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Showing most liked content on 01/20/18 in all areas

  1. 1 point
    HHHHHH i'm trying to write a tribute to a band that recently broke up bc they got me through a lot of hard times and it's coming out all wrong i'm [knife emoji]
  2. 1 point
    so i downloaded grammarly for an essay i had to write and now it won't leave me alone i don't care about the 4 errors you've found in this go away
  3. 1 point
    *chooses the salmon in the poll of the week bc i like to consider myself handsome and goal-oriented*
  4. 1 point
    me, reclining on a white velvet lounge chair with a champagne flute of capri sun in my hand and perfectly manicured nails to press against my forehead despairingly: the heathers reboot twists the entire message of every version of it hence in the most tragically short sighted way possible
  5. 1 point
    Out of context (or in context, really), I love this line.
  6. 1 point
    rapping knuckles, jingle knocking pound on heaven's door rapping knuckles, keys bite his fist held fragile wrist bone like a toy he's unafraid to break let go pound on heaven's door you catholic, what good deed warranted this let go rapping knuckles, hard, keys draw blood i know better than to struggle what good deed? you catholic, you casual let go keys rapping knuckles fist held fast made hand numb and blue save for key blood let go bus stop deserted and rainy sharper key rapping knuckles retribute hard-stomped toes this linebacker, 215 wrestling class my phone screen-shatterer let go head locked.
  7. 1 point
    ...I've known one of these. Yikes. Also, the repetition of "let go" really gets to me. Well done.
  8. 1 point
  9. 1 point
    i am a little girl and we are walking. 'i just don't know, daddy,' i say. it's a bright day, with the sky a bright cotton-candy blue and the clouds chasing each other across its expanses. the news is riddled with politics, as it always is, but i am only just starting to open my eyes to it. 'i don't even know if i'm a democrat or a republican.' he eyes me for a moment. 'ok,' he says thoughtfully. 'well, it should be pretty easy to tell.' 'ask me questions,' i say. 'and tell me by my answers what i am.' and he does. he asks me many things. he asks me about black and white and freedom and confinement. he asks me about the death penalty. he asks me about abortion. some of these things are easier to answer than others. there's one, though, that stands out to me now. we're three-quarters of the way home, and the hill is steep enough that the dog is starting to lag. 'what about gay marriage?' he says. this is before it's been legalized, and we are in north carolina where politics has always been a few steps behind. i think about this for a moment. i have an answer but i don't know how to say it. 'i think,' i say carefully, laden with eight-year-old wisdom and confining societal philosophy, 'that they should be allowed to marry. it's weird and i don't think it's...natural, or whatever, but it's not my business what they do.' we stop as the dog sniffs a spot in the grass. my father is frowning slightly, eyeing me with a thoughtful gaze. 'why isn't it natural?' he asks, and i pause. 'it just...isn't.' he tells me that it is. that it's perfectly natural. i'm troubled, and doubtful, but i am eight years old and i do not question the things i'm told. (he tells me i'm probably a democrat, based on my other answers, though it doesn't really matter at this stage in life.) homosexuality comes up more and more over the years and i start to warm to it. it's still weird, and unnatural, but i brush it to the side. if they're happy, then fine. i don't care. and besides, it's not like i'm gay. i've had crushes on boys, right? and, after all, you can't be gay if you don't want to be. that's what i think, ten years old and staring out the car window. you can't be gay if you don't want to be. you hate that, right? you hate everything i've said. it's funny to think you might have hated me, then, if i hadn't been kind and adorable and lovable in every way. i'm fifteen and it's dark out. i'm dressed in my dance clothes, almost bare naked in the winter; my dad and i have already had our argument about car temperature. i'm hot and sweating, having just exercised, but he's been sitting in the car for an hour and he's freezing. the overpass curves before us, lit only by the headlights of his blue jeep cherokee, and we're talking amiably. i don't know what leads to it, but he says something that night that lingers. 'and when and if you have a husband...' he pauses for a moment, and then says, gentler, 'or a wife, then—' and the rest is obscured by foggy memories but i remember thinking, 'thanks, daddy, but i'm straight.' but it stuck. i'm straight, right? what follows is hot showers and existential dread. i've since opened my eyes more to the community; i have queer friends. i know more. one of the things i know about is bisexuality. 'i'm straight,' i think, but then i think: 'am i?' it's mid-winter. it's freezing and i'm in the car on a way to an audition. everything is perfectly normal. my mom is beside me, the radio is playing soft music, and i'm texting my best friend. she's dating her first boyfriend and she needs advice: she wants to break up with him but she doesn't know how to say 'no' or 'i don't want this anymore'. she's afraid that it'll hurt him and his family, and so she's content to let this continue to hurt her. i have no experience with relationships but i give her advice anyway. the three little dots bounce on the screen and she says 'thank you for putting up with me. if you ever need help with anything, don't be afraid to ask.' and i stop dead. this is the worst timing possible; i'm in the car next to my mother, who does not know, on the way to an audition. i'm hopped up on anxiety: if this goes awry, my audition will be terrible. i will likely not manage a poker face in the small confines of the car. i'm not thinking about these things, though, as i text her back. 'actually there is something. i've been thinking about this a lot over the past year and i haven't told anyone but i think i might be bisexual.' there's a long pause, wherein i very nearly die. oh god, i think. she hates me. the three little dots are back. 'i'm back. sorry, i was walking into the house.' a pause. i'm trying not to cry, from anxiety and fear and relief and tension. 'oh. i'm so sorry i have literally the worst timing.' the little dots bounce like they're taunting me. 'ok first of all, know this changes nothing. i'm still your friend and i love you.' and suddenly it's real. but not...quite. two months later it's my birthday. i'm sixteen and i'm bundled with nerves and i sit my family down and i say, in many more words: 'i'm bisexual.' my parents tell me they love me. my dad says, 'i want you to know you can tell us anything.' my brother says nothing, but leans over to give me a hug. this is the first time i've said it aloud and it's the first time it's felt so real. i'm bisexual. i'm bisexual. now i think i may have been wrong. i may just be biromantic; i may be asexual or demisexual, i might even be aromantic, but that's not the point. the point is you would have hated the me from the beginning, who called you unnatural and thought it was a choice. the point is i grew. anyone can grow; it's easy, once you open your eyes. it's okay to make mistakes if you someday will learn from them. so do not hide people away; help them learn. help them grow. but most importantly: define yourself as who you are now: someone who has grown. someone who has learned. do not let yourself be defined by who you once were.
