Me: I broke my leg in several places, it hurts like shit, but I still manage to walk without a limp and behave completely normal when I’m with people.

Person: WHAT THE FUCK GO TO THE HOSPITAL SEE A DOCTOR GET TREATMENT!

Me: Oh, sorry, I misspoke. I meant: I have all the symptoms of undiagnosed ADHD, it’s exhausting like shit, but I still manage to function completely normal when I’m with people.

Person:

Picking at the scab probably wasn’t a good idea…this should be a metaphor for something - you know, like the re-opening of an old wound (physical and emotional).

I think one of my favorite things to see is watching guys squirm when they say I don’t have balls and I tell them they can’t prove that and every time they try to argue, I just hit them with the “you can’t prove that” because they can’t. Sure, I’m cis, but do you have proof? No. And do you really want to risk getting yeeted into a wall to prove a point? No. Suck my metaphorical dick.

I have to dream it all over again. I have to murder the old characters —the smiling faces. I have to envision a different story and paint a new picture. Same place. But a different soul to bond with. I have to let go of the part of me that existed in micro moments and flashes.

a dream so beautiful it aches.

I have this vision that encroaches my mind like a pandemic. I am looking out the glass window -upon the tall buildings and bright, flickering lights from a dark bedroom dimmed with pure darkness. You walk to stand behind me, wrapping your careful hands around my timid waist. Your chin on my shoulder as we hear the entire world going silent. Everything in slow motion, everything vanishing in the background. It’s us against the world -just as we craved for. A dangerous feeling that makes us feel safe for the one and only time. We are here every night resting our realities to a graveyard where dreams live.

The last time I saw her she was blooming like daisies, wearing a weary smile, cloaked in hopeless gown of despair. She told me she was scared of something -or someone. Her dreams caught the best of her, fell down trying to fly so high. She told me she had left God behind and she was ashamed. The last time I saw her, she was fading but she was alive. They killed her. Piece by piece. Second by second. The last time I saw her I could hear her breathing ashes of her broken soul.

I don’t know why but sometimes you still come back to me. It feels like I am the sea, calm and steady and you are the storm. You come and make my water collaps into big waves that could drown people. But you don’t drown anyone except for me. And so while I’m still thinking I’m over you, I can’t help but think of you and all the things that could‘ve happened if you loved me right. And then suddenly you leave again and the little wall I built myself to keep my town from the waves got broken. So I‘ll have to fix it again and wait for another storm to come over my calm sea.

Just like I always do: fix things and wait for you to destroy them again.

When the Rain Comes

When the Rain Comes

When the water comes back to the stream again

When the summer drought flows away, 

And pained skin knows relief again, 

Forgive yourself the sins born of thirst and fatigue

The cracked dirt of your life will be submerged

It is on you to wash, for the sake of your own ease,

But it is not moral burden. Forgive yourself

Your fatigue, you would not have chosen this

Had your choices been…

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foldingfittedsheets:

I think a lot of people on tumblr probably need to hear the pizza metaphor given to me by a fellow queerio.

She said, “I think sexuality is an appetite. Like, I love cheese pizza. I could eat cheese pizza for the rest of my life. But if I’m starving and there’s pepperoni right there- well, I might have some pepperoni.”

And it struck a deep cord with me. We both identified as lesbian but had slept with dudes while accepting this. For me, I was a horny teenager in a small pseudo-rural town. My options were slim but I had a sex drive. I had a lot of bad sex with dudes. I had some okay sex with dudes.

I dated a dude for three years with both of us knowing full well that I wasn’t really sexually attracted to men when we got into a relationship. I fell in love and thought maybe the sex might follow and it didn’t. I tried different labels and some fit better than others. It’s still a coin toss whether I feel like queer or lesbian describes me best on a given day.

But much like eating a slice of pizza with toppings you don’t care for there was still aspects I could enjoy. Gender is like this. Sexuality is like this. It’s okay not to know, and it’s okay if you try things and it’s okay if you think you like pineapples but later your tastes change. It’s okay if you COULD eat some variety of pizza but it’s just not what you really want. It’s okay if you don’t like the pizza but you like the company that comes with it.

It’s all okay.

Metaphor

By me

When you’re autistic but your therapist uses metaphors to help you understand

[ID: a gif of a man in a tuxedo with a microphone looking confused and saying “but I don’t get it.”]