#on womens month too ???

[canidaezy]

how do transmascs not want to kill themselves all the time honestly

[elitisim]

FADES WAVES AND TAPERS -CONVERSION COLLECTION

So I recently reached 500 followers, which is like CRAZY because I've only been posting content for a month?! The overwhelming amount of love and support I've received over the past month has made me misty-eyed on more than one occasion, ngl. Y'all have been so sweet and so wonderful and so extremely encouraging, I'm so proud to be part of this community💙! So, as a little thank-you present for everyone and as a nice end-cap for all the black male hair spam I did for Black History Month I've decided to drop a conversion collection of 21 male hairs themed around waves, fades and tapers for y'all!

Thank you so much everyone!

INFO:

None of this is my original work! All credit goes to @ceeproductions, @estrojans, @hellagoodsims,@xxblacksims, @xldsims, @pralinesims, & @mathcopesims.

Set contains 21 hairs for for Teen ➤ Elder Males

all of these hairs are gameplay safe! most of them are around 500 polys, the largest ones clock in at about 5k poly at most.

1024x textures

hairs are too short for root/tip controls so they're only 2 channels

credits, preview pictures, links to originals, poly counts and individual download links for every hair is under the cut.

these are meshes! the hair is NOT painted on the sims head like BG hairs!

but on the brightside that means they don't get that shiny look painted on hairs have.

some hairs have slight clipping issues around the temples but hopefully nothing too crazy tbh.

Tagging: @pis3update, @naturalhair-sims3, @xto3conversionsfinds, @kpccfinds

[DOWNLOAD MERGED]

[DOWNLOAD UNMERGED]

[PICK AND CHOOSE]

CREDITS:

@ceeproductions: Taper Fade // 1.9k Poly // [Download Here] @estrojans: Sharp Waves Redux Curve // 500 Poly // [Download Here] @hellagoodsims: Afro Short // 4.3k Poly // [Download Here]

@estrojans:: Sharp Waves Redux: Temp Fade// 500 Poly// [Download Here] @hellagoodsims: Brian Waves// 4.3k Poly // [Download Here] @estrojans: Sharp Waves Redux// 500 Poly // [Download Here]

@estrojans: Sharp Waves Redux: Flame Design// 500 Poly // [Download Here] @hellagoodsims: Amaru Fade// 2.1k Poly // [Download Here] @hellagoodsims: AD Taper Fade // 5.1k Poly // [Download Here]

@hellagoodsims: Caesar Fade / /500 Poly // [Download Here] @hellagoodsims: Taper with Long Part //500 Poly// [Download Here] @mathcopesims: Kevin Hair / 500 Poly// [Download Here]

@hellagoodsims: Korey Fade // 500 Poly // [Download Here] @hellagoodsims: PG-15 Waves // 500 Poly // [Download Here] @hellagoodsims: PG-13 Waves // 500 Poly // [Download Here]

@hellagoodsims: Wolverine Claw Fade // 500 Poly // [Download Here] @hellagoodsims: PG-14 Waves // 500 Poly // [Download Here] @hellagoodsims: Lance 720 Waves // 500 Poly // [Download Here]

@pralinesims: Nonstop Buzzcut // 500 Poly // [Download Here] @xxblacksims: Waves on Swim // 500 Poly // [Download Here] @xldsims: The Vindicator // 2.5k Poly // [Download Here]

[scuderia-hamilton]

most of the drivers' reactions to the whole Horner situation is so disappointing tbh. what do you mean someone in the paddock, an employee gets harassed by one of the top figures in the sport and your reaction is either "it has nothing to do with me", or "no comment", "i just like cars and i want to drive", "it's noise and distraction", "i'm here to race", and "it's a good thing for the media", "it doesn't affect me", "i don't really have an interest".

why is it so hard to care about something other than your racing career? you gotta have some morals, dude. not caring about women's safety in your oh so beloved sport is some fucked up behaviour. in situations like this it really shows how fucking privileged they are and it's honestly repulsive.

this is precisely why Lewis is always the one being asked about any non-sport related topic. because he's the only one who cares and gives honest and nuanced answers. genuinely terrified of what this sport will become when he retires, cause no one will speak out on anything.

and then people wonder why we say that f1 is not a safe place for women and that misogyny is still very much a thing in the sport? men don't care, including the president of the fia and f1, the other team principals and most of the drivers as well. when the faces of the sport clearly don't give a shit about women, what kind of hope is there?

they can talk about equality and progressive values and promoting women in motorsports, when this is the reality of how they actually treat the women working in the sport. imagine how that poor woman is feeling, seeing how much the drivers care about what she's going through. utterly disrespectful, with no compassion or empathy.

f1 needs to do so much better.

