is it art?

it’s like this: you are 15 and you are covered in rainbows and your smile fills your face, and you come home and then you learn that 103 people just like you were shot because they were just like you. it’s like this: the bitterness in your bones suddenly fills you so entirely you wipe off the makeup and rip off the tie dye with such anger  you wonder if you are yourself right now and it’s like this: you are 15 and queer but you are not free to love

sometimes i look at people on my dash and i think

When you grow up as a girl, the world tells you the things that you are supposed to be: emotional, loving, beautiful, wanted. And then when you are those things, the world tells you they are inferior: illogical, weak, vain, empty.