ieatliterature

[ieatliterature]

i am up way past my bedtime, writing homoerotic fanfiction about human!perry the platypus and dr doofenshmirtz, and that's alright. I feel like this is just where life takes you sometimes, and you just gotta role with it.

Is this the result of my own choices? probably, but I will continue to blame my situation on outside sources until either my future self or god shows up on my doorstep to tell me otherwise, in which case they've only got themselves to blame when i proceed to fistfight them about it

to make things clear, the only thing i regret is my sleep schedule

[ieatliterature]

One quiet day on the farm, the Little Red Hen found some wheat seeds and decided to make bread.

"Who will help me plant these seeds?" the Little Red Hen asked.

"I would." said the Horse "But I'm a workhorse, and I'm too busy moving carts around."

And so the Little Red Hen planted the seeds by herself. And they grew into bountiful golden crops.

"Who will help me harvest the wheat?" the Little Red Hen asked.

"I would." said the Dog "But I'm a guarddog, and I'm too busy keeping away burglars and predators."

And so the Little Red Hen harvested the wheat herself and made it into flour.

"Who will help me bake the flour?" the Little Red Hen asked.

"I would." said the Pig "But I'm a mother of 5 newborn piglets, and I'm too busy taking care of my young."

And so the Little Red Hen baked the bread herself into twenty beautiful loaves.

"Who will help me eat the bread?" the Little Red Hen asked.

"We would." said the Farm Animals. "But we're ashamed, for we didn't do anything to make the bread."

"Nonsense!" said the Little Red Hen. "You, Horse, helped move around the stones that built my oven. You, Dog, kept me safe while I worked. And you, Pig, are raising a new generation of Farm Animals, who will too contribute to our Farm one day. You've all helped me so much by simply being you."

"Besides," the Little Red Hen added. "I couldn't possibly eat all the loaves on my own, most of them would go to waste. Come, eat with me."

And so the Little Red Hen and the Farm Animals ate the bread together. And all saw their own, and each other's, worth.

[ieatliterature]

you know when words aren't enough?

I've lost track of how many times I'm sitting in bed, staring at my ceiling in the dark and thinking several variations of, "did they mean what they said?"

cause sometimes I look at my people, and they say things like, "I love you", and, "I care about you". I look at the people that are mine, and they say that I am theirs.

You know those dumb sayings, about pictures and actions being bigger and louder and more than words? You know how it sounds empty, because it's been repeated so many times that it's lost meaning? Do you see the irony in that?

Cause sometimes I look at my dad, who doesn't know how to use words. But he does things, sometimes. My favorite chocolate bar will show up on my pillow, or he'll send me money on my birthday so I can go to my favorite restaurant.

Sometimes I remember the other actions that he screamed at me. Sometimes I look at him and think that he should speak more and act less.

You know when words aren't enough? You know those moments, when all you have are words to give? When you give your placations and your declarations and every syllable you can muster, because the rest of your body won't move?

Cause sometimes, I look at myself. I look at how my mouth moves. I look at the promises I wrote myself, and I tell myself that I won't break them this time. I look at my mouth move, while my body stays in place.

You know when you look at your people? You know when you look at your person, and you can see the look in their eyes when you give your words, and you can see they don't believe them?

Cause sometimes, that feeling of devotion is enough to make your body move. And I think of chocolate bars on my pillow and birthday gift cards, and I force myself to not think of other things. And I make my hands write pictures for my person, I make my body weave actions screaming what I've run out of words to say.

You know when you look at your person, and you give,

"I'll tell you I love you, as many times as you need to be reminded, in as many ways as you'll let me."

And you think, if you end up reminding them forever, then that wouldn't be too bad?

Cause sometimes, I sit up at night. Sometimes I stare at my ceiling in the dark, and I think about actions and words and pictures. I think of my people, who are mine, who say I'm theirs.

I think of my pile of words, and my chocolate bar, and my gift card. I think of the bigger pile of things that I'm not supposed to be thinking about.

And I think, sometimes, words aren't enough.

[ieatliterature]

to be perfectly honest i think that ghosts being transluscent and faded is kind of antithetical to what they represent. they're an echo that cannot move on, cannot fade out - they should be oversaturated and stiff and strangely out of place and unchanging, like something preserved in clear glass.

[ieatliterature]

funerals and flowers and sunny days

spring reminds me more of death than winter ever could

mourning, children laughing, wind and birds and grass

the feeling of moving on while the chill stays in the past

time stepping forward, leaving footprints in the mud

rain dipping petals with the heavy weight of change

living reminds me more of death than dying ever could