[actualbird]

this tweet i saw just pronounced the entire nxx investigation team as un-marry-able

[songs-from-the-basement]

gentle reminder that you don't need to be cis to be gnc

mtf tomboys who are super jacked and only wear gym clothes or tank tops are still women

ftm femboys who present as very soft, and like doing their makeup and wearing dresses are still men

[schneiderenjoyer]

Help...save me...it won't leave my head...

[riaki]

after party | satoru gojo x reader

gojo wanted to help you prepare a friendsgiving dinner, but he's a little tired n a lot tipsy.

cw: non curse au, everyones alive, shoko typical smoking, drinking, you’re married to gojo wc: 3.3k

this was supposed to be short but it just spiraled n i kind of hate it b i technically posted on the 23rd so it counts !! not proofread!

business dinners with satoru are exhausting, to say the least—you start the day early to the scent of coffee through a filter and a fresh breeze through your open window, sending your husband off to work with a hug and a kiss—maybe a promise of more if he pulls the 'five more minutes!' on you.

this one is special, though; old friends from freely youthful highschool days gathered around your dinner table on the mats of your living room floor catching up over cans of beer cold with condensation, the sound of can tabs popping and the fizzling of bubbly spirits over tables of warm food in tin containers.

geto, the tall man with dark hair and gauges, talks about how his two daughters are adjusting to city life, occasionally interrupted by cheerful brightness never dampened by adult years from haibara, an apprenticing entrepeneur under nanami who's got a thing for girls with big appetites. shoko and utahime are having a drinking contest, and mei mei's too occupied with her phone; checking stocks as her tacky nails click against the glass screen.

satoru can't cook. there's a reason why he always buys takeout when you're too busy to provide or you've already gone to sleep— he should be the picture perfect husband, because you deserve that and everything more. his only (self-perceived) flaws are his lack of alcohol tolerance and his inability to master the frying pan.

you always tell him he doesn't have to be a michelin chef— but with the way he's constantly sneaking a chocolate graham cracker from your muji snack bag or snagging the sour gummy between your teeth from your lips, he feels like he should compensate. so on this special november evening, when the hum of the city life outside your balcony gets drowned out by the cheerful mirth of a warm dinner table, he had decided to help you.

the warm kitchen had become a foodstained disaster— but with tearful round eyes and a hand tugging on your shirt, you'd resigned to helping him conquer the task of simple packaged noodles and soft-boiled eggs. he'd cut his finger— even the most capable teacher found his shortcomings against a blunt kitchen knife. needless to say you'd peppered it with kisses before wrapping a rainbow hello kitty bandaid around it.

and that brings you to the present: the result of your extensively hard work; a few soggy noodles collected at the bottom of porcelain bowls painted red on the insides in a lukewarm puddle of soup, full stomachs and a loose and welcoming atmosphere. you wouldn't trade it for the world.

you're fishing a pickled radish slice out of your bowl when satoru leans over, removing the arm that was snaked around your shoulder to drape himself on your lap, lying down on the floor with his knees propped up and his soft cloud-white hair sprawled over your thighs. geto makes a distasteful face when satoru's black socks brush against his leg. across the table, shoko knocks shoulders with utahime as she lights a cigarette; the latter's face flushes as smoke drifts past her lightly flushed face into the open window city night air overhead.

"hey, you. what's up?" you asked softly, chuckling to yourself as you set your chopsticks atop the rim of your bowl, leaning back on your arms to look down at him. he adjusts himself a little, wiggling on your lap as you caught a whiff of his beer breath and scrunch your nose.

"hiii, baby," he drawls, giggling a little to himself. his smooth, usually playful voice took on that deep tone he used whenever he was being serious, and it sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, so you hugged him closer and ran a hand through his soft white hair, brushing your fingers against the black cloth of his blindfold. "what'cha doing?"

