kindnessisstillhere

[kindnessisstillhere]

Assumptions

Cats are contradictions,

They're smart and idiots,

But is that being clever?

Like asking for food,

Instead of to go out.

I know sometimes it's a lie,

Sometimes it's cause I replied,

Because I was staying still,

So the request was changed,

But is that all assumptions?

Can I know their wishes,

Or guess their intelligence,

Without making assumptions?

[kindnessisstillhere]

Expectations

I said this month was freely given

When deciding all the things to write,

But expectations have a cost,

Even if the giver thinks nothing is lost.

They cost respect, faith or trust,

Take the price from the relationship.

Have too many and it might crumble,

Too few and the effort lacks until it's gone.

So expectations are never free

They come with a varying emotional fee.

[kindnessisstillhere]

Gentle

I was running,

So long, in mind,

Running from myself,

Fighting my writing,

As characters became reflections,

And I couldn't see.

Now I'm gentle with them,

Wait to see them grow,

Hope their story stays the same.

It's patience too,

But gentleness is needed,

How else do I learn myself?

[kindnessisstillhere]

Two spirit pride flag created by Patrick Hunter for 35th anniversary of the term "Two-spirit"

[kindnessisstillhere]

Soft Words

We try to do it,

Try to speak gently,

Cause small words help,

Soft words move people,

So we offer gentleness,

Kindness to those we know,

Or those we encounter daily.

[kindnessisstillhere]

Almost didn’t manage to draw up anything for pride month, oops! Maybe I should do a pride moth as well (thanks autocorrect)

Didn’t turn out the way I intended, but it doesn’t matter because loons are always a win.

99% watercolor with some colored pencil details that you can’t really see. Gotta get the rust out somehow.

[kindnessisstillhere]

Warmth

Turn the sun off

It's too much warmth.

I'd hoped the rain would cool it,

But humidity makes it worse.

[kindnessisstillhere]

Comfort

It's something solid,

Something I control, change,

Isn't that comforting?

To see an impact I can have?

To improve my life with my hands?

It's needle, thread and fabric,

But oh so much more,

Because it's comfort.

[kindnessisstillhere]

🦔

This is Charles. He wants to go on a journey around tumblr. could you show him around?

[kindnessisstillhere]

Spin this wheel first and then this wheel second to generate the title of a YA fantasy novel!

(If the second wheel lands on an option ending with a plus sign, spin it again)

Share what you got!

[kindnessisstillhere]

A Listening Ear

We don't alway listen.

It's easy to forget to,

To let small annoyances,

Small mistakes, pile high.

But people do listen often,

They remember different things,

An interest you shared once,

Or something you complained of,

Enough to ask about later,

So you'll know there was a listening ear,

There was someone who cared to hear.

[kindnessisstillhere]

i love the -with mama trend but sometimes i get sad because that is clearly papa and he aint getting any credit raising those darn kids...

[kindnessisstillhere]

I think I may never be sad ever again. There is a statue entitled "Farewell to Orpheus" on my college campus. It's been there since 1968, created by a Prof. Frederic Littman that use to work at the university. It sits in the middle of a fountain, and the fountain is often full of litter. I have taken it upon myself to clean the litter out when I see it (the skimmers only come by once a week at max). But because of my style of dress, this means that bystanders see a twenty-something on their hands and knees at the edge of the fountain, sleeves rolled up, trying not to splash dirty water on their slacks while their briefcase and suit coat sit nearby. This is fine, usually. But today was Saturday Market, which means the twenty or so people in the area suddenly became hundreds. So, obviously, somebody stopped to ask what I was doing. "This," I gestured at the statue, "is Eurydice. She was the wife of Orpheus, the greatest storyteller in Greece. And this litter is disrespectful." Then, on a whim, I squinted up at them. "Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?" "No," they replied, shifting slightly to sit.

"Would you like to?"

"Sure!"

So I told them. I told them the story as I know it- and I've had a bit of practice. Orpheus, child of a wishing star, favorite of the messenger god, who had a hard-working, wonderful wife, Eurydice; his harp that could lull beasts to passivity, coax song from nymphs, and move mountains before him; and the men who, while he dreamed and composed, came to steal Eurydice away. I told of how she ran, and the water splashed up on my clothes. But I didn't care. I told of how the adder in the field bit her heel, and she died. I told of the Underworld- how Orpheus charmed the riverman, pacified Cerberus with a lullaby, and melted the hearts of the wise judges. I laughed as I remarked how lucky he was that it was winter- for Persephone was moved by his song where Hades was not. She convinced Hades to let Orpheus prove he was worthy of taking Eurydice. I tugged my coat back on, and said how Orpheus had to play and sing all the way out of the Underworld, without ever looking back to see if his beloved wife followed. And I told how, when he stopped for breath, he thought he heard her stumble and fall, and turned to help her up- but it was too late. I told the story four times after that, to four different groups, each larger than the last. And I must have cast a glance at the statue, something that said "I'm sorry, I miss you--" because when I finished my second to last retelling, a young boy piped up, perhaps seven or eight, and asked me a question that has made my day, and potentially my life: "Are you Orpheus?" I told the tale of the grieving bard so well, so convincingly, that in the eyes of a child I was telling not a story, but a memory. And while I laughed in the moment, with everyone else, I wept with gratitude and joy when I came home. This is more than I deserve, and I think I may never be sad again.

Here is the aforementioned statue, by the way.

[kindnessisstillhere]

Spoon in the shape of a fish. Carved from some Sycamore I found just outside Wivenhoe, Essex.

[kindnessisstillhere]

Friendship

What makes a friendship?

Makes someone a friend?

Is it time or being a call away?

Is it turning up when needed,

Or being their always?

Each friendship is different,

Has different connections, rules,

As people are all different.

I've judged too harshly,

But hopefully friendships are there,

Preserved because computers block,

Because I'm not close to yell

And the friendship is weak.

What an odd thing to like.

[kindnessisstillhere]

Time

Anything I write is cliche,

What is there new to say?

Time is everyone's conversation,

Everyone has some complaint

Or some honour for time passing.

[kindnessisstillhere]

Anyone talking shit about this flag-

-needs to shut the fuck up.

I do not care if it's "ugly", I don't care if it's "cluttered", being pretty isn't the point of a flag. It's a symbol of our community and it serves the purpose of representing us.

Yes, I know we are included in the original flag. I prefer the Gilbert Baker flag myself for its history and aesthetics and I feel it represents me as an intersex person. But this isn't about personal preference.

You do NOT know how many people know what intersex means because they asked why that flag was put there. That's people who might've never asked that question. That direct representation of us DOES matter. It DOES help us. And your aesthetic preferences are not a good reason to get rid of a direct refrence to intersexuality in one of our broadly used queer community symbols.