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i feel scared because im worried things are getting worse for gay people in the church. and i feel scared because i am worried about the political climate. but there is love and love is warm. thinking about the image of the menorah in the window after kristallnacht i think. i will take care of my friends. i will make art and dance and teach little children to love each other
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im good i think. we're good right? i feel small and broken but god made me sorta fractured cus we've been like this since we were small and we felt so bad about it always
i feel guilty even though it's stuff that a isn't that big of a deal b i didn't even do. i feel like im bad too not that gail and sterling and c are bad cus theyre not but i feel like a bad person and im scared
im proud of you and of us for all the hard work that has been done to take care of us and keep us safe even when it's hard
kind of homophobic of my gf's mom to literally die in a ditch during pride month
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nobody believes he's real. he tags his tumblr blog with isolated lines from john donne's poem "song". his favorite book is a "middle grade" deconstruction of the fairytale genre. 80% of his wardrobe is black. he's somewhere in between girlfag and boydyke. she's a classically trained ballet dancer. she chose an illegible irish name with three different pronunciations for fun. she considers a dual biography of ulysses s grant and robert e lee light reading. she's seen ducktales 2017 at least 13 times. she's really into bees but only symbolically and for geneological reasons. she's a mormon witch. i could keep going
"I need a good storm," Anna said.
Caroline tilted her head further into the arm of the great chair. "What makes a good storm? How do you know if a storm is good?"
"You just do," Anna said without putting down the paintbrush. "It's something you feel in your bones. It might hurt a little, especially before and after, but when it's upon you the thunder drowns out all the aches and it's terrifying and marvelous."
"Ah," said Caroline, "I see," although she was not sure she did.
my papa visits me in my dreams.
ive taken up his mantle, in the broadest sense. i work where he used to work and i eat his chips. i wonder if he likes that.
sometimes, i know he is not supposed to be there. he stands in the corner of the school cafeteria in his sunday clothes and smiles at me while kids argue about milk and grades at my table.
he doesn't usually say much. when i am awake, i beg him for guidance. i feel so lost. i am gaining a sense of how grand the world is and how little grasp i have on myself in it. i am worried i will lose hold of my little self and watch as i am washed downstream. when i am asleep, he smiles at me and points out shapes in the clouds. last night i was hot, so he threw a sheet at my head to replace my heavy blanket with during movie night.
maybe that lack of guidance means something. he doesn't correct my course or give me thunderbolt revelations. on the occasions he dreamwalks with me, he hugs me and tells me with his eyes that i am as beautiful as the day i was born. he smiles at me from the corners and i know everything will be alright. maybe that's all i need.
i dont see images in my head. when I wake up, his face is gone. but he is always so clear and vivid in my dreams.
