Robertta

TODAS as mulheres e gays queriam o Richarlison na copa do mundo

Ai mano q ódio q eu tenho dessa minha (infelizmente) família de doidos que não calam a boca e falam gritando quando a salvadora deles está a ler um livro importante

ta começando o momento do semestre q eu to cheia de coisa pra fazer e minha mente começa a enloquecer e fico assim

se eu comer uma sopa de letrinhas eu cago um argumento melhor que o seu

estudar vitaminas = IMEDIATAMENTE encher a pança de laranja pq fiquei com medo de escorbuto

No woman is born of a man's rib. Every man is born of a woman's womb. patriarchy’s oldest lies is crowning the father as the lifegiver.

somewhere between idgaf and vomiting from anxiety

nossa to muito lascada mesmo niveis assim absurdos

vou me embora pra Pasárgada

Yo volviendo a acostarme porque faltan 27 segundos para que suene la alarma

hoje tava dando gostosas gargalhadas com um menino na empresa e ele comentando o quanto a gente era parecido em tudo eu aos risos ele para a conversa falando "preciso te contar uma coisa" e puxa a carteirinha de autista

Imagine judging her… while she’s living freer than you

to chorando de rir pelo amor de Deus

Los hombres olvidan que tienen madre cuando violan y matan a las mujeres en general?

when i explain him basic human rights and he says “oh so you are a feminist type woman”

“Women talk too much.” Research shows men tend to interrupt women more in mixed conversations... especially in professional settings.

My family forced me to be my brother’s skin donor since I was 7. It started after he badly burned himself in a stunt gone wrong. I was told I was “the only match” and it would only happen once. It didn’t. At 9, they needed more skin. At 11, I was told I didn’t have a choice. At 13, again for scars that “didn’t heal right.” Every time, I was made to feel selfish for saying no. By high school, I had scars across my body. I quit sports. I stopped wearing shorts. My brother lived normally. I didn’t. And he never once thanked me. I moved out at 18 and thought it was over. It wasn’t. Years later, my mom called. My brother was getting married. He needed “one last fix” before the wedding. I said I’d think about it. At a family dinner, his fiancée asked what appointment they were talking about. So I told her. And showed her the scars. The table went silent. When she realized what had been done to me over the years, she stood up and said: “This isn’t sacrifice. This is abuse.” She left the engagement that night. And for the first time in my life… someone finally saw it for what it was.

EU NUNCA VOU ME ESQUECER DESSE DIA QUE A FÁTIMA FALOU QUE SÓ TINHA MULHER TRABALHANDO E APARECEU UM CARA SAINDO DE FININHO KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

To na academia, e um par de adolescentes (um magrin e um gordin) resolveu ocupar o maior espelho pra tirar foto, atrapalhando o treino de outros. Então, um carioca, quebrando todo o decoro da passivo-agressividade paulistana, me solta um SAI DA FRENTE, VACA E FRANGO. Juro.