Over Exposed
Over Exposed
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so-personal:

everything personal❤
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“I’m so young, and I’m single, and I just want to drift. I’m just going to be a drifter, I want to do something totally different before Insurgent. Maybe I’ll work in a tea shop. Or live in Amsterdam. Or be a nanny. Life experience only helps us as actors. I need new experiences to draw upon.”

“I’m so young, and I’m single, and I just want to drift. I’m just going to be a drifter, I want to do something totally different before Insurgent. Maybe I’ll work in a tea shop. Or live in Amsterdam. Or be a nanny. Life experience only helps us as actors. I need new experiences to draw upon.”
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eightcarpileup:

A thing I made
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wearethefourthwave:

"THIS PICTURE WILL NOT CHANGE THE WORLD, BUT I STILL NEED FEMINISM AND I’M GOING TO REALLY, REALLY TELL YOU WHY":
-Because I got called a whore for wearing a short plaid skirt when I was 10
-and because when Nujood Ali from Yemen was 10 she got divorced
-Because black girls’ names became my classmates’ favorite “joke” when I was 11
-and because when an 11-year-old girl in Texas was raped by 18 men the New York Times wrote of how the girl “dressed older than her age”
-Because I started counting calories when I was 14
-and because when Malala Yousafzai was 14 she was shot in the head for trying to go to school
-Because I heard a boy greet a girl with “hey slut” today at age 16 -and because when a 16-year-old girl in Steubenville, Ohio was filmed being raped by two boys at a party while unconscious the CNN reporters talked about how tragic it was because the rapists had such bright futures as athletes
-Because I will have to watch my drink at all bars and parties when I am 22
-and because when CeCe McDonald was 22 she was sentenced to 41 months in prison for defending herself against a man who screamed transphobic, racist insults at her and then slashed her face with a bottle
-Because no matter what age I am the biggest threat to men will still be heart disease, and the biggest threat to women will still be men.
-Because it is not just about me, because it is not just about anger, because it is not just a JOKE, because it is not just about “hating men,” because it is not just about girls with vaginas, because it is not just about ending “slut”, because it is not just about white straight girls in Rookie magazine, because it is not just about writing on backs, because it is not just about the fact that gay men are “fags” but lesbians are “hot,” because it is not just about pictures of thin white girls being the only google image results for the search phrase “beautiful women”, because it is not just about writing signs, because it is not just about what she was wearing or how many times she said yes before she changed her answer to no, because misogyny is not just about one thing and feminism is not just about one thing and it is not just “a trend” and it will not “happen” in just one way.
-And because yes. It is about equality for EVERYONE, but first and foremost it needs to be about equality for girls, because they are not treated equally to men, in every single sense, and you are not going to take feminism away from me and call me bossy/hostile/aggressive and make this about yourself or make it into a joke, because truth be told, I’m not joking and I’m tired of explaining. If you want to call yourself a feminist, you work hard to spread feminism, you do not turn this into a contest of whose struggle is greater and constantly demand to know what you can get out of feminism personally. Feminism is not just about you, or me, it is about everyone. If you’re male and you’re tired of men being stereotyped as hyper-masculine, soulless, sexist, inherent leader-tyrant creatures, then go out and prove the patriarchy wrong and fight for girls, like someone with a soul who believes in equality would. Then, yes, feminism will be about everyone.
-Sylvie (an amazing grrrl godess) Photo taken by Caroline http://c-h-0-w.tumblr.com/
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drewwilsonphoto:

you miss childhood so much you try dressing like you would if you were seven again. sneakers and frilly socks. big t-shirts and messy hair, because you’ve stopped caring about perfect hair. you don’t mind getting your knees dirty or scabs on your shins. those pains don’t make you flinch. those pains don’t talk to you at night. those pains don’t hurt like the hurt you’ve really felt. the type of hurt that can’t be pin pointed or fixed with copious amounts of Neosporin. you don’t worry about how you’ll feel in the morning until the morning comes. you bite the skin off the tips of your fingers like your aiming for the bone. because the stress and pain hits you bone deep. bone deep. its almost romantic sounding. but isn’t being so broken such a romantic thing anymore? sad music doesn’t even phase you. its all you know. instrumentals lined with tiny violins and crying cellos. you lay back in the grass and close your eyes. you try forgetting about the city surrounding you. the heat rises from the pavement and grips your lungs like my hands grip the small of your neck. the sun beats down on you like you owe it money. but you don’t sweat. this is the small stuff. ice coffee and a bagel with cream cheese. start your day happy. fall apart at the end. repeat. things get better. then they get worse. three months of total bliss for three months of total shit. thats the way life works right? it always gets better though. be still. 
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