My Barbaric Yawp

i’m too soft of a bitch to have lived when love letters were common practice. i’d get One and go lay down by a river and my friends would be like “what’s wrong?” and i’d be like “my friends, i’ve fallen ill” 

if your horror film doesn’t involve a cult, a forest or motherhood i don’t wanna hear it

if im not stood at the helm of a 19th century pirate ship with the furious wind whipping at my billowing white shirt and the waves beating at the starboard side and my dark hair unraveling from its braid and my crew singing a shanty like a religious chant trying to make god hear them over the sound of the creaking of the mast and the screaming of the sea then whats the point

being a woman is about having prophetic dreams