you ever thought that maybe the reason girls say they’re fine when they’re not, or they’re not mad when they are, is because the second they show any semblance of emotion they’re written off as hysterical bitches that are probably on their period?
once i got very drunk in a bar and my mum had to pick me up so i was trying to act normal by keeping the conversation so i asked her if shes a virgin and she looked at me with pain in her eyes and said “i wish i was”
Apparently it’s not socially acceptable for a man to invite another man out just for coffee or to go out for a meal, in case it’s perceived as a date. Like it’s fine if you wanna go to the pub and drink beer and have a chat but make it non-alcoholic and suddenly you’re not straight anymore? You can go to the cinema together but ONLY if it’s an action movie. You guys can’t even just go shopping with each other. Oh masculinity, so fragile, so strange.
People think feminism means that there’s a group of women somewhere that want to take trousers with pockets away from men and give them to women, and give men trousers with fake pockets, while in reality feminism is the general idea that everyone should have trousers with pockets, because pockets are awesome.
u know what the worst thing about being a girl is… is when another girl asks u for a hair tie, but its ur last one, but u can’t say u don’t have one because she knows its on ur wrist, so u give it to her, and then she says “oh i’ll give it back!” knowing damn well she won’t, and u sit there sad because now you have to go buy another pack of hair ties that u know ur gonna lose by the end of the month
A boy sprawled next to me on the bus, elbows out, knee pointing sharp into my thigh.
He frowned at me when I uncrossed my legs, unfolded my hands
and splayed out like boys are taught to: all big, loose limbs.
I made sure to jab him in the side with my pretty little sharp purse.
At first he opened his mouth like I expected him to, but instead of speaking up he sat there, quiet, and took it for the whole bus ride.
Like a girl.
Once, a boy said my anger was cute, and he laughed,
and I remember thinking that I should sit there and take it,
because it isn’t ladylike to cause a scene and girls aren’t supposed to raise their voices.
But then he laughed again and all I saw
was my pretty little sharp nails digging into his cheek
before drawing back and making a horribly unladylike fist.
(my teacher informed me later that there is no ladylike way of making a fist.)
When we were both in the principal’s office twenty minutes later
him with a bloody mouth and cheek, me with skinned knuckles,
I tried to explain in words that I didn’t have yet
that I was tired of having my emotions not taken seriously
just because I’m a girl.
Girls are taught: be small, so boys can be big.
Don’t take up any more space than absolutely necessary.
Be small and smooth with soft edges
and hold in the howling when they touch you and it hurts:
the sandpaper scrape of their body hair that we would be shamed for having,
the greedy hands that press too hard and too often take without asking permission.
Girls are taught: be quiet and unimposing and oh so small
when they heckle you with their big voices from the window of a car,
because it’s rude to scream curse words back at them, and they’d just laugh anyway.
We’re taught to pin on smiles for the boys who jeer at us on the street
who see us as convenient bodies instead of people.
Girls are taught: hush, be hairless and small and soft,
so we sit there and take it and hold in the howling,
pretend to be obedient lapdogs instead of the wolves we are.
We pin pretty little sharp smiles on our faces instead of opening our mouths,
because if we do we get accused of silly women emotions
blowing everything out of proportion with our PMS, we get
condescending pet names and not-so-discreet eyerolls.
Once, I got told I punched like a girl.
I told him, Good. I hope my pretty little sharp rings leave scars.
”—'My Perfume Doubles As Mace,' theappleppielifestyle. (via queenofeden)