eleutheromania,

Oh Westwood, what a woman you were.

I need someone to love me like bruno mars songs.

امروز اطلس بهم گفت که صورتم اصیل ایرانیه،من خوشحال ترین لیلی دنیام وقتی بهم چیزای اینطوری میگن.

هنوز مووآن نکردم

They are such a sweetheart aw:(

And yet—still, fiercely, unapologetically—I would choose to be a woman every single time. Not because the world is kind to women, not because women are safe, not because women are ever allowed to exist without being watched, judged, or threatened—but because there is a power in women that refuses to be erased. A strength that lives in women, that survives through women, that rises again and again no matter how many times women are told to be quiet. So I will stand. I will speak—loud, unfiltered, and relentless. For women who were silenced. For women who were ignored. For women who were made to feel small, afraid, or invisible. For women who learned to shrink themselves just to survive. For women who cannot speak—I will. I am done waiting for permission. Done softening my voice. Done making myself smaller for a world that never made space for women to begin with. I’m not asking anymore. I’m taking space—for me, for you, for women everywhere.

I am so fucking tired—bone-deep, nerve-shredding, sanity-eroding tired—of existing like I’m prey in my own life. I just want to exist, not constantly scan every street, every stranger, every goddamn sound like something bad is seconds away from happening. Why the hell should I have to shrink, calculate, and censor myself just to feel a tiny bit safer? Why is basic freedom something I have to negotiate with fear every single day? I didn’t sign up for this bullshit. I didn’t choose to carry this constant tension in my shoulders, this reflex to look over my shoulder like survival is a full-time job. I’m angry—furious, actually—that the world keeps placing the responsibility on me to adapt, to be careful, to be “smart,” instead of fixing the conditions that make this fear so damn normal. I’m done internalizing this. This anxiety? This hypervigilance? It’s not mine to carry. I deserve to walk freely, breathe deeply, exist loudly—without this constant, suffocating sense that something is about to go wrong. And honestly? I’m fucking done pretending this is okay.

But im a million different people.

The world has never let us dream, nor it has taught us how to dream.

شاید اگر قلبمو باز کنند بجای رگ هام گل لیلیوم وجود داشته باشه.

ایرانِ محزونِ من، به حرمت خون جوانانت و قلب شکسته‌ی مردمانت دوام بیاور که بی‌شک دوباره سبز خواهی شد.

And suddenly everyone talks to her,wants to know her better,likes her,but there was a time where she just wanted someone to see her too,