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fellas is it gay to memorise your best friends heartbeat so that you always know how he's feeling and where to find him?
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fellas is it gay to memorise your best friends heartbeat so that you always know how he's feeling and where to find him?
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Happy pride month, here's a poem I wrote about an encounter that I will never forget.
I'm a janitor at a movie theater.
I go into Wal-Mart for a bottle of wine
to make the shit I endured a little more bearable.
The woman at the counter asks for my I.D.
I hand it over.
She's about sixty-five. She wears a wig.
Her voice is deep and sweet and warm
like a cherry held for too long in a bashful
sweaty palm.
Her name is youthful and happy but I can't remember what it was.
She looks at my drivers' license.
Her eyes flick from the name printed on the card
to the name stickered on my badge.
The two do not match. But my face does.
She gives me a knowing look from behind her cat-eye glasses
and she says in her warm-cherry voice
"I like your new name. It suits you better."
I smile- no,
I beam
and I try not to cry
and I say (in my voice, a little too high,)
"I like yours too!"
And I'm so overcome with the euphoria of recognition
that I almost leave my Blackberry Arbor Mist in the checkout lane.
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[Just because white people couldn’t do it, doesn’t mean it was aliens]
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Stay gentle. You don't need to toughen up. You don't need to learn to build walls or distrust or be on the look out for people who will hurt you. You don't need to hate. I've got that covered. I can glare and posture and snarl at your naysayers. You keep seeing the best in people, I'll handle when they're acting their worst. You keep taking people at their word, I'll handle their lies. You keep seeing the goodness in everything and I'll handle when its bad. You are tender, you are trusting. You expect people to be kind to you and you are kind in turn. I have no expectations. I was taught a straight back and a stiff lip and to never give an inch in case they take a mile. But we don't both need to be that way. You keep being gentle. You keep being trusting. I've got hate enough for two.
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I was born to behold pretty things, not to be one myself. I was born to pick up rocks and smell fresh picked mint. I was born to kick pinecones and lay in the grass. I was supposed to watch the sunset and look for falling stars. I was supposed to brush the fur of animals and appreciate the horizon. I was made to love the way the trees look reflected in cold water and I was made to toss rocks at my reflection to watch the rings dance away. As for being a pretty thing? That’s not my life’s pursuit. I wasn’t born for that. I don’t get half as much pleasure from perfection in the mirror as I do form perfection elsewhere. It suits me better to be an admirer than to seek admiration. It suits me better to look at other people’s faces rather than my own. I get more joy in the seeing of a pretty landscape than in the pleasing of people I don’t know. I know where I like to spend my time and energy. It’s not on acting pretty.
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But why do I lie awake each night thinking
Instead of you, it should be me?
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i hurt myself with Big Jack by Pet Foolery (can find on instagram) again and no one seems to have posted the whole comic so. here. someone reminded me of it and i tracked it down. gonna go cry in a corner now.
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Day 7: domestic | sleep
One last sweet piece for the final day :')
This whole week has been such a joy!! I am a bit too busy to take it all in rn but I’m catching up as we speak! Huge thanks to everyone who commented or enjoyed my art <3 I read every single one and appreciate it more than I can say. It has been quite overwhelming tho to be honest haha
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