Sometimes I Picture Myself Trying To Explain Dreams To An Alien Race
Every morning I wake up tense, my fists clenched and my arms pressed into my chest. It’s as if I’m braced for…
Every morning I wake up tense, my fists clenched and my arms pressed into my chest. It’s as if I’m braced for…
We never say that all men deserve to feel beautiful. We never say that each man is beautiful in his own way.
I am tired of talking about feminism to men.
We take pictures and write status updates and scrawl out journal entries because we’re trying to put together some kind of lasting story about our lives.
Whatever the case is, there is no possible chance that you could be wrong.
Depression is the place you always come back to, and though its landscape is ugly, the colours muddied and muted, it feels strangely like home.
Write because no other person who came before you or who will come after you will ever, ever be able to do it in quite the same way that you can.
Assume that you will always find a way out, even when all the doors slam shut and everything feels impossible.
Framing the issue this way for rape apologists can seem useful. I totally get that. It feels like you’re humanizing the victim and making the event more relatable, more sympathetic to the person you’re arguing with.