  10. 1 point
    Dear Dearly Departed, I'm not sure how formal this letter should be, or what will comfort you. I’m not even entirely sure how you’ve managed to die in an abandoned orchard of all places, especially with that much medicine around you, considering medicine is supposed to help humans and all, so I don’t know how to ease your worries there. The good news is, you’ll never physically hurt again! Say goodbye to all your mortal fears! The bad news is that you clearly have some unfinished business, so you’ll be trapped here until you figure out what said business is, and how to complete it. I’m very sorry for your loss. I’m lucky enough to have befriended a few humans over these years, so I can explain things as best as a random human can. Which is, admittedly, not very well. But I do hope I can help you, at least a little bit! The Unofficial (Though Official Due To Lack Of Other Options) Guide To Being A Ghost: Daylight fades ghosts. Think of it as a very, very slow eraser to your very existence. There’s a reason most hauntings occur during the nighttime. You can choose your haunting spots, I do believe! I’m not sure why ghosts haunt, perhaps you’re feeling a little bitter and you need to vent, perhaps it’s just a fun wholesome activity for the whole ghostly family! You cannot touch the physical world as you normally would. I’ve heard of ghosts who possess people just to eat their favourite food again. I’ve also heard that ghosts normally choose people who are extremely tired, perhaps they’re more suggestible, more likely to wave off strange happenings? Possibly because the dark circles under their eyes can look a little spooky. I’m not sure how into dramatics you are. And, an addition, just to ease your worries when you wake up and see a letter and not much else:) You will not be able to contact me in person. The nighttime is your realm, the daytime is mine. I hope after all that ghostly business this isn’t as much of a shock to you, but I’m a dryad, being out and about after dark saps me. Get it? Sap? I do hope you’re alright, I’ve left some paper and pens behind for you to both practice manipulating real world objects and for you to write me back, but I completely understand if that’s difficult for you at first. Have a great first night! dear someone (seriously, what am i supposed to call you? ash? oak? unnamed tree?) i can write. but its hard to. i cant pick things up, its all just thinking ridiculously hard about what i want to do and trying to get enough energy to do it. so just like i was when i was alive lol. i really want to swear but you sound like a literal angel and it feels all uncouth to. so like. what the fir. (see, theres a tree joke for you.) you seem sweet and all but its weird writing to someone i dont know, literally all the practice i got letter-writing was thank you notes to my grandma for a five dollar bill she gave me for my birthday or whatever. so i might be bad at this. im sorry. dont expect me to use a lot of exclamation points or make all the cutesy little quips you do, im not exactly hyped to still be up and kicking and its one extra line i have to write if i do joke around. im trying to write a lot, not write everything well. i dont want to know any more about being a ghost. i dont want to be here, i dont want to hear about it. i do want to know about you, though. are we writing on the guts of your fallen friends? you just left me a fir ton of paper and youre a tree? why are you so chill about leaving me ground up pulp of you? who are you? do you have a name? do you want a name? why is your handwriting so nice, who taught you that? the suns coming up. im hiding just in case itll just get me stuck but faded. like a really tight jean jacket. have a great three millionth day or however many!!! jamie
  11. 1 point
    (this sounds weird but i used to scroll through the farther back pages of the slam to read poetry and your poems were always some of my favorites to read) this part is amazing O.o i love this!!
  12. 1 point
  13. 1 point
    skipping all the meals i can get away with and telling lem that i’m fine, i’m eating, i’m not starving myself. telling myself i don’t have an eating disorder (no really! i don’t!) because if i did, my mom would kill me. can’t have both daughters hospitalized within one year, especially not for the same thing. feeling guilty for getting a second helping of dinner, because it’s all i’ve had all day and if i’m gonna shrink down to skin & bones, i’ve got to be a lot more serious about this, right? right? not telling alex that it’s getting ugly again, because we met on the second day of my first fast and he had to make me eat. i don’t want anyone to worry, but especially not him or lem. but really, all it comes down to is that i’m tired of having a body large enough that it can be violated easily. author's note: can y'all tell i'm Fucking Suffering?? (relatedly if anyone wants my personal blog url hit me up)
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