weirdkidexisting

[weirdkidexisting]

But she was never just a poem.

She was never that kind of hurt that you could decorate into paper flowers and glitter stars and just forget.

She was the pain that lingered after a long day of work, trying to bury yourself on the papers on your desk, when you'd had your last cup of coffee and were staring blankly at the television trying to drown yourself into the noise.

She was the pain that stayed when you got into bed after days of sleeping on the couch and stared at your ceilings and wondered, when you transitioned from glow-in-the-dark planets to a blank, absurd, too sterile white mess.

She was the pain that poured when you thought about which bouquet would be missing at your tombstone.

[weirdkidexisting]

[weirdkidexisting]

[weirdkidexisting]

if you have ever suffered from…

• depression

• anxiety

• eating disorder

• self-harm

• ocd

• bipolar

• feelings of guilt and hopelessness

• suicidal thoughts

can you please reblog to show support for people who also suffer.

you are not alone.

[weirdkidexisting]

3 am pushover thoughts

[weirdkidexisting]

You're not edgy, You're just a dick.

I really don't understand how non-Black people find it so hard to restrain themselves from saying the N-word. It really is so simple, and it’s not a complex subject at all.

As someone who’s queer—meaning they're oppressed in one way—and also has class privilege, meaning they can be silent oppressors in other ways, I definitely get why this word is so triggering for some people, especially in the Black community. It’s a deeply inhumane thing to call someone if you’re not Black.

For example, as a queer person, many of us are called “fags,” you know, as an insult—“faggots,” “dykes.” That kind of language is unacceptable coming from straight or cis people. But as queers, when we use these words with each other, it’s a way of healing and reclaiming a part of our identity. It’s speaking up and resisting. It’s like saying, yeah, you call me a slur—but I won’t back down, and it doesn’t hurt me. Even if it did, reclaiming the word gives us power over it. If “faggot” means I’m a weird queer guy, then yeah, I own that. It’s not insulting.

However, if a straight person uses that word toward a queer person, they’re basically saying, “I don’t respect you as queer, and this is my way of insulting you.” It’s a shallow, hurtful attack.

Here’s another example: I have class privilege. I have domestic help in my house—labor in India is cheap, and the gap between my wealth and theirs is huge. I’m extremely sensitive to that. If I started calling them “poor” or “toilet cleaners” or something awful like that—which I would never do, but as an example—that would be deeply triggering and traumatizing for them.

If that happened repeatedly, maybe they would reclaim those words, saying, “Yes, we are poor, and we’re not ashamed. We do this work, and we’re not ashamed.” Using those words themselves could become an act of resistance, a rebellion against the system.

Similarly, when non-Black people—especially white people—started using the N-word toward Black people, because they were forcibly taken from Africa and enslaved in America, it became an extremely offensive and hateful slur. It’s deeply triggering to those who come from that history.

Now, when Black artists, rappers, or others reclaim that word, saying, “Yes, we’re from this heritage. We were enslaved, but we’re proud of who we are,” that’s different. Non-Black people haven’t lived those experiences or inherited that trauma. And since the slur was used only by non-Black oppressors, if a non-Black person says it now, it just shows disrespect and a desire to be offensive.

It’s not funny, edgy, cool, or quirky. It’s blatant racism, disrespect, and a form of silent oppression. The N-Word isn't a bad word you whisper when you're 5 and grow into when you're 12, it's fucking oppression.

[weirdkidexisting]

to be seen without performing. to be heard without screaming. to be missed without disappearing. to be enough without proving it. to be held without falling apart. to be understood without explaining. to be wanted without conditions. to be. to be.

[weirdkidexisting]

There's this animalistic instinct inside me, to lick the blade clean, because what could I even fear after I so willingly drew the blood from inside? I'm cautious, trying not to let it cut my tongue but secretly hoping it would. My tongue is probably my worst enemy. Each time I let it run, another limb gets cut. I should probably shut up. But if I did shut up? I probably would have been silent a long time ago.

[weirdkidexisting]

It's agonizing but as is with most painful things, incredibly true.

storytelling and yearning and narrative rage

believe me when i say i used to get so angry when a character’s dying words were

i didn’t tell you before but i love you

i understand now oh, yes, now i understand

now that i love you now that i love someone i know how impossible it is to get the words out my dying words to you would be the same;

i didn’t tell you before but i love you

i see it now, why they didn’t say it sooner i would rather have you as a friend than lose you to love but i couldn’t bear to die without having told you

my dear, i didn’t tell you before but i love you

[weirdkidexisting]

Hey, I'm new here on Tumblr. So I write stuff sometimes. It helps me process some of my trauma and experiences. I had a panic attack last night about something really stupid and it led me to write the following. Obviously it's really rough, maybe even incomprehensible but yeah.

Then, when I was 7, someone in the neighborhood got arrested, and my dad commented that he would be fried in hell. So I asked my mom again, what happens to people after they die? She said, "If you're good, you meet God, and everything turns out just fine."

