For too damn long, I’ve apologized to the men I’ve loved, for not being THAT pretty. For not being THAT skinny. For not being THIS, for not being THAT. I’ve said, “I’m sorry I’m not good enough.” Since the age of thirteen, like I say my name, it’s become the default of the question, “who are you?” I am so tired of beating myself up, tearing myself down. My body is not a goddamn temple, it’s the house I grew up in. I don’t know why I keep trying to burn it down.
(Source: , via andrewwrichard)
When I like you this is me.