You’ll tell another girl you love her. You’ll cuddle her at night and kiss her toes and smile that sad smile of yours when she teases you. You’ll cry in her arms. You’ll talk to her about Bob Dylan and all the books you’ve read. You’ll watch your shows with her. You’ll wear her clothes, smoke with her, hold her hand, and tell her she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. 

You’re probably the only person who will ever love me as much as you did. You’re the only person with enough patience to deal with me. And I still drove you away. I watched you turn into a senseless depressed wreck. I broke up with you and kissed you and read with you. I clung to you because you loved all the broken parts of me. It wasn’t fair to you. Whatever the excuse I gave I knew — it wasn’t fair to you. I’m incapable of the kind of love you need.

I don’t want to see anyone. I’m sick of myself. I’m sick of the noises my mouth makes and the way my face looks and the awkward shape of my body curled up in bed alone. 

All I want to do is sleep. When I sleep I can pretend to be a whole person. I’m beautiful, friendly, kind, thoughtful, intelligent, articulate, and loved. When I’m awake every fault hammers around inside my head. I feel like I was made to be alone. Every feeling I have is wrong. Every word I say is poison. I absorb my environment and push it away. 

I’m mean and I don’t know how to be nice. I don’t know how to be vulnerable. I forgot how. I can’t let go, but if I look back I’m scared I’ll be stuck staring at the charred remains of my relationships and all the people who saw what I was so clearly. I don’t deserve the people in my life. I don’t deserve to be successful. I didn’t deserve the love you gave me.

I don’t want any more relationships. I don’t want any more social interactions. I get so angry at all the happy couples because I don’t know how you open up to someone that way. I don’t know how to be completely vulnerable anymore. I used to know. I feel so incredibly broken.

I deserve this. I deserve to be cut out of your life. I used you to feel better about myself and I hurt you in the process. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.

the wood runner (by Masha Sardari)

(by m_paessler)

no one is going to scream at you if you have a justifiable reason for disliking a character. but if that reason hinges upon how she’s asserting her individuality and person-hood from the inside of a highly patriarchal structure then i’m a lot less likely to take you seriously.

people who can’t connect well-written females to the context in which they’re written ie a patriarchal society.