my father tells me to stop shouting
but at this rate i’ll end up hoarse
before i pipe down
because there are too many things
to yell about.

the fact that my own mother
tells me that the anatomy
she helped create,
the same anatomy she tells me
i should never be ashamed of
needs to be covered when i go out,
that a skirt too short
or a dress too revealing
makes me look indecent,
yet I know this wouldn’t be her
if she had a son.

my father tells me that i’m too loud
but he hasn’t yet figured out that
I inherited it from him,
that some traits were passed down
to his daughters
even though he wanted to see them
in sons.
had a been a boy, he would’ve told me
to shout louder,
the the world wants to hear
what a man has to say.

I’ll keep shouting until someone listens,
until i wake up god from a peaceful
night’s sleep.
he created all men equally,
where do i fit in?

j.r (via flths)
This is an important lesson to remember when you’re having a bad day, a bad month, or a shitty year. Things will change: you won’t feel this way forever. And anyway, sometimes the hardest lessons to learn are the ones your soul needs most. I believe you can’t feel real joy unless you’ve felt heartache. You can’t have a sense of victory unless you know what it means to fail. You can’t know what it’s like to feel holy until you know what it’s like to feel really fucking evil. And you can’t be birthed again until you’ve died.
Kelly Cutrone (via wordsthat-speak)