“
My earliest memory is of
some boy on the preschool playground
telling me I could not play
Toy Story with them
because I refused to be Jessie or Bo Peep-
instead, I wanted to be Buzz Lightyear.
I wanted to be strong.
I took my revenge
by not allowing them to play
castle with me and the other girls,
because they refused to be servants,
bowing to their Royal Highnesses,
a collection of queens who were
Buzz Lightyear-strong.
At the age of fourteen I have been asked,
indirectly, subtle probing questions
of why I refuse to paint myself as
the pretty-princess girl,
the wide-eyed-too-innocent-too-delicate girl,
and instead color myself with messy wax crayons as
the speak-her-mind girl,
the everyone-deserves-equal-rights girl,
the Buzz-Lightyear-strong girl.
I refuse to wield the brush that my mother’s grandmother
has handed to me, thick with regrets of never standing up,
of shoving away their identities
under mattresses and high heels and pages of Cosmopolitan,
but instead my crayon is my weapon,
compiled not of wax but of all the times
my mother, sister, aunts, cousins,
have stood up for themselves
and of all the times I have
screamed until my voice is raw.
At the age of fourteen,
my identity is not in the pages of Cosmopolitan,
but pinned to my chest, my medal of honor
earned from the moments I have refrained from feeling
dirty and embarrassed when someone honks their horn
as I walk down the street,
as someone gives me a lecherous smile and whispers
“hey baby”s in my ear,
from ensuring that my words are heard.
(Source: lipstick-feminists)
Touch Me I’m Going To Scream - My Morning Jacket
Bob Dylan and Suzie Rotolo, New York City, 1962
The way Dylan spoke about Rotolo in his autobiography was simply heartbreaking. I love the publicity shots of them; the way she wraps herself around his arms..
(Source: eatdrinkknoweverything)
“ The floor seemed wonderfully solid. It was comforting to know I had fallen and could fall no farther.
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (via hl0)
(Source: thecurios)
reblog if you’re a gay and an elf
(Source: bansand)
