CONSUMING RAW PECANS IS DANGER @RawPecans@retro.social

all men inherently want things from women, such as but not limited to: pussy, emotional or mental labor, physical effort, social validation, or a general fuck given about you.
so LISTEN: women are constantly disadvantaged, even in the most habitable societies, we are witchhunted to death in the sneakiest of ways.
help women defend themselves by giving them the only thing that matters in ANY society, and always helps: money.

these boots were so good 😭

(not running another sale until my birthday so get me while i’m hot)

boosts appreciated if you don’t mind 😘

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like im sorry u can’t keep me from thinking these things but my own ethics prevent me from ever doing anything to reflect them bc i, again, recognize that i have some highly controversial takes.
(but im not sorry about the fact that if they ever get out in some dramatic internet exposé piece, they will only hurt to read bc they are painfully true)

bad takes are fine if you ***recognize*** them as such and you keep them within confidential conversations with people who share them and just cackle quietly in the shadows where your take belongs VS believing you’re right, actually! and starting large scale echo chambers to spread your bullshit far and wide and cause mass and intentional harm

my favorite activity to do with my gf is revel in our majestically bad takes and the fact that we’re both WAY too hot to ever be cancelled for them

some are familiar,
and i avoid injury in their handling.
others are new,
i handle them clumsily,
scratching and cutting up my hands,
sometimes fumbling altogether,
dropping them
to decide in a split second
whether to grab the knife and risk
missing the timing on the handle
and closing my fist tightly
around the freshly sharpened blade,
or watching it fall
and hoping it doesn’t plunge into my foot,
pinning me to the floor.

she told me
her heart feels
“as though it has taken up
permanent residence in her gut”
and i envy her
for lately, mine beats
outside my body
it’s in a box,
under her bed.
every time it beats,
another knife appears
in a separate box,
under my sink.
it grows full,
soon i’ll have to touch the knives,
my hands gliding over their sharp edges,