remember when i was forced to go to church the sunday after i told my parents i liked girls & one of the youth teachers asked if there was anything i’d like to pray on or ask god to help me with. i impulsively said “to be content.” he took my hand and prayed on it. it’s been almost two years & that prayer has yet to be answered

tumblr feels so isolated & private, sometimes i forget that this is still social media & things can spread

i shrug at everything. everything means nothing with a good shrug

just wrote a piece for the first time in months without it feeling like my head is burning from too much thought… perhaps i’m not a fraud who doesn’t deserve to call themselves a writer because i don’t put enough time into writing. perhaps i actually am a writer who just experiences long mental hold-ups…

i cant fathom not existing. what happens after the lifetime i’m walking through is finalized? will i be forgotten? where will i go? will i be nothing? but i cannot process being nothing because i’ve always been something… life after death haunts me.