Why Did God Give Me These Battles (getting Dressed And Leaving The House)

gotta love the duality of morpheus's chosen love interests

ex-wife: a literal centuries upon centuries old ancient greek muse who presides over eloquence and epic poetry and who looks and speaks like an ethereal wonder

current boyfriend: a himbo

Had a very fun memory of when I was a kid and used plastic straws as a chewing stim toy before we even knew i was autistic, we just thought it was a good adhd focus thing since it worked.

All the teachers knew and understood why I had the straw and never yelled at me for it, and the other kids had no idea why but they just knew, “oh he needs that straw” and didn’t question it.

One day in second grade, we had a sub. She was new to the school and as she was giving us the activity while we sat on the floor (i dont remember the activity just that it was a floor activity) she saw my straw and went, “dont chew on things like that!” And scolded me in front of the class, taking my straw from me.

I of course didn’t do anything cause she was an authority figure and I couldn’t break the rule of defying authority figures so i just sat in disappointment, immediately feeling distressed cause my stim toy was taken from me.

The class was dead silent until one of them went, “miss- he needs that actually.” And then another one piped up, “yeah! He has one every day! It’s important he chews on it!”

None of them understood WHY i had it, but they respected that it was important

I got my straw back :3 and that was the best memory of accommodation from my classmates ive ever known

too tired to make a post with real words so here's a meme

The girl next to me on the treadmill at the gym is reading ao3 like I wouldn’t recognize that font twenty miles away and half blind

hey. dont cry. 1 million puppies on earth ok?

So my family has a Gay Pirate Plate.

Stay with me.

We do not know how the hell the Gay Pirate Plate was first acquired. This being a point of contention is actually pretty plot-relevant; the saga of the Gay Pirate Plate began with my grandmother and her sister, who, for some ungodly reason, both BADLY wanted the Gay Pirate Plate and believed it to be rightfully theirs.

I should back up, firstly, to establish: The Gay Pirate Plate is the cheapest, tackiest, ugliest plate in existence.

It is in no way a collector’s item. It is physically impossible for it to complement anyone’s decor, because the colors in it are garish. It’s just a ceramic plate with a gay pirate painted on it, and the painting is, this cannot be emphasized enough, extremely bad.

(How do we know the pirate is gay if he’s just posing on a plate? Listen. Fully 100% to stereotype, but he is. He is gay. There’s an energy. That pirate is a flaming homosexual. That pirate has sex with men and does it frequently. That pirate is fucking gay, all right, he just is.)

Anyway. The point is that this is an extremely cheap and ugly plate with a poorly-executed painting of pirate on it who is like a nine on the Kinsey scale.

My grandmother and her sister fought a blood feud over this plate for their entire lives. It would be on the wall in my grandma’s house, and then her sister would visit, and then it would be gone. She’d visit her sister and the plate would be on the wall and her sister would pretend it had always been there. She would steal it back, hang it up, and, when her sister visited, pretend it had always been there. This continued for DECADES.

When the sister died, the Gay Pirate Plate lived triumphantly in my grandmother’s house. And then my grandmother died. And my aunt, who had lived with her and been her carer throughout her life, rightfully inherited their house.

We visit my aunt after the funeral and stay with her for a week or two.

Me, my sister, and our dad. Her brother.

The three of us look at each other. We don’t say anything. We studiously avoid making eye contact with the Gay Pirate Plate mounted proud and ugly on the wall. We notice one another studiously avoiding looking at it. We notice one another noticing. We say nothing. We come to a silent consensus. We pack up to leave. We get in the van. Our aunt comes out to say goodbye. I loudly announce I need to use the restroom before we leave. She obviously stays outside to continue talking to my dad.

I take down the Gay Pirate Plate, stuff it under my oversized sweatshirt, go outside, and get in the van. She happily waves goodbye as we drive off.

Two days later my dad gets a phone call that opens with hysterical laughter and “You FUCKING ASSHOLE did you seriously STEAL THE PLATE–”

Anyway. The gay pirate plate lives in my dad’s house currently.

But he’s trying to get me and my sister out to visit him. And plate mounts are cheap.

poems on grief, loss, mourning

gone is gone by mark wunderlich

another elegy ["this is what our dying looks like"] by jericho brown

making a fist by naomi shihab nye

grief puppet by donte collins

letter to my heart from my brain by rachel mckibbens

the song of despair by pablo neruda

where my grandmother hides by caitlin conlon

grief by matthew dickman

kaddish by sam sax

elegy for neal cassady by allen ginsberg

grief work by natalie diaz

poem for jack spicer by matthew zapruder

elegy with black smoke by emily skaja

evening by dorianne laux

letter to my dead brother part 1 by jonny bolduc

drunktown by jake skeets

hunter by bianca stone

blood makes the blade holy by evan knoll

object permanence by hala alyan

people who died by ted berrigan

song of the insensible by andrew kozma

Deity of Class

here's a random word generator--whatever word it gives you is now the thing you are the deity of