parade nails

Do you even realize what I would do for you? I’d give up everything just to make you happy, just to hear that laugh or see your smile, because you’re happiness is my happiness.
—  Maybe This is Why Love is so Dangerous

My generation.

We were born as anti-racists.

We were born as humanists and we were born as feminists, equalists.

My generation.

Filled with culture bullets, cannonballs made out of thoughts, life, ideas. We are the people that accept everything, everything from churches to mosques.

Because we want to change everything, we want to change the world, we want to save the ozone layer, we want to get everybody to open their eyes.

We want to crush Putin, or at least his LGBT-laws.

We are the ones who stand up when something is unfair, we are the ones who speak out, we are the ones who complain.

We want to build new bridges, create new roads, save lives.

Erase the standards for everything that the model magazines consider “attractive”. Because in our eyes, we are beautiful however we are, whoever we are.

My generation.

We are the technology children but also the guinea pigs.

We are the ones that got stuck in front of the tv-games but also the ones who make new medicines because we have learnt the whole coded system that is based on ones and zeros.

We are the experiments.

I am an experiment.

My generation.

We are hurricanes of facebook, twitter, tumblr.

We are the photo revolution.

We are the instagram generation.

We are the selfie soul.

We are the most selfloving generation, with a confidence that has never been seen in this world before.

But despite that, we are the most destructive generation.

We are the selfharming pictures, we are the triggering.

We are the people that KENT is trying to sing about.

We have wounds, scars on our wrists and broken souls.

Because it is romantic to be alone and it is pretty to be in pain, to suffer.

Because it is poetic to let your feelings have the upperhand.

And it is cute to write on yourself with razor blades because of all the hate towards all the people in a grey, small, village.

My generation.

We are defiant children in teenage bodies, fighting our way forward in the world.

We make sure to make ourselves heard because we know that our voices was made to be heard.

And we refuse to be pushed down.

We are the placards, the demonstrations, the manifestations.

We are the pride parades, the rainbow coloured nail polish.

And it does not matter if you are straight, gay, bi or trans.

And it does not matter if you are she, he, hir, ze, them or they.

My generation.

We are the feminism,

And we refuse to get our bodies sexualised, because our bodies are ours. They belong to us and no one else!

My generation.

We are, and will always remain an unsolved equation for the elders when we accept everything.

When we put distance between ourselves and prejudices.

My generation.

We do not care.

We do not interfere.

Because if someone introduces themselves and says “Hi, my name is Adam” , but they were born as Eve, we reply with “Hi Adam”

It doesn’t matter what you have between your legs, only what you have in your head.

My generation.

We fight against racism.

We love diversity.

We were born ready.

My generation, a sea filled with anti racists, humanists, feminists and equalists.

My generation, where love is our biggest and only weapon.

-EliSophie Andreé
(I take no credit for this, only the translation. Hope everything was understandable. -Rebecca Winsnes)

I placed a hand on his chest and could feel his heart pounding in time with mine. He suddenly seemed aware of how desperate I was and wordlessly cupped my cheek in his palm and leaned down to kiss me.
Every moment we’d ever had together danced through my head. His awkward stance the day we first met, and how I scolded him before the parade for biting his nails. The way he protected me when the fight broke out in the kitchen, and how my eyes flitted to him over and over when the boys were deep in prayer outside the hospital wing. And, most astonishingly, the moment in the Women’s Room when Camille asked who filled my head, and how hard I fought to stop myself from saying his name out loud then and there.
All of it, every magical, forbidden second burned through me as we continued our dangerously treasonous kiss. When we finally broke apart, I was in tears, positive that Ahren leaving and the fear of losing my mother had been painless in comparison to this.
—  The Crown by Kiera Cass