this makes my heart ache
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@throwaway3734
this makes my heart ache
Silverstein always has been, and always will be my favorite poet because he doesnāt even need words in his poem to make people open their eyes.

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me in the kitchen at 1 am
Foxes making sandwiches are real.

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Whenever you come across a moderate size decision, you have the ability to message any of your future selves and ask them what came of their decisions. One day, the doorbell rings and there is a girl-scout waiting outside. Your phone chimes, itās a message from yourself; it reads āPlease, donāt open itā.
I wasnāt sure how long Iād been able to communicate with the future. As a little boy, Iād written letters and placed them in the creek out in the back of my house, and gotten replies back the next day under my pillow. As I got older I began to suspect my parents, but the more I questioned them, the less likely it seemed. So i continued to write, asking about how Iād look, or who Iād marry, or how many children id have, or if the girl I liked liked me back.
āHandsome, a little too arrogent.ā āYou wonāt marry.ā āOne.ā āYesā
And it guided my life. Successfully. Letters turned to emails, emails to texts, and so on. Bigger life decisions needed more specific answers. How big of a downpayment do i need for my first house?
āDonāt buy a house yet, wait until after youāre fired from this jobā
āThe next job is double your salary, prove yourself, and you can do it.ā
āDonāt date him, heās married. Youāll get dragged into the drama.ā
I became very successful, with a cozy home, with exactly the two bedrooms id been told to get, with a big backyard Id been talked into, planning for a family I was still unsure about. My parents had passed in my mid 20s, and I was an only child, a little spoiled for that fact but still lonely. Which I supposed helped me to continue corresponding with my future guide, stubborn to accept bad outcomes and desperate for familiar contact, despite their mysteriousness, and distance. They never spoke first, only answered questionsā¦which is why it came as a surprise one autumn sunday morning, when my phone alerted me to the first unprovoked message theyād ever sent me. I was shocked, staring for eternity at the confusing message.
āPleaseā¦dont answer it. ā The vaguity concerned me. Whilst pondering it, the bright chimes of my doorbell sounded. My stomach sank and my hands shook. I couldnt resist peering out of the peephole. Shock after shock today, the caller was a small girl, with an impossible cloud of curls suspended around her freckled face, her deep brown eyes staring up into what she had no clue to be my own eyes.
It was a little girl. A headstrong little girl, from the way her chest was puffed out and the straightness of her back and the loft of her head and the fire I could almost feel. Her little blue tunic was too big, obscured by the comically large pen board she carried.
Against my better judgement, I opened the door. The tiny spitfire wasnāt the only one there, to my amusement. Six more tiny girls were huddled behind a tall, primly dressed woman. She waved apologetically as one shrieked at my presence and began to cry.
āSorry, youāre our first stop,ā she laughed as she comforted the sobbing girl.
I shrugged, āGirl scouts?ā
She blinked. āOh, I suppose we look like them, donāt we? No no, weāre the-ā
āWEāRE SELLING COOKIES FOR OUR HOUSE. BUY EM, KID.ā The little one at my feet sure knew how to sell. I laughed a gestured to her clip board, and she enthusiastically chucked it at my chest. āTHEYRE SO TUMMY. ā
The woman laughed again. āYou mean yummy, Naomi.ā The girls eyes sparkled and she just nodded, affirmatively. I looked the sheet over. āRoss District Girlās Homeā. I glanced at the woman.
āAre you aā¦ā
āFoster care, yes. Thereās also a boys home as well, about a mile south from here. We do a fundraiser every six months or so, and split up by age, Iāve got the first graders out today. Youāre new to the area yes?ā I nodded.
āGreat, well we do lots of bake sales, little fundraisers, door to door, things like that to keep our house running and to get the kids out of the house for a bit. We do a carnival in December too. ā
āImpressive. ā I looked back down, and Naomi had vanished.
āShit.ā The woman clapped her hand over her mouth as the girls laughed and acted scandalized at her swear. āDid she run inside? Could we..?ā
I extended a hand, āBe my guest, I dont have much but some granola bars you kids are welcome to.ā Five little girls rushed in as their gaurdian rolled her eyes. The sixth held tight and they entered.
As the children chowed down, she thanked me. āThats very sweet.ā
āNah, I love kids. Love to have some myself eventually.ā I marked a few things down and handed the board back to her. ā3 of each, the office will love these.ā She gaped at me.
āThatsā¦over three hundred dollarsā¦are you sure?ā She sputtered.
I shrugged, and pulled a carton of milk and some glasses down. āKids are expensive. Iād be happy to help more if you need it.ā She raised an eyebrow at me and extended a hand.
āCharlotte.ā I took it and shook.
