Savvy Berkleigh

Hi. I'm Savannah Berkleigh. Sometimes I make art and sing and things.

Ask me anything




have you ever met someone who is like the human version of period cramps


I think this is the first time something has conveyed to me with true clarity just how bad period cramps are.

Source: michaelgclifford

Not All Like That




Imagine a minefield… a strip of land seeded with traps that will maim or kill you if you put one foot in the wrong place. What’s the wrong place? You’ll know when you step there. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. The pattern that gets you safely through one part might get you killed in another part.

It isn’t that every square inch of soil in the minefield means certain death, of course. But what would the ratio of safe ground to mined ground have to be before you could actually relax, before you could feel safe… before you could be safe, in practical terms?

Imagine that you and your entire family are woken up at dawn every day and made to cross the minefield in order to just live your lives. You’re not allowed to take the same route as each other. You have to watch each other as you make your way through an invisible deadly maze, never knowing if today will be the day but always knowing that it could be.

And one day, while you’re in the middle of that maze, watching your children or your siblings pick their way carefully around you, you say, “I HATE EVERY LAST INCH OF THIS FUCKING MINEFIELD.”

And then you hear a voice from up above you, from someone who doesn’t have to walk the minefield… someone who’s allowed to use a footbridge to bypass it every day while you’re inching your way through it, someone who gets a head start on everything compared to you and yours because they don’t have to go through the minefield…

And the voice says, “That isn’t fair. Sure, some of the minefield will kill you if you step on it, but it isn’t all like that.”

This is for every person who has come to me on both twitter and tumblr talking about “we’re not all like that”. I’m so sick of hearing that shit.

this is beautiful. 

Source: blue-author

What if
all women were bigger and stronger than you
and thought they were smarter

What if
women were the ones who started wars

What if
too many of your friends had been raped by women wielding giant dildos
and no K-Y Jelly

What if
the state trooper
who pulled you over on the New Jersey Turnpike
was a woman
and carried a gun

What if
the ability to menstruate
was the prerequisite for most high-paying jobs

What if
your attractiveness to women depended
on the size of your penis

What if
every time women saw you
they’d hoot and make jerking motions with their hands

What if
women were always making jokes
about how ugly penises are
and how bad sperm tastes

What if
you had to explain what’s wrong with your car
to big sweaty women with greasy hands
who stared at your crotch
in a garage where you are surrounded
by posters of naked men with hard-ons

What if
men’s magazines featured cover photos
of 14-year-old boys
with socks
tucked into the front of their jeans
and articles like:
“How to tell if your wife is unfaithful”
“What your doctor won’t tell you about your prostate”
“The truth about impotence”

What if
the doctor who examined your prostate
was a woman
and called you “Honey”

What if
you had to inhale your boss’s stale cigar breath
as she insisted that sleeping with her
was part of the job

What if
you couldn’t get away because
the company dress code required
you wear shoes
designed to keep you from running

And what if
after all that
women still wanted you
to love them.

For the Men Who Still Don’t Get It, written 20 years ago by Carol Diehl. 

She wrote a post about the history of this poem that is worth reading.

(via cracktacular)

Source: waxenneat


Taking mental health advice from pastry recipes.


Taking mental health advice from pastry recipes.

Source: lemondifficult





In Norwegian, you don’t refer to your romantic partner as a “boyfriend” or “girlfriend”. You say “kjæreste”, which is gender neutral and literally translates to “the dearest”.

and in swedish you refer to your boyfriend/girlfriend by saying ”älskling” which translates into ”my beloved one” 

And in Finnish we say “mulkvisti” which means “one I don’t hate as much as the others”

*squints at finland*

Source: knownorwegian


shout out to people who are scared to call others out, whose hands shake when they try to explain what’s wrong, whose throats threaten to close up with thoughts of ‘what if i’m just overreacting’, whose hearts are pounding out of their chests because they just stuck their necks out for their beliefs, who have lost friends and respect and safety for aligning themselves with causes

Source: dontclaimgucci


Remember when Never Have I Ever games used to be like “never have I ever had sex *giggle*”

Now it’s like “never have I ever had a six person orgy in a broom closet” and people are all like “crap, I’m out.”

Source: wayfaringblonde


can’t you imagine it though?

ginny’s going through a questioning phase and her older brothers keep making sex jokes so she writes in her diary “what’s a clitoris?” and tom’s on the other side like “i am a dark lord but i have a duty to this poor girl”

more harry potter musings from the internet

Source: highfunctioningdarklordofall


Sirius’s death gets a lot sadder when you remember that over the summer, he gave Harry that mirror so they could talk. If Harry had just used that god damn thing, he would have seen that Sirius was in no danger at the end of the year.

But it gets even sadder when you remember that he gave Harry that mirror over the summer so that they could talk all through the year.He was like, “Here, Harry. Have this. Me and your dad used to use these to talk to each other a lot.” And Harry’s like, “Thanks, Sirius!” And then goes off to school and never takes it out of his fucking trunk.

I can just imagine Sirius alone at Grimmauld Place holding his mirror in his hands every day and thinking, “Maybe today he’ll remember. Maybe today he’ll pick it up and say hello.”

-lay down
-try not to cry
-cry a lot

Source: billygoatofdoom →




I love that age when little girls get really weird and mystical and savage

Like nine through eleven years old, those are some weird years for us

Man that was a rough few years for me but god I was wonderfully strange.

I made an altar in my room with crystals and incense and read Emily Dickinson and did tarot card readings. I believed in fairies and ghosts. What a beautiful time.

Source: conquerorwurm