When I say girlhood I mean to bleach and bind and braid. I mean that soft gape-mouthed mirror face. I mean the slight, tight discomfort of hair scraped into a ponytail lifting the skin of the forehead. I mean pleasure-pain. I mean knowing how to hurt. I mean the fixed quality of attention bestowed by your best friend as she grips your chin to apply your lipstick, half-sensual half-ritual all hush, like communion. Sad as Sunday night television. I mean following those flow-charts in teen magazines that tell you which movie star you’re going to marry, looking for clues about the unknown quantity of yourself. I mean the sense of waiting for upheaval. I mean having an itchy soul. I mean girls are cruellest to themselves. I mean a fire in a dollhouse.
i am not real.. i made myself up
watch the stars with me
Not to turn mental illness into relatable content but is there anything more hilarious then spending an entire day vamping up to do something like spending ALL day thinking about it and putting it off and dreading it and then you finally, FINALLY do it and it takes 6 seconds and you realize that was your whole day plan
