inkskinned

Don’t look up, my love, there’s no war here. The girl on the train works with the peace corps and hanging right next to her backpack is bright pink mace.

Close your eyes when you get home, carry your mother’s best knife with you into the shower. Hold it in your shaky palm. Wait for your family to get home, keep it where you can get it, have it pointed in front of you like the prow of a ship. Cleave the air, wait for the moment when out of the closet or under the bed a man will grab you and use your empty house as an invitation, as asking for it.

Lock your car. Check the backseat before getting in. Don’t sit too long in parking lots. Don’t break down on the side of the road. Don’t get in a vehicle with people you don’t know. Don’t stand up straight, don’t hold your head up high. Don’t cry where someone could see.

Have 911 pre-dialed. Carry a pocket knife the way your brother does. He plays with his because he is a boy scout and he might have to use it. Yours is a weight and you are terrified for the day you will have to use it. Don’t panic when men stand too close to you, don’t breathe too deep, don’t look them in the eye - but don’t look weak, don’t look vulnerable, don’t show that you’re scared, but be scared.

Don’t marry him if he’s mean to his mother, if he’s mean to dogs, if he’s mean to waiters. It’s your fault if he is cruel, you should have seen it coming. Don’t kiss him if you’re drunk and not looking to follow up. Don’t give him the wrong idea. Don’t love him, it’s clingy. Don’t spurn him, it’s heartbreaking.

Let him catcall you from the safety of his four-wheel drive, don’t flip him off. Think about the girls that have died on the edge of the road. Let him trail slowly behind you so that the crunch of his tires matches the grind of your teeth. Get inside whatever building you can find. Hope the car doesn’t loop back around and follow you later. Sooner or later, one of the cars is going to loop back around and follow you later.

Don’t call yourself a feminist, you will become sick of explaining that you don’t hate men. Don’t call yourself a feminist, it’s seen as an attack. Don’t call yourself a feminist, you will hear more slurs against your person than if you had said you wanted to kill the president. Don’t call yourself a feminist, it’s dangerous to want something for yourself. Don’t call yourself a feminist. Hold fast to the idea that girls of all shapes and sizes and colors and bodies deserve the same things as everyone else, fight for it quietly - but don’t call yourself a feminist.

Don’t be like other girls, whatever that means. Don’t be one of those plastic girls. Don’t be one of those gamer girls. Don’t be one of those band geeks. Don’t be one of those hipsters. Don’t be one of those fangirls. If you can, don’t be.

Don’t look up. Don’t breathe. Don’t think. Don’t worry, my love, there’s no war here. It’s in some far-off distant country.

Nothing to see here (part one) /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)
larryfeelings

everyone makes love sound like
rocks against the window at two in
the morning, like grand gestures in
front of the classroom, like public displays
of affection and eighty-two rose bouquets
and maybe that is a part of it but

when real love hits you, he will be
spreading hummus across flatbread, sleep
tangling her fingers in his hair, a slight
whispy smile on his lips like he knows
the world’s greatest secret and even though
you’re both standing in the kitchen’s
bad lighting and you’re both still
recovering from napping and you’re
only in your socks and undies,
it will feel like you’re standing next to a jet plane
during take off, it will just knock you right over

when real love hits you, she will be sitting
in front of a bad action movie, eyes on
the screen and legs tangled between yours,
her body fitting so perfectly against you that you
feel like the two of you are puzzle pieces made for
each other, the warmth of her laughter
like whiskey through your veins
and you will realize you have spent the
last five minutes just looking
at her face and maybe the two of you
illegally downloaded this film and maybe her
fingertips are covered with popcorn butter and
maybe you’ll never be able to form a good enough
way to tell her, but just even seeing her happy makes
your heart explode like a snowball against
a windowpane, you’re just completely wrecked by it

when love hits you, they will be absently licking icing
off the back of their knuckle while they make cupcakes
for their whole class and their nose will wrinkle
and you will find an inexplicable humor in how
they literally sprint from the room in order to sneeze
without breathing on the food, you will watch the way
they sneak some batter from the bowl with a hooked
finger, how their left cheek has a little smear
of flour right across where their freckles
rest like clovers and maybe they are
not the best baker in the world but
even if they burn everything they make you,
you realize you wouldn’t care, you would
honestly eat whatever it was for
rest of your life because it means being
close to them and that idea just cracks
against your ribs like how rain always sings as
it falls, so in love with the ground that it
praises the earth as it hits

and this is what love is:
the moments of looking up and finding
you’re with the world’s most perfect person,
so full of flaws and such a terrible, terrific
fit.

This is silly but he’s home to me.” /// r.i.d
(via inkskinned)