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Showing most liked content on 04/14/18 in all areas

  1. 2 points
    you have grown out of misery loves company and into this too will pass. maybe this growth mindset, the kind that looks for sweetgrass in the lawn and daisies among the thistles, is what sets you apart. and trying to reacclimate into a group of misery loves company sort of close friends acquaintances after a calendar year is like eating a durian: messy, thankless, and better off left alone. it aint their fault, you suppose, heavily considering the cut and run option. you dont know them anymore. youre too happy for them. in this one year, you have learned six notable things: staring contests arent about who blinks first, theyre about whether or not youre aware enough of the big picture to see your opponent's friend stealing your TV in the background friends dont send friends dick pics scars heal over twice as strong communication is half of what keeps love going not everyone is an asshole but most cis men are this too will pass now is a great time for you to drop off their radar for three days, just to see what will happen. it's not like you have a choice, being out of town and all, but youll pretend you did, and they wont wonder. they didnt wonder for eleven months and seventeen days, but who's counting? not you, of course. not you. youve been displaced but that displacement left you kicking hard in the ocean undertow, learning how to swim with lead fins and salt eyes, and your acquaintances in the kiddie pool watched mayflies lay eggs in the filter and the algae discolor the concrete or stagnate by the wall. they floated easy on their backs and unlearned how to grow, or to dive, or to stand up (and thats a kind of stagnation too). you had begun to love the afterthought, the lost time, the idea of someone, the nostalgia for something half-remembered. and that too will pass.
  2. 2 points
    i think of rich mulberry hues whenever i hear your name the kind of purple that can't be synthetic your namesake was a saint and your birth month the amethyst heart of winter i always said i wanted your eyes, terra cotta flecked copper (unlike mine- oxidized) and your freckles stippled on with the lightest touch
  3. 2 points
    hey, li'l dude. dont you call me little while you here wearing my shoes from two years ago. it dont matter cos youre still my baby brother. and youre still shorter, my older.... si- sibling. ill never goddamn forgive my mother for making my cis, straight brother see why she doesnt deserve me he come up crying daisies tells me mom said you aint gods plan and that he cant call me who i am or he gonna get beat he finds solace in critical thinking when i say mom dont know shit and thats rich coming from a woman tellin us to be tolerant and openminded in the context she defending confederate flags he's stopped crying. i say you think god made everyone perfect? he answers yeah and i tell him then god made me perfect and trans and aint that just the goddamn tea
  4. 1 point
    I’ve never written you a poem. You don’t lend yourself to words, you see; You’re too strong, an oak To the little willow tree I am And I don’t know how to write a poem For a silent, seething mountain, A girl who could go volcano And fly in a fury to send vengeance Upon those who dare upset Her scattered equilibrium. No one writes poems for the lioness, Headstrong and stubborn And already too proud For calming words and coming into being. You’re the protector, the badass, the ‘I’ll drop kick you across the whole city If you mess with my sister,’ Who can still be a warrior While wearing a dress. I can’t be eloquent about A lightsaber fighting spitfire, Grumpy in the mornings And spouting sass all afternoon. It’s too hard; my poems are supposed To be soft and gentle but you Have always been powerful, Serious and stoic Until suddenly you say something To get us all laughing. And my poetry, too, is about eloquence But you and I don’t often talk with words, We speak with expressions and thoughts and hands, With random inside jokes and stories. That’s why I’ve never written you a poem before, Because you’re more important to me Than any words I know.
  5. 1 point
    caress the sun which drips and flows from my mouth my hunger is an abyss and you a marble. minute and absurd in the dark but blue all the same i'll pour out that light and serve it to you on a silver platter drink, drink, please my dark is home, i need it. let me eat. the skin above my heart is thin and stretched shadows flock to the space between beats
  6. 1 point
    What if I replace "but like butterflies" with but in butterfly nets for gently appreciating