Daveo8490

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️He/They🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈

🫠🦎🪐🤡🧁🖤🎨✨🌈🦕🧷🫧

☀️♓️🌙♏️📈♉️

Gregory: 🦕

Bojack rewatch count: 59

Follow my recovery blog! ❤️‍🩹

My image hoarding blog

This blog is mostly a digital diary, a lot of venting and letters I'll never send (a tag I use a lot lol) The reason this is public is so my friends can see how I'm doing and any other randos (That's you!) can tag along.

My interests/things I like!:

Arts and crafts, painting (acrylics and watercolour), ceramics, journaling, squishmallows, dinosaurs, Bojack Horseman, video games, witchcraft, rocks and crystals, tarot cards, vanilla iced coffee, clubbing, bugs and clowns!

You smile to yourself thinking how kind it is that your sister cooked chips and vegetables to go with your steak.

grasping the knife you cut off a bite easier than you expected and start eating.

it's medium rare and tastes like love.

After 19 years of watching your sister struggle to stomach even the idea of meat thst isn't practically burnt to a crisp here lies a plate of care.

Snacking on a chip, a crack in the plate catches your eye. A few years ago you accidently dropped it when unloading the dishwasher and profusely apologised, promising to fix it.

Coincidently a few day's later you got into a massive fight.

A light knock taps on your door that night "You fixed my plate."

"We'll yeah, I may be mad at you but I keep my promises."

What happened to the days where we'd go for walks for hours? When did seeing each other every weekend turn into the last text you sent me was in January?

my mouth tastes like blood and cigarettes. If you were here I'd split it with you. My inhaler sitting in the front pocket of my backpack if you needed it.

I hate being upset with you, I wish I could wake up and the whole group would be back together. I hate that I saw this coming two years ago. I hate that I'm apparently not worth a text back. Not even confirmation that this was over.

six years of friendship and you didn't even give me a damn text back.

My baby my sunshine, my hope on the darkest day

perched upon the ladder in the corner of his cage

A little feathered sweetheart that melts the pain away

when I write my diary he nibbles on the page

happy gentle twitters fill the once still air

fluffy feathers brush my face

he snuggles in my hair

A bell jingles as he plays, toys galore in his own place

My bubba, my little one, my reason to carry on

in an aviary of thousands I found you

the lottery I’ve won

the smiles to my face I hope to give you too

You’re the best companion, every day I thank the stars above

I wish I was surprised by the content of my course; instead of swallowing memories, choking back the tears of a child I never fully got to be while taking notes on domestic violence.

Because now there’s new kids growing up too fast and if I don’t get it together right the fuck now I can’t help them.

I wish I heard the birds outside my classroom instead of dishes crashing in my memories.

I wish the hardest part of getting out of bed was being tired instead of the instant suicidal ideation.

It’s so hard to focus on finishing your forever degree while you’ve got one foot in the grave.

Do you remember ever being that small?

So small the top of your shoulder could rest uncomfortably against the handle?

You’d have to crouch down a fair bit to get there by now; Almost on your knees but not quite.

The knees you’d scrape on concrete as you laughed and tripped over your chalk bucket.

Do you remember how it felt?

The learned betrayal of your first instinct being to stand next to your doorknob. To press your aching bruise against it to see if it was a suitable alibi.

So if anyone ever asked you how you got that bruise you could say you tripped while playing.

No one asked you to lie, she just asked you to not wear that dress because you could see it.

Do you remember?