I despise the way I’m always being measured and I don’t just mean the scales either. The length of my hair as a measure of my femininity. The controlled volume of my laugh as a symbol of my place in womanhood. The size of my smile as a way to test the waters of my consent. How long my eyes linger as a direct correlation to my interest, the way this means that and that means those and everything but my words have real meaning. A girl as a puzzle with no name, always needing to be solved or completed.

sending “I hope you get that job” vibes to the people out here tryna get jobs

reblogging for yall bc the shit worked for me lol

Karma will pop me if I don’t

the older I get the more I realize the value of privacy, of cultivating your circle and only letting certain people in. You can be open, honest, and real while still understanding not everyone deserves a seat at the table of your life.

PAINT RESTORATION OF MESMERIZING

By the time I actually experience mutual love/romance it’s going to send me into shock and fucking kill me

underappreciated form of humor: using incorrect long forms of proper names i.e. Craigory, Bobert, Barold, etc.