"I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin."
Jenna. 18. Wisconsin. Acting Major.
"ur such a qt"
am I calling you cute?
or am I calling you a quentin tarantino?
you’ll never know
For example, you can:
- be in a shampoo commercial
- start a boy band:
- spot some choice booty:
- break into song:
- see some people in frankly offensive outfits:
- attend a metal show:
- listen to some sick jams:
- discover zombieism:
- sample some tasty snacks:
- watch someone get burned bad:
- find something you really like:
- find something you really, really like:
- find something you REALLY REALLY LIKE:
- and wonder if you left the stove on:
i want dogs to be allowed at more places and i want children under 6 to not be
how to have terrible posture and constantly look tired and indifferent a book written by me
If I’ve learned anything
in the past year,
it was this:
Love the absolute
fuck out of yourself.
You’ve spent eons
hearing that you
must loathe everything-
from your laugh
that echoes through the room
to your thighs
who will not become strangers
to your brain
that scans and sings and
searches for the happiness
you’ve always been denied.
But now, you must silence the critics,
the ones who scream at you
from magazines and television screens
and the ones who have built homes
behind your eyes.
Don’t let this world tame you
into a creature of self-deprecation.
Embrace the power that courses through
your veins with enough electricity
to set a city on fire.
You are a daughter
of the stars and the sea.
Don’t poison yourself with hate.
Depression is stupid and not a thing that makes me a better writer. One time I went a whole year without writing and I stayed in bed and drank. Fuck your Bukowskisms. I want sunlight and love and running down some street I’ve never been on where it’s warm and cool at the same time and I’m smiling. I want nothing to ever be bad again- and I don’t mean that I want a life free of conflict, I mean that I want a life free of meaningless conflict. Not being able to will oneself to take a shower or leave the house is meaningless. There is nothing to be gained, no lesson to be learned from that kind of life. My heart is stale, my prose is stale. Give me fire if you want to hurt me. Give me something I can taste. There’s nothing romantic or mysterious about where I am. There’s nothing here worth holding onto.
I believe in body positivity, feminism, and always using your turn signal.