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My mother says when I get older my dusty hair will settle and my blouse will learn to stay clean, but I have decided not to grow up tame like the others who lay their necks on the threshold waiting for the ball and chain.

In the movies there is always one with red red lips who is beautiful and cruel. She is the one who drives the men crazy and laughs them all away. Her power is her own. She will not give it away.

I have begun my own quiet war. Simple. Sure. I am one who leaves the table like a man, without putting back the chair or picking up the plate.
Sandra Cisneros, “The House on Mango Street” (via lifeinpoetry)

mamma-panther:

Take up more space as a woman. Take up more time. Take your time. Take your space. You’re taught to hide, censor, move about without messing up decorum for a man’s comfort. Whether it’s said or not, you’re taught balance. Fuck that. Displease. Disappoint. Destroy. Be loud, be vulgar, be righteous, be messy. Mess up and it’s fine - you’re learning to unlearn. Don’t see yourself like glass. Like you could get dirty and clean. You’re flesh. You’re not constant. You change. Society teaches women to maintain balance and that robs us of our volatility. Our mercurial hearts. Calm and chaos. Love a man and love him only when he loves you. Don’t be a moth near the light. Don’t let a man’s ocean big ego swallow you up. Know what you want. Ask yourself first. Decide your own pace. Decide your own path. Be cruel when needed. Be gentle only when needed. Collapse and then re-construct. When someone says you’re being obscene, say yes I am. When they say you’re being wrong, say yes I am. When they say you’re being selfish, say yes I am and why shouldn’t I be.

How do you expect a woman to stand on her two feet if you keep striking her at the ankles.

actionables:

today this guy told me that my dress made my ass look fat (he sad it as a 'compliment') and obviously since it was 8:30 I was too tired for that shit and I replied with 'saying my ass is fat wont make your dick any bigger' and when he tried to defend himself saying his dick was big enough I told him that it doesn’t count if he shoved two thirds of it in his personality and he just looked at me completely defenseless AND BASICALLY I STOLE THAT LINE FROM HERE BUT I SLAYED

(Source: actionables)

ineffable-hufflepuff:

They tell me that the written word is static, dead, and boring. They tell me that it is no longer relevant or hip.

The written word has no rhythm to it.

It can not ebb and flow like a river, tumbling over phrases like rapids, ripples, and rivulets; pooling and meandering through its clauses with metaphors and similes, filled with sparkling minnows of personification who grin at the reader or turns of phrase that, like alligators, lurk beneath the waters so treacherous and curving that it is easy to lose the subject of the sentence for its rambling predicate is overwhelming.  

It can not zip. Jump. Like staccato pin pricks. Fragmented. Anxious. Filling you with stunted anticipation. 

It can not, bouncing, bumbling, flip-flopping, express the motion of emotion as a story trips into being. 

It can not fill a soul with wonder, like words speaking truths so deep that your mind only knew the shape of the idea before the words penciled in every detail, and for a moment you believe in mind readers, because you never believed another human soul knew what your soul knows with such clarity.

The written word is dead they tell me.

I don’t think I believe them. 

bubblyskootch:

bemusedlybespectacled:

fandomsandfeminism:

typette:

I remember posting somewhere once in a thread about why girls aren’t exploited in animation anymore where some guy said, “all the disney girls are drawn to be generally attractive, but I don’t think there are any eye-candy men… or are there? Are there any Disney men that lots of girls like?” and I mentioned Roger. Tons of girls replied agreeing with me and the original guy was like “wait, Roger? from 101 Dalmatians? What’s attractive about him, he’s tall and lanky and has a big nose, he isn’t muscley at all! Wouldn’t you all prefer Gaston or something? Or do you girls think his big nose is indicative of something else?” and I was like “no, you idiot, he’s a silly, goofy guy who likes animals and can play a bunch of instruments, that’s why he’s attractive. What’s the matter with you? Gaston, seriously?”

This is why we need more girls in animation. And more guys like Roger apparently. 

This is why I laugh my ass of whenever dudes talk about how men are “objectified” by the media too. Because 9 times out of 10, what men think is “women objectifying men” are characters like Gaston.

And Gaston is NOT a woman-driven fantasy. Gaston is a male wish fulfillment fantasy. Gaston is not what women want, he is what men want to be. He is hyper-masculinity to an extreme degree, dripping with sexism and testosterone. The fact that men think that Gaston is what women want says an awful lot about those men. 