"i was eating. you put too much pepper in the broth, 'toru." you smiled softly, tracing the line of his jaw slowly with one finger in the way you knew he liked so much; it was obvious from the way he sighed contentedly and tilted his head into your palm. whether it be from that unfathomably sweet smile or the tender way you held his face in your delicate hands, that was up to him to ponder. next to you, haibara makes a joke— something about mei mei's stocks, and she quips a snarky retort that has him laughing raucously while nanami makes a face.

"i tried!" he protests, almost a whine as he sighs; a hand sneaks up to lift the edge of his blindfold up so his eyes meet yours, and you're left breathless. it catches you off guard every time— those endless pools of swirling blue that stare straight through you, sifting through your thoughts like a scholar annotating an open book, all heart-shaped sticky notes and bright highlighters when it came to thinking about him.

"not hard enough, clearly. but it's okay; we'll do better next time."

he just frowns again at that, sticking out his lower lip in a little pout that makes your heart squeeze. your stomach is full with noodles and broth; you don't think you could stomach another bite if you tried, and you're not one to drink especially if everyone else is. so, you let yourself indulge a little— snake a hand on the back of satoru's neck and tilt him up until he's sitting halfway up and you can easily meet his lips in a kiss.

he reciprocates immediately, hungry like he was waiting for you; you notice that he hasn't eaten much of his food yet, so maybe he was. or maybe he knows how bad it is. either way, his tongue darts out from his parted lips to flick against your own for a moment, before he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip and draws out a teasing whine that you have to stifle because "we have company, 'toru," you have to breath as a reminder. he just laughs breathily against your lips, tasting like bitter beer and buttery vanilla as he shifts to practically sit on top of you, hands on your shoulders as his thumbs brush over your collarbone where the edge of your shirt fails to cover tantalizing skin; he's taller and eventually ends up bringing the both of you toppling down onto the mats.

your back hits the floor and a little gasp leaves your winded lungs— but satoru eagerly catches it with his lips and swallows it, like he's intent on getting drunken off his ass from you (as if he wasn't already tipsy) when he smashes his swollen lips to yours again. your hair is splayed out against the tatami mats like you're trapped in some marine watercolor painting, and for a split second satoru thinks if mermaids were real you'd be the most angelic he'd ever seen as his calloused fingers curl into the strands.

you're about to hook a leg around his waist when a shout catches your ear and you part lips with a gasp, sucking in greedy breaths as satoru promptly sits on your stomach. you let out a stuffed oomph from his weight, and watch as he slides his blindfold back on to look over at the rest of the table who're staring at the two of you like they're watching some forbidden steamy movie scene that's meant to be shielded from children's eyes.

“don’t kiss him while he’s drunk. it’s like rewarding a brat for bad behavior,” shoko says. you sit up with much effort, straining under satoru’s weight as you reach up to grab his shoulders. you miss, but he takes your hands and pulls you up, wrapping his arms around you to keep you from falling back down as you rest your head on his shoulder. utahime has her arms lazily draped over shoko; you assume she’s drunk from that, but if you were to inspect her for long enough you’d notice her can of beer was almost completely full.

“oh, i guess you’re right.” you remarked, frowning a little and biting the inside of your cheek as you pull away from satoru and glance at him. all of the sudden he looks like he’s ready to keel over; the shadows beneath his eyes are reinforced by the alcohol in his system and it looks like he’ll need to tape his eyes open lest he passes out right on top of you. you want to avoid that, so you gently push him off, sighing to yourself.

“don’t listen to her, sweetheart. you can kiss me all you want,” he smirks, a flash of pearly white teeth that would’ve been on your neck a moment ago if not for the interruption. you just shake your head with a breathless laugh, giving him a quick flick to the forehead. before you can pull away, though— he catches your hand, bringing your wrist to his glossy pink lips and giving your pulse a quick peck. “no, she has a point.” you hummed. overhead, the light flickers a little; a moth that had flown in through the window danced about the bulb. the faint sound of car horns filters through the window along with the breeze, recycled laughter and lively chatter from bars a few stories down carried in the cool wind.

you mill about for another twenty minutes or so, content to just listen in as old friends shared anecdotes and funny stories from separate paths of life; you soon learned that nanami was planning on moving to malaysia, and shoko was due to renew her medical license this year. the beer cans built up, mixed in with crumpled napkins that had penned doodles on the rough surface and paper chopstick wrappers. somewhere along the line, satoru had fallen asleep— you had to push his unfinished ramen bowl out of the way before he knocked his head against the wooden table and spilt his meal. you frowned a little at the sight of it— you knew he'd complain about his soaked noodles and limp seaweed sheets later on. you found yourself slinging one of your jackets over his shoulders, fingers lingering over his neck, where the scratchy hair of his undercut met soft warm skin.

