Izzy Slumber

reblog to fucking bite the person you reblog from

(in love with you) (bursting at the seams to talk to you) (heart teeming chest aching) hey how are you

...the slug one made me choke on my fucking drink imfggggggg

it's so hard to be socially conscious and also maintain a friendly relationship with people i work with

like there's only so many times you can say "hey don't say that, that's rude/bigoted/a dogwhistle" before everyone just stops talking to you. nothing changes except you're alone now. ask how i know.

it's easier to ignore the slightly offputting tranny than to actually change how you act dontchaknow

right, I'm not supposed to blog about anything serious or I'll get censored or deleted or whatever. how about that world cup, huh

pspsps perverted weirdo who is obsessed w me

I'm at a :.|:; for words.

Sometimes I get sad that I didn’t ask my mom to teach me how to paint, but working on this I realized that she kinda did. Maybe not how to paint a portrait or landscapes, but a lifetime of watching her paint knickknacks and old barrel slats has left me with tons of little tips floating around my head. Like using a toothbrush to make the spray or a sponge to give the flag colors texture. It’s like putting a little piece of her into each piece. It makes me feel close to her

sorry i tried to drink your blood i think you're cute