Shall We Talk About Ahsoka’s Major Regret For A Minute?

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a letter a day from “Letters to Milena” by Franz Kafka every single day starting from January 1. alongside the letter, i’ll also send a poem and an artwork recommendation inspired by the letter of that day.

weekly~ poetry and book recommendations

weekly~ art recommendations

thank youuu 🌼

soukoku's story in art and poetry: chuuya exhibition

— on anger and emotions

dedicated to @vminiesvsoulmates + he helped me with some quotes <3

jeanette winterson // catherine gildiner - good morning, monster // ashe vernon - not a girl // unknown // cover art from war of the foxes, by richard siken // melanie martinez - alphabet boy // lora mathis - leave me alone to do it // shane mccrae - the pillar was a man he had been stretched so long and thin // melanie martinez - cake // nicole rifkin // maggie stiefvater - blue lily, lily blue // unknown // unknown // joy harjo - an american sunrise // nakahara chuuya - for the soiled sorrow

Ballad of a beautiful woman

I wake up in a strange room, the sheets are sticky and the clothes are dirty.       Last night my body was not mine. We met in a bar, he offered me a drink and told me I was beautiful;       that I was hot. He told me: “I enjoy your company. Come with me.” He brought me to an art gallery, he showed me what he liked, he asked for my thoughts. He kissed me, he tied my wrists: he told me to beg,       he called me a whore. He hit me, I didn’t like it. He hit me again.       I asked for more.

It’s morning and I wake up in another bed. This man was less rough, he kissed my skin and caressed my body;       he said that a woman like me deserved worship. We met again. And again, and again. He became more talkative during sex. He started saying that I had a perfect body, that I was a gift from the gods,       that I was made for him. When I told him I was moving he begged me to stay.       Two weeks later he was at my door.       He broke in.       I was on the bed.

I wake up in the middle of the night. I’m alone. Many men approached me during the evening, each of them with a lascivious look.       I turned them down. I laid in my bed and I cried.

      There is no love for me in this world. Only pity and shallow lust.

Despite it all, Stray Souls slayed sometimes

The sexual tension between me and Tybalt’s sword sheathed in Mercutio’s body

Oh my God I think I just discovered something amazing

So I was at the office talking with my coworker about how hard it is to find a decent sports bra, and I offhandedly mentioned that I was thinking about getting my tits hacked off.

She said, "you shouldn't joke about that", and I went, "I'm not? It's a gender thing. I've been considering it for a long time. Genderfluid, right?"

And she just says "oh" and goes quiet for a while.

(This isn't new information, btw, I pretty much told her my first week here during mandatory sensitivity training.)

Then after a long silence she goes, "you haven't actually explained what that means yet."

I'd assumed she'd Google the term or ask questions if she had any. This was well over a year ago. Turns out all this time anything I mentioned regarding appearance or pronouns or body image or whatever was just accepted as "a genderfluid thing".

Guys.

Im going to start using this for *everything*

Achilles and Patroclus in the royal shakespeare company's Troilus and Cressida makes me feel things

straight friend groups be like: *blonde girl* *chad* *the funny one* *kyle* *brunette girl* *frat boy*

gay friend groups be like: *catboy* *suicidal mentor figure* *a walking nervous breakdown* *murderous trans guy* *sadistic traumatized doctor* *killed 35 people* *autistic detective* *kenji*

What if Heaven truly exists but not in the shape we expect? What if it is another world, another dimension, another universe. What if death wasn't death? What if this life is just the first step of a bigger plan? What if this is just a dream? Too many questions, too little answers.

Maybe we just have to live day by day, focusing on this life, on this moment. We don't know what we'll find on the other side, after death; we could become stars, dust, shadows. Appreciate every sorrow, every happy moment, because they'll never come back. Don't be who you were meant to be, be who you wanna be and live. Like, actually live; don't survive, but live.

today in very neurotypical activities, i've made a spreadsheet for all my teas and two tables (one caffeinated, one decaf) i can use by rolling dice to decide which one to drink if i'm stuck