soon enough, dishes are piling up in the sink and calling your name; the kids see themselves home via train station, spouting something about a late night pit stop in sendai for the mochi that 'our teacher likes so much'. you consider asking them to bring some back for satoru, but you decide you'll enjoy a laugh when he tells you about how he went to school the next morning to find out for himself, and the stab of hurt that will pierce his full heart in two when he hears the news. even then, you have to shush them as they show themselves out; you can tell from the way satoru's eyebrows knit together beneath his blindfold and the pinch of his jaw that he doesn't appreciate the noise, no matter how blacked out.

the conversation dies down a little, and soon enough, everyone takes their leave one by one. it's only when you settle back down after cleaning up the bowls and putting away the cups that satoru stirs, waking up with a mumble and a huff. his hair is a disheveled mess, and there are sleep lines on his face, but he's still handsome as ever.

"baby?" his voice is hoarse with sleep and dehydration. there's a dull ache between his eyes, feeling like he'd just ran a circle around the world. you answer from the kitchen, calling his name. it's late; past midnight now. the window's still open and satoru's can of beer is still on the table, almost completely empty.

"how long did i sleep? shit, did everyone go home? 'm sorry," he groans, standing up and stretching his arms out. his shirt rides up on his shoulders, exposing the arch of his hip just above the edge of his pants. "don't worry, 'toru." you hummed, washing your hands in the sink as you look over at him. he just nods, grabbing the can and crumpling it in his hands before tossing it in the trash.

"you okay? got a headache?" you asked as he walked over to you, careful not to hit his head on the arch that connected the living room to the kitchen. when you'd first moved in with him, you had to pin a strip of bright yellow caution tape to remind him to duck his head. you smiled as you reminisced over late nights, tucked in his arms as he mused about demolishing the wall there just so he could be rid of the bruise on his temple. then again, as long as you were waiting for him to kiss it better at the end of his nine to five, he didn't mind.

he nods, and watches as an easy smile stretches across your lips; they look infuriatingly kissable under the warm glow of the hazy kitchen light, shining off the porcelain cups in the sink. he leans against the kitchen counter, cold marble feeling through the thin fabric of his shirt as you take his leftovers from the fridge and heat them up in the microwave, standing before the black glass as you watch the little plate spin inside.

there's something about moments like these; so sweet and easy with you after everyone's taken the last train home and all that's left are empty beer cans and extra bowls in the dishwasher for two people with matching rings on their fingers to take care of.

he walks up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your chin. he smiles when he feels your hand cup his cheek, and he turns his head instinctively to meet your lips in a slow, sweet kiss; a muscle memory tango between familiar lovers. when he pulls away to catch his breath, tongue swiping across his bottom lip, you're already there with your fingers, pulling his blindfold down to rest around his neck and gently rubbing the spot beside his eyes, alleviating the tension behind them. it's unspoken moments like these that he loves the most in your relationship. making a mess in your kitchen is a close second.

it's a slow, easy night after a special get-together when the microwave beeps and you take his noodles out, bringing them to the table as you sit down next to him and rest your head on his shoulder, letting him tuck you into his side as he gets a bit of breaded tonkotsu crumbs on his cheek and insists you wipe them off for him like he's some oversized baby. you wash some cherries in a green plastic bowl, competing to see who can spit the pits into the trashcan without missing. in the end, he lost the game of rock paper scissor and was resigned to pick up the missed pits on the floor.

he's still wearing your jacket like a cape and even though it's far too small for him, he insists on keeping it with him when you go out onto your balcony to finish the last of a bottle of sake together, listening to the melody of the wind in the trees that line the sidewalk and the permeating hustle and bustle of the city, even when it's so late at night it could be considered early morning.

he swipes the cold bottle from your hands, finishing the last drops from the matte glass before letting it dangle between your fingers. and you're expecting it when he catches your arm to pull you into another kiss; he tastes like peaches and wine and a little bit of soup broth. it's slow, and easy, because being with him has always felt as natural as breathing, and being with you has made it easier for him to breathe, like the iron weight on his lungs melts away in the face of your unconditional warmth and care. the cool wind blows your hair in front of your face, and he laughs that charming boyish giggle as he tucks it behind your ears and scoops you up in his arms.

