#be sharp

[sea-salted-wolverine]

My fucking cat has figured out how to gently dig his claws into my eyelid and pull my eyes open while I'm sleeping. He does this. It does not hurt. He is remarkably precise and gentle. I however am asleep when it happens and do not appreciate being clockwork oranged by a needy clingy goddamn animal who thinks he needs attention.

[chameleonsallinvermillion]

Dear Diary,

Today I have acquired a new blorbo. It is, of course, a wretched little man with a somewhat twisted sense of honour. I put him in my blorbo basket and carried him home. Tomorrow I shall display him on the mantel when my friend comes for tea.

[hinamie]

newest issue of first years fashion just dropped

[oftengrok]

So you have come to a place in which you are finally fed up. You want to be rid of the pain? Then you must come to terms with the hard fact, that is not how it works. That kind of closed-minded thinking will bring more pain, I'm sorry to tell you. To seemingly fail at being concise, you must do whatever you can to realize that you are not only you. You are so very much more. Starting with a you that is "higher." Well, more like a sidestep, really. The you that you think you are has many advantages and disadvantages. There are other yous that have different ones. The hard part to grasp here is that these yous are not separate. You are just unaware. But you are fully capable of seeing from another you's perspective of your life that is entangled with pain without the deep and inseparable trauma that you will always carry. All the yous only want the best for you. Allow yourself to become at ease and familiar with another you that has the particular advantages you need at the given moment, and you will take care of yourself. A kind of symbiotic relationship, if you will. You can't remove what is. However, you can certainly always heal. And rising with those scars is infinitely superior to cutting holes in you.

Observation, contemplation, integration.

[gummi-stims]

🦊👻The Ghost Fox Bride👻🦊

[amomorii]

Caught off guard...

[shitpostingkats]

We need less "shy, anxious, always second guessing" Apollo in fanworks, and approximately 400% more of whatever the hell this is.

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

conehead mantis elita one and bumblebee²

[pissditching]

"describe your symptoms" brother i have felt like this since i was 12 unrelentingly

[onebadnoodle]

mack the knife

[cardo-de-comer]

nonverbal communication

[inkskinned]

i keep thinking about how rfk said that autistic people "will never write a poem." i keep thinking about that, about if humanity is calculated on the back of old verse. how far we measure personhood is in baseball and stanza breaks.

i keep thinking - i have over 7k poems on here alone. language can be a special interest, after all. did you know the word autism comes almost direct from the greek word autos, meaning "self"? self-ism.

maybe he is right - i haven't really played baseball. i was a ballet dancer instead. and besides - my sister once accidentally hit me in the face with an aluminum bat. i'm not sure if the injury gives me half points. am i only a person in the dugout? hand in a mitt? swinging?

does softball count? does cricket? am i a person if i throw the ball to my dog. am i a person as long as the ball is in the air, or do i stop being a person as it rolls into the bushes. i took my girlfriend to fenway recently; was i a person in the sun, with my hands up, with the game laid out at my feet in a diamond. i felt like a person, but that was back in the summer, and i often feel my most person-like then.

am i more of a person because of the sheer number of things i've written? does quality matter, or is it quantity? i used to write entire books every summer in high school - i wasn't doing well. i felt the least like-a-person back then. but then - does any person feel human in high school?

in the library, ink on my skin, i feel personhood shutter at the edges of myself. actually, writing feels blissfully like not being myself. it feels birdlike; escaping into creation so my body dissolves and i survive only by muscle memory. i am not there, i am writing.

but who can deny the falconlike focus of warsan shire, the tenderness of mary oliver, the sheer skill of amanda gorman. those are poets. they are certainly human. you could line them up with the way their words have influenced us and measure their literary shadows like wings.

perhaps it was very assumptive of me to want to be a poet rather than "a [ label ] poet." i wanted the work to fill itself in, rather than be stained by what i am. i do not write in despite of my neurodivergence, i am just neurodivergent and writing.

does the poem have to be in english or can i send it through my palms into the coat of my dog. does the poem have to make sense. does the poem have to love you back.

if i break a glass, will the poem appear naturally? or is the act of breaking the glass human-enough. the shards of my life glittering out beneath me - do i have to write the poem, or is it self-evident in the pile of glass splinters? i cannot grasp this world the way other people can. regardless, i endeavor to touch - even the mess - very gently.

i broke my toenail against my coffee table recently. i released a bug outdoors. i made coffee. i walked my dog.

i didn't write a poem about any of these things.

something else, then. existing without humanity.

[hinamie]

blue light overexposure dot png

[skullzy20]

WHEN YOU . YOU YOU. WHEN YOU WHEN . WHEN WHENNN

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Hey, do any of you people remember that one tf2 comic where soldier is talking to a bunch of wooden cutouts thinking they’re real people? You know how it was supposed to be a joke about how insane Soldier is, unable to differentiate the inanimate from the alive? Am I the only one who lost my mind about the implications of that or am I going just as insane as him.

You can see how lazy I got near the end but I couldn’t be bothered to work on this anymore