āWilber.ā And she couldnt begin to contain her laughter.
āNo kidding!?ā She howled, āOh you and me are going to have some fun, Wilber.ā
āWill is fine,ā I winced. She shook her head. āNope, youāre my new best friend. Wilber. Great name.ā She sat the girls in a row and began to call for Naomi.
āSweetie?ā
We searched the house, easily finding her in my office. My office was my pride, the wall covered in pictures and maps, red strings tacked all over, souvenirs from other countries, plane tickets from where id gone. This tiny girl was stared in awe of it all. I was flattered. āHey.ā Charlotte said softly.
There was such a calm over her. Like sheād had an epiphany. She looked twice as small in the dark room, her entranced faced illuminated only by the rather dramatic lighting I displayed my treasures with.
āThis is the world, huh?ā She said quietly.
āA lot of it, sure.ā
āMy mama said she was gonna find a way to give me the world. You went and got it, huh, kid?ā
āNot all of it.ā
āMy mama couldnāt give it to meā¦she had to go. So I gotta find someone else to help me. Huh, kid?ā
āIts a wonderful thing to have.ā
I was compelled. I sat side by side with her in that little room, weaving stories about China, and Africa, and Mexico, and Europe and all the places Iād seen, all the places I wanted to see. Eventually all of the little group was there, snacking and listening. I showed them the lunch Iād had at the Eiffel tower, the brightly lit streets of Tokyo nights, the majesty of Machu Picchu, the castles of Scotland. I told them to go and see them, no matter what it takes. And suddenly, they were leaving. Time to go, time to return back to reality, time to return to a spouse that probably shouldnāt know Charlotte took seven little girls to eat a snack inside a strange manās home. I caught her by the wrist and stared. āI want in.ā She laughed nervously, āWhat?ā
āHow do I do what you do?ā
āWell you have to be a social worker for oneā¦but we do let potential parents volunteer during the adoption process.ā
āIāll do it.ā
āYou..you what?ā
From that day forth I committed my whole heart to that foster home. I broke my back playing with the kids, cooking meals and loving them. I showed up to work more sporadically. I didnāt care. These kids were so smart and wonderful. Kaya loved to paint and she was amazing at it. Elizabeth sang, and Martina knew math even I couldnāt do. And Naomi was loud and boisterous and loved everything about the world and learning about it. She and I became best friends, and I gave up my cushy office job to return to teaching English. We spent so much time together, even Charlotte got sick of me. So sick in fact that one day, she got to joyfully hand me a thick stack of approved paperwork to declare that she was officially kicking both me and Naomi out of her home.
And that was that, my life began to revolve around this little devil child who tore up my house the first day she stayed there as we celebrated by eating way too much ice cream and blasting the music way too loud. This spitfired seven year old who told ghost stories to her stuffed animals under the covers and pretended to not notice as I listened intently, as sheād make her dolls scream in response to the twist. This tiny, wide eyed wonder, who began to sob fat tears the day I handed her a ticket and a passport and told her that we were going to Peru. The girl who traveled with me all over the world and brightened every corner of the earth, and brought meaning to my spoiled, lonely life.
Naomi loved mangos, and the beach, and she would spend nights staring at it when she was older, on the coast of Hawaii, or Jamaica, or wherever we were. She pretended not to notice me watching, admiring the young lady my daughter was becoming. She drew every shoe she ever owned, and she drew it in the country she got it in. That was always my first gift, shoes to show where sheād stepped foot.
Naomi never brought up her mother, or that she died from breast cancer. She wouldnāt have known, and couldnāt have thought to remember the day that the love of my life was told at 15 that she had less than a year left to live. Naomi, my crybaby was silent, and comforted me as I wailed for my child who it felt had just come into my life.
āIf I have a year, we better make it a great one, huh kid?ā
That year we climbed Mount Everest. That year, we visited every Disney resort in the world. That year turned into three, and when my baby walked across the stage of a graduation of strangers, she was so beautiful, even through the sallow, sunken cheeks and paled eyes, and smiling despite her oxygen mask as she took a diploma sheād earned outside of the high school her peers attended, by living life. She went into the hospital that night, smiling.
āDadā¦I think you did it.ā She crooned, spreading her shoe drawings over her lap, her āsketchersā she often joked.
āWhatās that? ā
āYou gave me the world.ā
My daughter died two weeks later in the hospital, surrounded by her friends from all over the world, who had come to see her graduate, and stayed when her condition worsened. I sighed and pressed my cheek to her still warm face and said my wet and shaky goodbyes. I tapped my phone, the first message in years to them.
āI answered the door. It was worth it.ā
Beautiful story ā¤ļø
Holy shit
i made some sharks im bored hhhhh
people really like these boys huh?
