I’m reading the chapter on feminist criticism in my critical theory textbook and I just keep saying “damn girl. that’s mad real.” to myself/the book

like it’s saying everything I ever wanted to say about feminism in the most succinct ways possible

emotionally-comatose:

Voices are weirdly intimate & even though people hear me speak all the time when I become aware of my voice it feels like I’m bearing something more than what’s on the surface, you know? Like I notice the different places I inflect and the mispronounce words and how I may/may not have an accent. Somehow it feels unfair that everyone else gets to hear that and I don’t.