While I don’t want to generalize, female fans tend to prefer a very different kind of male hero. We like the Rogers, the Milos, the Hercules. Genuinely kind, often awkward men who are sometimes vulnerable and respectful to women. 

Yes, this is a generalization. I own up to that. But I think it’s important to remember that there is often VERY big difference between what MEN want to be and what women WANT in our media. 

Reblogging this again because fucking this. And hell, even the muscley dudes (see: Khal Drogo, Hercules, Thor, Captain America) are loved, not because they are muscley, but because they are sweet and loving and adorable. We love Thor because his mispronounces “Hubble” as “Hooble,” not because of what he can do with a hammer.

Reblogging for the awesome comments.

(Source: nostalgiaunicorn)

when i was five i taught myself to lie.
got my hand caught in the window screen
as i snuck out to catch a firefly and i looked
my mother dead in the eye and said,
“i thought i heard a raccoon.”
i wished i’d just been honest when she died.

from there i learned the best way to trick
someone into believing you is to make sure
that everything you say sounds like you’re lying.
there’s that tricky little bonus side-effect,
you know, the one where no one believes a
god damn word you’re saying? but you learn to
get over that. it’s not like they’ll think it matters, anyway.

after that you learn to count the seconds when you blink.
learn to think of your words as they spill questions
from their mouths so when you look down, you’re looking
the right way. “no, sir. i haven’t heard of anything like that.”
i didn’t break into that costume shop to steal anything —
i just wanted to know what it felt like to disappear.

and when you start to tell all these lies, it’s like —
it’s like you can’t stop until you’ve got it. until you’ve
got them believing whatever you want, because then
you know you’re in control. just one more, just keep
going, keep going until you’re safe, but you never are.
whatever you’re running from, it sure as hell isn’t
going to disappear.
you lie anyway.
you have to.

it’s when you start to tell the truth that things get all
fucked up. because remember when you learned that
all your truths should sound like lies and remember
all those times when you got caught and remember
all those times you said “i mean it, i’m serious.

i taught myself to lie when i was five.
but i’m caught — no one ever taught me to survive.

a war of wordsscottinpanties vs thenemeton
↳ round one // free verse + any character

sixteen and a bad idea — r.k.

(via thenemeton)

when i was five i taught myself to lie.
got my hand caught in the window screen
as i snuck out to catch a firefly and i looked
my mother dead in the eye and said,
“i thought i heard a raccoon.”
i wished i’d just been honest when she died.

from there i learned the best way to trick
someone into believing you is to make sure
that everything you say sounds like you’re lying.
there’s that tricky little bonus side-effect,
you know, the one where no one believes a
god damn word you’re saying? but you learn to
get over that. it’s not like they’ll think it matters, anyway.

after that you learn to count the seconds when you blink.
learn to think of your words as they spill questions
from their mouths so when you look down, you’re looking
the right way. “no, sir. i haven’t heard of anything like that.”
i didn’t break into that costume shop to steal anything —
i just wanted to know what it felt like to disappear.

and when you start to tell all these lies, it’s like —
it’s like you can’t stop until you’ve got it. until you’ve
got them believing whatever you want, because then
you know you’re in control. just one more, just keep
going, keep going until you’re safe, but you never are.
whatever you’re running from, it sure as hell isn’t
going to disappear.
you lie anyway.
you have to.

it’s when you start to tell the truth that things get all
fucked up. because remember when you learned that
all your truths should sound like lies and remember
all those times when you got caught and remember
all those times you said “i mean it, i’m serious.

i taught myself to lie when i was five.
but i’m caught — no one ever taught me to survive.

a war of wordsscottinpanties vs thenemeton
↳ round one // free verse + any character

sixteen and a bad idea — r.k.

(via thenemeton)

quasi-normalcy:

herotterness:

jaclcfrost:

in all my years that i have been on this earth i have not played spin the bottle once. does this mean that i’ve never actually lived? do a lot of people actually even play spin the bottle? or is its importance and prevalence stretched and exaggerated in media? these are the questions of the hour

Are teen parties with alcohol and red solo cups even real?!!?!

Has anyone ever participated in a food fight?!?

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