celticshieldmaiden

[celticshieldmaiden]

Crazy thing about #healing #recovery Small Victories is when you'll have some shit going on that's like, saying this would involve admitting how you used to be doing. You know? Like hey guys good news I'm gonna change my bedsheets this year

[celticshieldmaiden]

Voice actors of tumblr! The time has come - we, the makers of The Silt Verses and I Am In Eskew, are assembling a cast of lovely and talented people to work on our next weird fiction / horror / fantasy audiodrama, and we'd really love it if you auditioned to join us.

Details and roles are all in the link above, but this is a paid opportunity. Auditions are set to close on 14th July. Hope to hear from you.

[celticshieldmaiden]

[celticshieldmaiden]

If you have Spotify reblog this and tag what your number one song on your “on repeat” playlist is.

[celticshieldmaiden]

[celticshieldmaiden]

Source: Last Week Tonight with John Oliver, April 6, 2025

[celticshieldmaiden]

So anyways with the rapid rise of fascism I feel it’s a good time to point out that it’s perfectly legal to follow unjust orders slowly, badly, or inefficiently

[celticshieldmaiden]

OP's pronouns are she/they.

[celticshieldmaiden]

Hymn for the Forgotten Ones

I have seen the best of us discarded— trans women in threadbare hoodies weeping on train platforms, nonbinary prophets singing psalms of survival in the language of neurodivergence and neon eyeliner, polyamorous lovers cradling shattered mirrors searching for reflections that don’t flinch— queers who stitched themselves together with glitter, with poems, with game nights and trauma-bonded group chats, who howled at the silence and called it home.

I have been the quiet kid in the classroom branded “gifted” while starving on free lunch, praying to a god I no longer believe in that someone would see me before I disappeared entirely.

I have been the child barefoot on the asphalt while my mother screamed and her boyfriend smashed the windows out of her car with a baseball bat, glass raining like ice on a summer night, knowing no one was coming to save me.

I have been the whisper of suicide at eight years old, at ten, at fourteen, again at fifteen, each time certain the world was a weight I was never meant to carry— and somehow I did. Somehow I still do.

I have seen my mother on a metal table, sea-worn and half-eaten by the tide, and felt the world collapse into a single word: gone.

I have carried that word through every poem I’ve written.

I have missed my sister like phantom limb, cut off at the joint where love used to bend— years of silence, years of pretending I was never part of her body.

I have tried to explain polyamory to monogamous ghosts who only understand possession, have tried to explain transness to people who still think gender is a shape you’re born with instead of a constellation you name for yourself after the storm.

I have been the invisible friend in every group, the one remembered only when the dice needed rolling or the characters needed voices, tired of living vicariously through fictional people just to feel seen.

I have been in love with people who didn’t love me back, and with people who did, but couldn’t say it out loud.

I have watched my partners crumble under the weight of a world that demands you either smile or disappear.

I have learned to bend instead of break. To sing instead of scream. To weep like a sanctuary collapsing and call it holy.

I have built kintsugi cathedrals from the wreckage of my childhood. I have poured oceans into my chest and called it breathing.

I have written poetry because if I don’t, I vanish.

Because grief doesn’t leave— it changes shape, it settles in the joints, it learns to walk beside you without a name.

Because love is not scarcity. Because survival is not weakness. Because my transness is not a punchline. Because my polyamory is not your affair to untangle. Because my life is mine.

I have found family in strangers who called me beautiful when I couldn’t, in hands that held mine through the depths of depression, in voices that stayed on the phone through panic attacks, in chosen siblings who never needed DNA to know I belonged.

I have learned to claim joy in stolen minutes and soft light, in soup made from scraps, in laughter through tears, in kisses under queer constellations. Joy not as erasure, but as defiance— as proof that I am still capable of bloom.

I have lived in a disabled body that creaks and forgets and burns, that struggles to hold the shape of function, but still dances when the right song plays, still writes poems through brain fog, still stays, even when it wants to leave.

I have learned that hope is not fragile. It is a blade sharpened in secret, a pulse in the dark, a banner stitched from every no I have ever turned into yes. Hope is rebellion— is a refusal to vanish. Is my name written in fire.

Because I am still here. Because I am still here. Because I am still here.

And if I am still here— so can you be.

[celticshieldmaiden]

the fundamental problem on this website is that if a homeless person tried to talk to most of y’all you’d be scared out of your minds

[celticshieldmaiden]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZTdQuxw52/

I think I found my new favorite rabbit hole. This voice actor does Shakespeare scenes in a southern accent and I need to see the whole damn play. Absolutely beautiful

[celticshieldmaiden]

So, uhm... I published a poetry book? Like, Amazon published, not REAL published, but still. It feels weird.

Anyway, here's a link. I don't really imagine anyone is that interested, but may as well.

[celticshieldmaiden]

[celticshieldmaiden]

Parents always say this:

"You're smart. Therefore, it's okay for me to expect more of you."

"You're smart. Therefore, I don't have to care how I explain things to you."

"You're smart. Therefore, it's okay for me to assume that any mistakes you make are intentional."

"You're smart. Therefore, if you say that you struggle with something, it's okay for me to assume that you're just lazy, afraid, lacking confidence, lacking motivation, or any other excuse to dismiss your struggles as fake.

but never this:

"You're smart. Therefore, I will put my authority aside and consider the possibility that you are right and I am wrong.

Like any abusive authority figure, they want you to be smart enough to uphold their authority but not smart enough to challenge their authority.

[celticshieldmaiden]

but i am sick of climbing / i am sick of crawling on hand and knees and scraping myself along the ground / i am sick of self-help skills and persistence and patience / i am sick of pushing myself and burning out and thrashing about hopelessly / i am sick of being a goldfish in a hot pan / i am sick of reinventing myself every season / i am sick of this feeling / i would claw this out of me if you gave me a sharp enough object / i am sick of feeling unsafe around sharp objects / i am sick of never finding an object sharp enough

i wish you knew the answer and could tell me and pour it down my throat until i gagged on it / i made my therapist cry when i said i had a lacking in me / i told her that a train could drive through the spaces i put into myself / the lacking is what does it, not the wanting, the lack, the dullness / barely-breathing with my teeth clacking in the cold water / it's the same fucking bridge it's the same dream and the same stupid kid / i wish sometimes i had drowned in that pool / i wish i had been different, not even that it was easier but just that i had enough strength to endure it / i wish it went away / i wish i had one good fucking reason