Tatiana Pérez

Fuck any man who sees only the contour of your person. Fuck any man who—in passing—makes you feel like you barely exist. You exist. You’re solid, you’re whole, and I see you.

“Middle fingers up, put them hands high / Wave it in his face, tell him, boy, bye”

“Your orgasm is just as important as important as his.”

The personal anecdote MONSTER. Like no, Daniel, I do NOT care about a weird conversation you had with your grandpa about your dad and neither does literally a single soul here.

Single you is the realest you. It’s you untangled by someone’s else’s vision of you.

“Someone who’s in touch with his feminine side. And doesn’t act like he’s never seen period blood.”

Late at night and in the morning, when I wish your body was close to mine.

BURN SOMETHING.

It is all too easy to remember relationships as romantic illusions of what they actually were.

You have this lovely, romantic idea of what a “good” breakup might look like. You’d wish each other the best after having beautifully tragic breakup sex. It’d be fucking poetic.

You WILL be up in the gym. You WILL kill it at school/work. Because ain’t no man gonna ruin you.

“I told him he’d find his belongings scattered all over Midtown…”

“I didn’t sleep around enough while I was still single…”

That nosy motherf*cker who obsessively peeks at your treadmill speed. Hope you feel like a baller running at exactly .1mph faster than me, bro!

Tell them you’ve moved to Yemen. Don’t move to Yemen.

Cool it with the insulting “jokes.”

Getting so irrationally emotional that losing your hairbrush might could legit make you weep.

You can stop pretending that giving head is like, your FAVORITE thing to do in the whole wide world!