"i don't like sharing you with a sake bottle," you said, pointedly looking at the glass in his hand. he just grins, looking down at you for a moment. he can almost see it again; you, in that gorgeous white wedding cloth. he was carrying you bridal style in the same way now, when you'd decided to grow old together and host special business dinners as a couple in your shared apartment.

"don't worry, love. you're sweeter than any spritz," he laughs, stepping inside again and closing the door behind him.

it's routine, and it's easy, getting ready for bed with him, laughing when he pushes his hair back with a headband, looking like a pretty little princess. you suggest him getting a mullet, and he shushes you by shoving your toothbrush on your tongue, getting a mouthful of mint. the warm water rushes over your fingers before you dry yourself off, wiping your face and putting the towel away only to be met with the equal warmth of his lips on your forehead, peppering you with kisses.

you slip into the covers, still pleasantly cold as you watch satoru sit up and take his shirt off. he lets you peel the rainbow bandaid on his finger off, tossing it in the trash before pulling you into his arms, right where you belong the closest to his heart. "don't cut yourself like that again, okay?"

"it was an accident, baby." he chuckles, and you just roll your eyes. he reaches over to ruffle your hair affectionately and makes a joke about having you suck his blood like a vampire, tooting about how sweet it would be. "besides, i don't need to be careful if you're there to patch me up, pretty. shoko has nothing on you!"

he plays with your hair as you catch him up to the conversations he'd slept away; mei mei had left early when you'd given him your jacket to envelope him in your scent, muttering something about cheap perfume and worthless soggy noodles. he likes to play with your jewelry, you notice— fiddles with the ring on your finger, cupping your hands in his palm as he tucks his face into the back of your neck.

at one point, he asks you to do his hair, so you oblige, rolling him over onto his stomach and clambering on top of his waist. you braid his white strands into cute little pigtails best as you could manage as he tells you about his dream; something about harassing nanami in malaysia and a sunset kiss under crystal clear beach water. it sounds nice, and when you're done with his hair you find it easier to just massage his shoulders and listen to the smooth droning of his voice.

soon enough, you're both warmer than the lukewarm buzz of beer in your veins, and he doesn't remember if he fell asleep first or not, but the gentle melody of your voice haunts him in his dazed sleep as he curls around you.

business dinners really are exhausting— he's left wondering how you pull it off the morning after when he's hungover and the cut on his finger is infected— clearly, the hello kitty bandaid wasn't enough to cut it. the only reasoning that he explains to you as you take your morning shower together, fingers running through your hair, is that you didn't kiss it enough. maybe that's why his soup had too much pepper and he didn't know how to cut the cucumbers.

he's still an amateur, so he'll leave the cooking to you. maybe next time he'll pretend the takeout he grabbed on his way home from school was handmade, though he doubts his friends will ever believe him, or his students after he demands they buy him kikufuku as compensation for leaving him out the night before.

ignore the ep that came out today! everyone’s alive and well. trust my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

[womendeservehumanity]

When will women wake up? When will they stop with the incessant coping? That it’s just a few bad apples that hate women. The vast majority of men vehemently hate women. They show it both on and offline. More overtly online though. And the amount of likes for all of these posts (all of which are from gimmick accounts with 10-100k+ followers dedicated to hating women) shows that. Men do not see us as human beings. Straight men’s interest and attraction to women starts and end with sexual gratification. And there’s no reason to even explain this to other women as if it’s some hidden truth. They will literally tell you. They will get online and tell you they aren’t emotionally and romantically interested in women. That the concept of actually caring for and loving a woman is foreign to them. That you’re a sex doll and a set of holes to them.

Like who needs feminist theory to dissect all the ways in which misogyny manifests when it seems men are doing everything in their power to show women how much they fucking collectively hate us. Even blatantly regarding us as holes and sex dolls.

Also find it so interesting that these are tweets with millions of views but so called progressive twitter NEVER sees them or condemns them and instead opt to give attention to some random radfem with 300 followers saying men bad. THATS what’s a pressing issue to them. THATS proof that misandry is as prevalent and troublesome as misogyny meanwhile this is what women are subjected to.

[hiseyeisonthesparrow]

Neurodivergent LDS culture is wearing the same exact outfit to church every week for 9 months straight

[mooneytried]

Happy women's history month!