I made more because i have no self control
hey.
i got a surprise for you
why are you people like this
Stuff like that is just not okayā¦seriously⦠i mean that is a serious and emotional video andā¦just no.
So. God. Damn. Much. Facepalm.
Let me explain you whiny little shits a thing Yaoi means āboys loveā. It IS NOT INHERENTLY SEXUAL. ITāS JUST A GODDAMN TERM FOR GAY. Stop your fucking whining and let people fanperson over shit the way they want to without your whiny bitch opinion bringing negativity into it. Jfc.
Hey there! Iām usually one to pick my battles, but this error here is so egregious I felt a need to speak up about it. You donāt have to read this if you donāt want to, but, in fact, yaoi does not mean Boyās Love. ItĀ is inherently sexual and it is not aĀ āgoddamn term for gay,ā as we will see subsequently.
āThe term yaoi is an acronym created in the late 1970s[1] by Yasuko Sakata and Akiko Hatsu[8] from the words Yama nashi, ochi nashi, imi nashi (å±±[å “]ćŖććč½ć”ćŖććęå³ćŖć) āNo peak (climax), no fall (punch line/denouement), no meaningā. This phrase was first used as a āeuphemism for the contentā[9] and refers to how yaoi, as opposed to the ādifficult to understandā shÅnen-ai being produced by the Year 24 Group female manga authors,[10] focused on āthe yummy partsā.ā
Tl;dr: Yaoi is a Japanese word about equivalent to our phrase āporn without plot.ā Of course, porn is necessarily inherently sexualāa genre that serves only to objectify the characters portrayed in it for the gratification of the consumer. It is not a term for gay. To my knowledge, in Japanese, that would beĀ āgei,ā which⦠literally is just the English word āgayā written in katakana. Additionally, according to Wikipedia, gay comics produced by mlm are literally calledĀ āgay comics (gei comi)ā or bara. So your post is wrong on two points here.
BL and yaoi are also not synonymous terms. BL, or Boyās Love, is an umbrella term encompassing genres such as yaoi and shounen-ai (another similar genre that is essentially softcore yaoi, focusing more on fluff than sexual activity but always in a more-or-less objectifying manner.) It does notĀ include gay comics. Why? Because while the target audience of gay comics are actual real-live gay people (shocker), the target audience of BL is cishet girls and women.
Originally branded disparagingly asĀ āfujoshiā (rotten girls) for ācorruptingā pure friendships between male characters, this subset of people now wear the label as a badge of pride, in the same way that cishet girls in Western fanfiction circles often refer to themselves asĀ ādirty sinnersā for drawing two men kissing or holding hands. Why the motif of corruption? Because this consumer base sees same-sex interaction beyond the purely platonic as inherently dirty, sinful, shameful, and kinky. (This can be seen not only in the communityās moniker but in the genreās conventions as well, as it relies heavily on tropes of rape, abuse, manipulation, etc, and essentially zero genuine depictions of earnest love.) This is denotatively and inarguably homophobia.
Thus, this is why you cannot callĀ āIn a Heartbeatā yaoi:
Its producers are all Western. It doesnāt even use an anime art style.
It is not sexual, or PWP. Its characters are not only children, but characters developed as people with which the viewer may empathize,Ā and absolutely not objectsĀ for the viewerās gratification.
It was a short produced by and for LGBT people.
Now I may be a little out of my lane because I am not JapaneseāI just consume a lot of anime and manga and read a lot. But I believe the information I have presented to be factually correct and I hope it is clear now why one cannot refer to this short or any other LGBT productions as yaoi, not only for reasons of social justice, but sheer linguistics as well.
Stop fetishizing LGBT y'all
Just so weāre explicitly clear on where i stand
ditto
Better recanize!!!
Yes, yes and yes
here is my contribution to fixing this post
December 27, 1985
This is it. This is the funniest thing Iāve ever read in my entire life.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Reblog in 40 seconds and you will be put on the path to achieve your dreams and find your fortune
I've got nothing to lose by trying
cool advice from dark souls
what a good day to remember that butch lesbians (ESPECIALLY trans, poc, and/or fat butch lesbians) arenāt fucking predatoryĀ
ātrans butch lesbianā? More like heterosexual man.
Reblog the Fred of TERF banishment to keep your blog TERF free for a year.
In case I havenāt been clear enough
Anyway @ all the aphobes who keep replying to this postĀ
Dowses Beach is neat as heck. All photos taken by me. Please donāt remove my caption. -Andromedopeā

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
"You came into my life like a brick through a window, and I cracked a smile."
The Trashcan Sinatras