super secret internet not diary i guess

"Love/sex is what makes us human" Wrong. It's the obsession with rectangles. look around you and count the number of rectangles you see.

Being a crafty person and making a bunch of things often prompts people to ask "oh wow did you make that?" And like, the short answer is: yes I did, but the long answer is: well, no, the pattern isn't mine, but I did choose and buy the fabric/yarn and sewed it together/crocheted it/knitted it myself. I used a reference for that drawing/painting, I didn't come up with it myself. That ceramic piece was insired by a poem and a painting made by different people. What I'm trying to say is, everything I make requires other people to make their own thing first, and then I get inspired by them to do my own thing. So I can't really call anything truly mine, because really it's just a bunch of inspirations and experiences of others (and me) put together by my hands. Does that answer your question

ALL ART IS IN CONVERSATION WITH ITSELF AND NOTHING IS ORIGINAL BECAUSE NOTHING IS MADE ALONE AND THAT'S A GOOD THING AHHH

they should normalize saying "I'm thinking of you fondly but don't have much to say and frankly I don't even really want to talk rn but you have appeared in my thoughts and it's nice"

i wish people would stop romanticizing not eating breakfast and not getting enough sleep and being dependent on coffee to function and always being in a bad mood and treating yourself poorly because that behavior is very unhealthy for you

to those who thought this post was heading in a heartwarming direction, i do NOT apologize and i DO hope the forest and its creeping mycelium tendrils crawl their way into your nightmares

she's a style icon. she's a weeb. she hates school. she's effortlessly smart. she throws up from anxiety. she loves to run. she's an annoying little shit. she's the friend group peacemaker. she kins judas iscariot. she has flower symbolism. she thinks everything is temporary. she has a sensitive tongue. she's a self-proclaimed coward. she's a self-fulfilling prophecy. she's cat-coded. she thinks her existence is a burden. she hangs out on rooftops. she has bad luck in gachas. she's agnostic with catholic guilt. she's transgender. and she's even pink.

She's a lesbian who has probably never kissed a girl. She's a deer in headlights. She covers her face when she's emotional. She craves warmth and closeness. She runs away at the first hint of it. She's cast out by society. She casts herself out of society. She's extremely beloved by anyone who gets to know her even slightly on a personal level. The confidence and light she exudes melts snow and shatters ice. She breaks like a glass at any perceived stress. She's not just pink, she's a pink thing that has the blues

sometimes people think I am on Mad At Them Island, when in fact I am far more often paddling around in the waters of Slightly Annoyed With Their Recent Behavior Bay, or perhaps on the beautiful Peninsula of Get Well Soon But I Will Not Be Engaging With All Of That