenty one years ago I came out from my mother’s body,
to this day I’m still trying to get out from underneath it. I’m trying not to make the same mistakes.
I want the women and men who follow in my footsteps to know that making bad decisions doesn’t make you a bad person,
and watching someone fall apart doesn’t make you responsible for putting them back together.
Let it always be known that I was who I am, and that is all
I’m gonna give all my love to you.