The tears have not yet stopped rushing down from this. If I could collect a dollar for every time I’ve been called “intense” or “loud” (read: difficult), I could probably purchase this little Brooklyn apartment myself.

Oh, the titles we are given that further oppress us! Am I loud when I cry out when I know I’ve been wronged? Am I intense when I go and get what I want, in spite of what society expects of me? Am I complicated when my story take pages to explain?

And rather than throw darts at targets made of the faces of those who’d rather extricate themselves from us, we heap more and more love upon them, and waste our most beautiful days minimizing ourselves just so that they’d stay with us a little longer.