//Grow you like my hair, cut you off when I get scared//

stfusexists:

faineemae:

queenofadodi:

Men had no problem violating women’s bodies while they had on corsets, petticoats and farthingales, so what the fuck makes you think a short skirt has anything to do with it? 

Men also have no problem violating women’s bodies while they wear a niqab, hijab and burqa, some of the most covered form of clothing. So basically, what the fuck makes you think clothes have anything to do with it?

Super relevant. 

crydaisy:

jake left me flowers on my windshield last night and it rained and now they are pretty little soggy flowers

riyoka:

if u ask me to go to the park and just swing on swings with u there is 98% chance i will say yes and swing for 5 hours do not test me

juliyeti:

Messages found around New York City the past two days

I think about you all the time

I don’t know how to forget you

Protect your magic

misanthropicmutiny:

Living with mental illness means that on some days it will be even harder to cope and you might not be able to explain why. It could be because you havent slept enough, because a smell reminded you of feeling sad, or for no reason at all.

This is a reminder that we dont have to justify our feelings or abilities to anyone, just do whats needed to make it to the next day.

mulders:

Men Stop Threatening To Kill Your Daughters Boyfriends To Prove Your Masculinity and Show That Your Daughter Is Your Property 2k14

"

When I was in the fifth grade, I knew a kid named Javier.

He was black… which was confusing.
He was an African-American kid
who spoke Spanish, loved country music,
wore cowboy boots, played jump rope,
and had a look on his face that said
“I wish a motherfucker would say something.”
(None of us said anything.)

For show and tell,
he brings in his pet chameleon.
When he walks in,
the eyes of every kid glaze over
like the windows to our soul
shook hands with the winter
for the first time.

A girl with box springs in her throat
felt the silence was too heavy for her fingertips
to hold onto any longer,
drops the quiet like a suitcase full of habits
that nobody wants to keep and says
“So, what’s his name?”

He replies, “I call him Rudy”.

When the class realized
that me and the lizard had the same name,
they laughed.

Twenty years later,
the irony hits me over the head
like an empty Heineken bottle
inside of the bar fight
I call my every day life.

I get it.

Chameleons.
They have the ability to paint brush themselves
into whatever will match their surroundings.
They do it so often
they probably wouldn’t be able to recognize
a photograph of their own skin.
They think it’s far better to be invisible
than it is to grind their teeth into “I dare you”.
And ride their bones like a magic carpet.
No steering wheel. No tires.
No breaks. No battery.
Just bravery.
Just faith and a chest full of I-am-not-dying-today.

Courage has never been a chameleon’s best attribute
and some days
it’s not mine either.

I was mentored by black men with brown skin
who turned yellow at the sight of swollen bellies
filled with half their DNA.
I was taught that a woman’s vagina
is just an underground railroad to masculinity,
that real men have tunnel vision
and treat girls like subway cars,
like nothing more than a space
to parallel park our genitals,
a hole to bury seeds
and leave orchards in our rear view mirrors.

They say you got to peel a woman like a tangerine,
and your job as a man is to chameleon yourself into her trees,
bite a piece of her fruit,
and then leave the rest hanging
crooked, damaged, and confused.

This is an apology to every woman
that I changed colors to get inside of.

I still haven’t stumbled across the definition of man.

But I know that we are hotels
that stand a million war stories tall.
I know that we carry guitar cases full of phobias
hoping we can turn
fear into our strongest instrument.
And I know that our hands break things
just as frequent as we fix them.

We often forget that sexism
is a family heirloom
that we have been passing down for generations.

As men, its important that we start asking ourselves,
“What will the boys learn from us?”

"

- "Chameleon" - Rudy Francisco (via fuckyeahrudyfrancisco)