THEY GOT ORLANDO BLOOM TO DO THE THING
I don’t think I know how to be in love anymore. I watch it happening around me, and understand that I am apart from it. I don’t know how to be intimate with someone; I only know how to fuck, and it isn’t the same thing. I’m wildly attracted to people I can never have, (coworkers, straight girlfriends) and have absolutely no feeling whatsoever for the men who, under the cover of darkness and bolstered with liquid courage, tell me in their blunt and obsequious way how hot I am. Friends tell me that I should count myself lucky to be desired, but my body is not who I am, and compliments on my form have become an annoyance, and roll off of me like so many water droplets, spraying out of peoples mouths like spittle! Ugh! I hate being reduced to an object to be gazed upon, and have harden myself against their piercing looks. Being a part of relationship is being soft, being mouldable, your edges flowing together with another person’s. I’m no longer fluid, no longer mouldable, my edges rigid and unyielding. I no longer look at my body as something to be observed and enjoyed by another, but rather the empty space beneath my head. I’m turning to stone, and require the intervention of respect, of friendship, of love (read: magic,) to crack my exoskeleton.
bisexual people aren’t more likely to cheat in relationships but we are more likely to cheat at cards, while lesbians are most likely to cheat at jenga, and genderqueer people often cheat at mario kart
how the fuck do you cheat at jenga
ask a lesbian
tumblr really does have a gif for everything