Just for Awhile 

The first time that I ever thought about death was 2014 Grandparents Day in my kindergarten. I saw all the other kids with their Dadus and Dadis, but I was sitting alone. So when I reached home, I asked my mom- "Where did dadu and dadi go after they died? Can they come back for a visit?" She told me to look up at the sky. "You see all the stars?" She asked. " Two of those are your grandparents. Don't fret. They're always with you. They don't need a visit." And for a while, everything felt alright.

That week, I made sure to be on my best behavior, because I thought "what if God didn't like me? Then what? Would he fry me in the flames, battered, and turn me into a dumpling?" That thought scared the shit out of me, which was unusual, for I was quite a stoic 7-year-old. But I suppose the thought of being turned into a human pakora (dumpling) would freak anyone out. 

The next time I thought about death was when I was 9. I was a difficult kid, pissed off my dad, got beat up. And then, cribbed to the creator, requesting a return ticket. Had a one-on-one checkup. "God, did I do something?" "God, take me back." "God, I promise I will pray every morning with devotion without letting my thoughts drift off. Just make this stop." I repeated over and over. Well, safe to say, like bruises, trust also fades away. 

Then again I thought about death was when I was 11. Preteen, full of angst, didn't have friends in school, and home didn't feel like home. Just wanted somewhere to cry. So, thought beneath the earth, within the dirt, might be a cool place. Why not just die? At that point, death pretty much felt like nothing. It didn't feel like a salvation anymore. Didn't feel like justice, judgment. Just felt like escape. And I was fine with that. Too bad I wasn't gutsy enough.

Then yet again, when I was 12, I thought about death. And I thought, what if I were wrong? What if death just left people behind? What if it just sparked more deaths? What if it really is the problem? See, my nani had just died. Mom was depressed. I was clueless. And I wanted to hang on. Didn't want to create a ripple effect. Just for a while. So I held on.

And when inevitably he next time, I thought about death. And the next. And the next. And the next. And the next. I did not know why or who I hung on for, but I hung on. Started at the stars again. Just for awhile.

[weirdkidexisting]

Your eyes are like the Sun,

If I look too long they might make me blind,

But I still stare knowingly,

Because I have never known anything whole like them.

So I try my best not to contaminate their pure light with my vices.

But your eyes are like the Sun,

You know how all the dust particles become bright and pretty under it's light,

Almost scenic?

That's how my flaws feel under your gaze,

Like they too, have a place.

When I look at your eyes,

For a second I feel like that's all I was ever meant to do.

But you can't know that,

Because if my Sun knows that,

It'll stop shining all night,

Breaking the rules of the universe,

Just for me.

Unknowingly.

[weirdkidexisting]

this blog hates donald trump

Look how many people hate him. I’m pretty damn happy about that 😁😁😁😁😁😁

[weirdkidexisting]

"People get so depressed that they don't brush their teeth?" Yes. People get so depressed that they take their own lives. People get trapped in the darkness of their minds, feeling like death is preferable to life. They're exhausted from dragging their bodies through daily routines, as everything feels draining. The voices in their heads whisper malevolent thoughts nonstop, silencing them. They lack the energy to correct others who call them lazy, when in reality, it takes immense strength just to show up. People get so depressed that they become numb, left with immense hollowness and thoughts that convince them nobody cares.

-vesper

[weirdkidexisting]

[weirdkidexisting]

What if Eve never bit the apple?

What if she trusted forever, living in the utopia that he provided for them?

I always hated Eve for biting that apple.

For she had all she could ever want. All that there was to ever want.

“How could she ever even consider giving it all up for the unknown?” I wondered.

Oh, I was clueless.

She had AMBITION, the most sensational DRUG of all, that just wanted more.

That came with the side effect of GREED- the very human thing that’s VILLAINISED.

One IMMUNE to paradise as it rejects CONTENTMENT a key that drives the illusion of that PERFECT dream.

Maybe biting the apple was never the PROBLEM, but the SOLUTION to the delusion.

The serpent was never the devil. He was just the Creator’s charade, the dirty trick.

The arrow pointing to the chaos within, not the trigger to unleash it.

The perfect ploy to create the illusion of outcome and hide the truth that is the act of discovery.

The paradise, the punishment, the devil—they were just illusions, crafted to heighten the theatrics entertaining the creator who was mesmerised by the performances of his puppets with invisible strings.

We were always meant to be the fallen angels searching for MEANING.

But what if knowing was never worth seeing the shadows every night, clueless whether we'll see day again?

[weirdkidexisting]

History has softened the snarls of women, turned their defiance into folklore. But it forgot that we are the inheritors of this unfinished war. We know what rage tastes like , how it thickens like blood in the mouth , how it makes a home in our hearts. We are the daughters of Medusa, of Kali, of Lilith, of witches they couldn’t drown, of queens they couldn’t behead, of lovers who bit back. And when we die they will try to (as always) name us madness , hysterical...but our daughters,like us,will learn to have teeth and their sons will learn to tremble.

| excerpts from a novel I will never write