I’m a dark lighthouse. I can’t sing you through the storm, and I can’t carry you ashore. You’ll be tossed around in the waves that never cease, upon the rocks that never breathed; still I’ll be dark.

Dear Annoying Person

It is not your place to make pronouncements about my future and my value based on your opinions about my so-called potential. A smart girl should not be repeatedly told she ought to become a doctor/lawyer/whatever any more than a sexy girl should be repeatedly told she ought to become a stripper. I find it highly fucking annoying when guys tell me that I could do better. I’m happy with what I do and I’m happy with my goals. I am a person to be valued, not a test score to be compared. Staring at my standardised test percentiles to the exclusion of the rest of me is just as tiresome as staring at my tits instead of my face. And it doesn’t make you any less of a prick. So shut the fuck up.

Dear Fairy Tales

I’m not so sure the world is as dark of a place as you imply. There are truly good men, there are truly wonderful women, and they do find each other. Sometimes they save each other; sometimes, there aren’t any dragons at all. The perfect man or woman is not, in my opinion, someone who magically does everything right, but rather someone who wants to do the right thing, and works at it. I think there are lots of people like this in the world, making everything brighter.

I blame men who want a perfect woman, but won’t lose a beer belly. I blame women who want a man to cater to their every need, but don’t consider that his sex drive is also a need. I blame people who don’t try every day, in some small way, to make their partners happier. I blame people who don’t try, but still expect to win.

If you want a princess, you have to be a prince. And if you want a prince, you have to be a princess.

I want to want you

…but I don’t. I’m sexually attracted to maybe three people (not counting Captain Jack)

I know I’m fortunate in many ways, and I’m not asking for huggles and pity. Understanding, maybe?

One man I developed a crush on in a matter of minutes. I even - oh god - googled him. I fall so rarely that when I do, I fall hard, and it’s unsettling. Bah.

This post was rambling and I so don’t care.

I love watching you awkwardly excel, so brilliant and just a bit goofy. The year I first imagined what love would be like, I was imagining what it would be like to be loved by you. If I could have you, so I believe, I could be worthy of just about anyone. But it isn’t my number you dial nervously, not knowing for certain if you are ready to hear my voice. And it isn’t my hand that you hold nervously as we watch a summer blockbuster, shivering in the dark theatre. I’ve grown up a bit, or tried to, and I’ve found a lot of people to hold me and tell me I’m beautiful. I think of you less and less, but every time I do, an unsilenced piece of me aches for the dream I carry. I wish I never thought of you; I almost wish we’d never met. I hate that I want you so much, and that I probably always will. You are a dream that hurts more than a nightmare, but when I close my eyes and find you, I don’t want to open them. I’m plummeting through the clouds, horizon spinning over my head, chord unpulled. Good night, good night, you’ll be gone in the morning, and if I’m lucky, I won’t think of you tomorrow.

It’s hilarious when men respond to a woman who says “I’m not interested in you, go away” by saying “I wouldn’t fuck you anyway!” Firstly, it’s almost always a blatant lie, but that’s not the funny bit. It’s funny because the men saying this actually think they’re being offensive. They really do.


Listen, you beer-swigging, tracksuit-wearing moron. I, for one, want nothing more than for you to be attracted to someone else. I revel in the thought that you’re masturbating to some horrifying scenario in which I don’t play the slightest part. I treasure the idea that I’ll be free from your pesky attempts to worm your way into my heart-patterned undies. You’re annoying and completely unaware, apparently, of just how annoying.