evil robyn!!!

it's certainly not "repackaging amatonormativity" for individual aro and/or and ace people to want QPRs, or want to talk about their QPRs in a-spec spaces

So, if any trans men are being told about this, it’s not true!! Smoking will not change your voice, at least not until you’re about forty years down the line and you’ve already irreparably destroyed your lungs and throat and mouth and pretty much every other organ in your body. When you hear heavy smokers with deeper, scratchier voices it is literally because their vocal cords have been ruined. This is not a passive effect of smoking, it is a very very damaging one!

It’s simply not worth it! There will be no meaningful changes except terrible ones. Voice training will do a lot more for you than cigarettes will, I promise that the people urging you to start smoking as a voice training method do not have your best interests at heart!

(And you know what, this also goes for not eating due to the idea that starving yourself will decrease your chest size. Like with smoking, there will be no meaningful changes except terrible ones. Your body is worth so much more than that and there will always be healthier alternatives!)

(Btw, afaik smoking only has this effect on estrogen from HRT. Estrogen that AFAB bodies produce naturally is not affected, so smoking is still bad for trans men)

I think also in that conversation, I had a couple people tell me that the book The Easy Way to Quit Smoking is, despite the gimmicky title, genuinely helpful.

If quitting for yourself seems too abstract and it’s hard to care, think about everyone around you. Someone with asthma or migraines will breathe easier if they’re not risking an attack from standing near you.

Lastly, some queer history: a 90’s tobacco marketing campaign that targeted gay men was literally called Project SCUM. That’s what they think of us. Don’t give them your money.

One of the only asexual activists is Yasmin Benoit, a Black woman. She has raised so much awareness for the community. She was the first asexual person to lead Pride in London, she started the #thisiswhatasexuallookslike movement and is THE leading voice for the community.

And you all will celebrate international asexuality day on April 6th but we wouldn't even have that if she hadn't cofounded it.

One of the only asexual activists is Yasmin Benoit, a Black woman. She has raised so much awareness for the community. She was the first asexual person to lead Pride in London, she started the #thisiswhatasexuallookslike movement and is THE leading voice for the community.

And you all will celebrate international asexuality day on April 6th but we wouldn't even have that if she hadn't cofounded it.

theres a certain ache lying beneath my skin. its hungry, my body is desperate for something to eat. maybe my hunger will be soothed with more. more of those flashing by coherent thoughts, more of those moments where my fingetips dont feel numb.

i cant stop. i need to stop. but i need to go on, dont i?

theres a high to this all but i know to expect the low. i turn to the people i love, so undoubtetly love but my throat zips up tight. theres room everywhere i see yet the world is closing in on me.

screaming and shouting doesnt help, eyes turning towards me but not seeing what i really represent.

maybe being unknown would help. looking into his eyes, he wishes me a stranger but i cannot help but remain his son.

cant sleep, cant walk, cant stop being the bane of my own existance. weight is dragging down every inch of my body, nauseau creeping up every chance it gets, forcing itself out of my body.

i am not okay.

but im supposed to be glowing, arent i?

im supposed to be the star.

they make empty conversation about it while my mind is drowning in the amount of thoughts that are harbouring inside of it.

trying to reach out, i find my hands unattached to anyone. i try to connect, make them understand but its simly not enough, never for him.

help me. , so i plead. he stares and stares and does what he has done all of his life: nothing.

watching life go past, thinking everything is fine because nothing is affecting him.

and it affects me.

he drowns all of that which remains. my hopes, my loves, my thoughts. and all that is left is a hollow shell which my soul has long departed from and im confronted with what truth i had been avoiding. it is but only myself in these shallow waters and my breath has long run out.

my blood leaks into the water, the healing can never be finished with the salt licking my wounds.

but its not enough, is it? it wont be, my blood.

i need that high again, i need to perform the best.

and so;

my last act ends with rope hugging me tight as the wind sways me into nothingness.