Lets remember and fight for all:

the women in Palestine who have no access to menstrual products/medication and have to use tent scraps.

trans women in general because i know yall love to celebrate queer women (which is great!) but almost never include trans women in your women's history month. They are women too. And they deserve to be celebrated and fought for.

Queer women because they're only acknowledged if they can be sexualized, mainly by men.

poc women who are still seen as lesser and boxed into stereotypes instead of being recognized as complex people just like anyone else.

Disabled and neurodivergent women because they often get overlooked and are never recognized as actual people.

Plus sized women (or any women who don't fit into the conventional beauty standard) because your stupid beauty standards mean NOTHING.

Women that come from different religions because if they can find peace and empowerment from their faith, then you can direct your war somewhere else.

Women who have been sa'd. They were NEVER at fault.

Don't just celebrate women who fit into your exclusive and harmful view of what a woman is supposed to be.

[decolonize-the-everything]

Time to learn about more people and things that influenced my politics~

The Combahee River Collective.

They were a Black feminist lesbian socialist organization active in Boston, Massachusetts from 1974 to 1980.

"The Collective argued that both the white feminist movement and the Civil Rights Movement were not addressing their particular needs as Black women and more specifically as Black lesbians.

Racism was present in the mainstream feminist movement, while Delaney and Manditch-Prottas argue that much of the Civil Rights Movement had a sexist and homophobic reputation."

The Collective is perhaps best known for developing the Combahee River Collective Statement, a key document in the history of contemporary Black feminism and the development of the concepts of identity politics as used among political organizers and social theorists, and for introducing the concept of interlocking systems of oppression, including but not limited to gender, race, and homophobia, a fundamental concept of intersectionality. Gerald Izenberg credits the 1977 Combahee statement with the first usage of the phrase "identity politics".

Source

Demita Frazier, Beverly Smith, and Barbara Smith were the primary authors of the Combahee River Collective Statement in 1977. [...]They sought to destroy what they felt were the related evils of capitalism, imperialism, and patriarchy while rejecting the belief in lesbian separatism. Finally their statement acknowledged the difficulties black women faced in their grassroots organizing efforts due to their multiple oppressions.

In “A Black Feminist’s Search for Sisterhood,” Michele Wallace arrives at this conclusion: We exists as women who are Black who are feminists, each stranded for the moment, working independently because there is not yet an environment in this society remotely congenial to our struggle—because, being on the bottom, we would have to do what no one else has done: we would have to fight the world. [2] Wallace is pessimistic but realistic in her assessment of Black feminists’ position, particularly in her allusion to the nearly classic isolation most of us face. We might use our position at the bottom, however, to make a clear leap into revolutionary action. If Black women were free, it would mean that everyone else would have to be free since our freedom would necessitate the destruction of all the systems of oppression.

[cosmicsodacan-art]

I keep forgetting to post this! So here it is, before I forget again! Tsukiko!!!

[bulldog-butch]

trans men 🤝 trans women, having wildly better orgasms after starting hrt

[captainofthetidesbreath]

having spent over two months (and ongoing) watching people say that Imogen is masc and butch and the gentleman in the relationship and a stepdad to Pâté and watching them attempt to attach masculinity to her as much possible from how she is described to how her physicality is illustrated and watching them pretend that she isn't super feminine, I am constantly reminded of this image:

[lovewillabides]

ain't that the best thing you ever heard?

[cloverpatches]

It's pride month, so lemme say-

I love you, girls with strong jaws and the biggest smiles I love you, girls with soft jaws and laughs that spread I love you, girls with broad shoulders I love you, girls with sharp eyes beautiful with and without eyeliner I love you, girls with hairs on their upper lip that flow with their grins I love you, girls with scars that prove they've lived

I love you, girls I need to look up to see I love you, girls I can rest my chin against I love you, girls who don't like touch I love you, girls who need touch to thrive

I love you, girls who go by "he," "they," "xey," "it" I love you, girls who feel they just don't fit I love you, girls who need an extra moment to read I love you, girls who need more time to process what they've heard I love you, girls with bodies thick and thin I love you, girls with canes, braces, or need to sit

Whether you like being called beautiful, handsome, cute or cool-

I love you. I'm so glad you're here. You deserve to be loved, and you don't need to "earn" it.