matsuoka-rin:

done packing for the first day of school 

matsuoka-rin:

done packing for the first day of school 

(via kindaactivenot)

I think I’m waiting to meet that one person who will randomly sit down next me when I’m just staring at the skyline and ask me what I’m looking at and I’m gonna look at this person and everything will fall into place and I will tell them all the things I’m looking at like the stars and the pollution and everything I want to be all thrown up in the air. They might not understand but I know they will listen and that will be all that counts. I thought college was the kind of place where you found those kind of people. I guess I have to be patient because I have met some very good people already that I am very grateful for. I guess I might be asking for a bit much to ask for that one person to come along. I guess I’m too much of a romantic. I give my heart to everyone I meet and I’ve been feeling the repercussions of that arrogance lately. Who wants a heart if they don’t ask for it? Yet I want to love people. So badly. I want to love people because it is the only way I know how to make everyday things more bearable. Loving people, right next to creating. 

I guess I am asking for a shared silence. I want so much from this life. I just don’t know how to get it. There is a story knocking at my ribs and I don’t know how to let it out. There is happiness outside the door but I can’t step beyond the frame. 

"

Wake up angry, rub the wrinkles around your eyes. They don’t go away. You’re angry. You’ve been waking up angry for years now. It shows.

There are scratches on your skin where you can’t stand yourself. You brandish them to the world. ‘This is what you have made me.’ This is what the world made you - strong and wild-eyed and built on insecure foundations. This is what the world made you - angry and determined.

You glare at men irately in the street and take up both armrests on public transport. People side-eye you as though you’re unreasonable. A woman sits next to you. She looks tired. You let her have her fair share of the armrest.

Someone opens the door for you on the way to work. You say thank you. They slap your ass as you pass by. You have never wished so vehemently that you could take your words and wrap them around someone’s throat and twist and see their eyes bulge in fright. In your head, they echo what you’re sure you’ve heard leave the mouth of half the female protagonists you’ve ever seen on screen. ‘What are you going to do to me?’

So, you admit it. ‘Do to me.’ I am going to do something to you. You aren’t going to want it. I’m laughing at you, not with you. This is to you, not with you, and certainly not for you. Remember that.

You stop choking them; they fall to the floor. You aren’t sure whether they’re trying to catch their breath because you used force against them or because you stood up for yourself and it actually scared them. Blink: in reality, there was a split second where you decided whether to turn around and say something or to keep walking. You were unsure which would give them power and which would set them straight. They are still staring at your ass as you walk away. You are sure that both of your options would have empowered them, so you may as well have given them a bruise. But you are already gone.

You’ve been waking up angry since you were ten and you saw someone on the news mention women’s rights. What was ‘feminism’, and why did his lip curl when he said it? you wondered, and you searched, and you found red.

You found rape statistics, classroom statistics, boys-are-more-confident-than-girls statistics, why all men want their girlfriends to do anal, why you should please him, mothers taking their daughters to self defence classes, MRA speeches, pro-life opinions, the condescending and harmful thoughts of men before you in chalk on a Google search and the sudden knowledge that it would never hurt a single one of them.

That stranger who commented on Beyoncé’s picture saying exactly what he’d like to do to her will get hired straight out of college. Slack-jawed teachers will jokingly berate their students, preaching ‘boys will be boys’, before frowning pointedly at bare shoulders and skirts above the knee and ‘shouldn’t have risen to the bait’.

When you were ten, you found red, and you’ve never given up red since. Red in your mouth, red in your veins, red in your underwear. Red. Red on your fingernails, red on your lips. You put away nurturing pink and calm blue for another day. Today you wear red.

"

red | ishani jasmin (via ishanijasmin)

(via ishanijasmin)

(Source: jaygurudev, via airsayer)

you are the first dreamer i’ve met that i am hesitant to dream with.

(Source: rachel-actually, via deaatrang)

thetremblingofmyhand:

fenchurchdent:

chicklikemeblog:

Playboy’s catcall flowchart.  

I’m reblogging Playboy. Somebody stop me. 

No. Don’t stop. This is perfect

thetremblingofmyhand:

fenchurchdent:

chicklikemeblog:

Playboy’s catcall flowchart.  

I’m reblogging Playboy. Somebody stop me. 

No. Don’t stop. This is perfect

(via flyhighicarus)