if I were born as a blackthorn tree

Richard Calver (Canadian, 1946-2021), Dandelions Rejoicing, 2000. Colour linocut on paper, 18 ¼ x 13 ¼ in. Edition of 50

I blog for the girls who cry on their birthdays and lose a little bit of themselves during the summer months

let’s settle this shit but do NOT reblog if you’re gonna be modest about it like a little BITCH. anyway privilege check tell me which ones apply to you: hot, funny, can dance, can do math, can spell, can drive, can cook

i hate you debt i hate you credit i hate you loans i hate you rent i hate you widely accepted & legalized extortion of necessities

imagine the most meanspirited, unlikeable, rude, bitter, self centered, negative person you can think of. not a rapist, not a murderer, not an abuser. just a charmless, tactless, dyed in the wool asshole you wouldn't want to spend two seconds with. now assume they get sick, not with the flu, but with a long term, serious illness that limits their ability to provide for themself. a society in which that person is left to die alone because nobody likes them on a personal level is a failed society.

and the thing is, no matter how likeable or charming or cute you are, peoples' patience runs out. the friends who drop everything to rush you to the ER the first time you shit blood tell you to stop being so tmi the fourteenth time. people might give you a couch to crash on the first week after your shitty ex kicks you out, but by week eight, you better have another place to stay. people run out of time, patience, money, compassion, energy. there needs to be an impersonal option, a real safety net that isn't going to dump you when you become inconvenient