Saw The Post In The Screenshot (inside Of The Screenshot) And It’s The Time Of Year Where Family Is

i’m in a winter mood, (i’m) dreamin’ of spring now

i miss sitting in the back of a pickup truck with my best friend. playing in the mud and making swords out of sticks. boys will be boys (until one of them’s a queer). We were like family until i came out was outed. if you read this i think you’d know who you are. cause you said i was your only friend and then spat in my face the next day. that awful day. all i wanted was for things to stay the same. all i want is my childhood back. please. my lips are bloody and my knuckles are bruised. i’m the same person i was back then, so why the hell don’t i mean the same thing i used to mean to you?

I’m gonna be honest, chief, that was the most punk thing I’ve seen from an artist in a long time

For J.

One day you won’t be little anymore. I can see it happening already. You’re almost as tall as I am. Your voice is getting deeper. It’s still cracking at this point and now we can’t sing the songs we used to sing together. You’ve always been my brother, but one day you’ll grow up. It feels like you’ll outgrow me eventually. I think I’d die. You’ll move somewhere far away. I won’t see you every night at dinner and I won’t be the uncle to those three kids you’ll have. I won’t have any kids of my own, but if I did, I’d like to think they’d know you. 

I hope you never leave. I hope we still talk in person and exchange funny stories thirty years from now. I’ll always take your side. Fuck wrong and right—you’re family. And one day if all the shit you’ve gone through catches up to you, I’ll swear on the Bible in a courtroom in front of the law and god, and I’ll tell them that you’re innocent—I’ll be your alibi—even if I know you’re guilty by my own eyes (even if we haven’t talked in years, even if your fingerprints are on the knife). Cause the day you called me brother was the day I decided not to take my own life. 

Courtney Love is actually super hot, you’re all just wrong btw

hope this helps!! 🩷🩷🩷

A fuck-you to RFK;

An autistic person will never write a poem, so everything I’ve ever written doesn’t exist. It’s just shit. 

They will never play baseball, so my memories of playing a game with my friends don’t mean anything. I never played a game I loved, a game I was damn good at. It was all a figment of my wild imagination. 

They’ll never hold a job, so there are thousands of doctors and scientists and engineers who aren’t real to him. 

Autism destroys families, so no matter what mine says, they’re lying. They don’t love me. Rather than death or illness, my mind is what will ruin it all. Even though we’ve been happy for 17 years so far. 

It’s an individual tragedy as well, which must mean that me and my bestfriends’ lives are meaningless. A waste of space. Of oxygen. 

Fucking hell.

If RFK (a man stuck in ‘55) gets his way, this police state that we’re living in will just get worse. He wants to use his research to make eugenics America’s policy. That’s what “curing” autism is. There is no cure. There’s only death. Death that should never even be a possibility. A thought. 

No one should be persecuted, or have their genes “eliminated” from the gene pool because of some uneducated twat. He doesn’t get to decide who will be born. He doesn’t get to manufacture the next generation like this is some kind of fascist, Nazi regime. Even in the most clinically “severe” cases, an autistic person is far from stupid or helpless. They are We are people, like everyone else. And it’s not our fault he doesn’t know that. 

tree of grackles

summer or winter // coffee or tea // straight hair or curly hair //fiction or nonfiction // necklaces or bracelets // marshmallows or whipped cream // night in or night out // sunset or sunrise // pizza or pasta // cold drink or hot drink // vampire or werewolf // crop top or oversized hoodie // be able to fly or run at super speed // speak many languages or able to speak to animals // be invisible or read minds// phone call or text// laundry or dishes // pool or beach //flats or heels //stay home or go out // coke or pepsi // cook dinner or do dishes // books or movies // dogs or cats // chocolate or vanilla // facebook or instagram// over-dressed or under-dressed // morning or late nights // always late or always early // dancer or singer // always eat only dessert or always eat only savoury // shopping or museum // art gallery or zoo //parties or picnics // white lights or multicolored lights

Thanks for the tag @youreyesaremyfavoritecolor no pressure:

@empty-pools-vacant-alleyways, @ghostopossumlives

thank you for the tag @lirenthenonlyrist <3

summer or winter // coffee or tea // straight hair or curly hair //fiction or nonfiction // necklaces or bracelets // marshmallows or whipped cream // night in or night out // sunset or sunrise // pizza or pasta // cold drink or hot drink // vampire or werewolf // crop top or oversized hoodie // be able to fly or run at super speed // speak many languages or able to speak to animals // be invisible or read minds// phone call or text// laundry or dishes // pool or beach //flats or heels //stay home or go out // cook dinner or do dishes // books or movies // dogs or cats // chocolate or vanilla // facebook or instagram// over-dressed or under-dressed // morning or late nights // always late or always early // dancer or singer // always eat only dessert or always eat only savoury // shopping or museum // art gallery or zoo //parties or picnics // white lights or multi-coloured lights

no pressure tags: @pretentiouswreckingball @ablique @doofranch @callmesel @friendofthefrogswastaken :)

Internalized homophobia 

One of my friends recently confessed That he felt like he was going to hell  For who he loved and who he undressed.

He told me he didn’t know what the Bible said That he didn’t want to offend Me, but all I could do was feel sad for him For I know what it’s like to hate who you are, To hate yourself To want so badly to just be someone else.

Sometimes I still feel the weight in the back of my mind Like a ball and chain, dragging me down Suffering and shame, white out over my free name Replaced by freak, sinner, faggot, ashamed Some days I still think I might drown.

Hallelujah, hallelujah Doesn’t mean anything to me Anymore, I can’t know if I believe  Because the religion tells me love is a sin And if I’m a sinner for love, heaven Is never anything I want to get in To, not today or tomorrow  For to lose my love would be  The greatest shame and/or sorrow.

This is who we are, for forever We can’t change how we feel Not even in the passing days All we have is the thought of holding it together I don’t know how to put this any better, But I believe that it’s never getting any better.

One of my friends recently confessed That he felt like he was going to hell  And all I wanted was to tell Him, that love should never be forbidden That he’s too young to live with his heart hidden Away from the world The way that I felt When I was fourteen years old.

The wind is as cold as my feet tonight.

Outside on thanksgiving, in my grandparents back yard. I’m almost half as tall as the tree that once towered over me. I’m more comfortable here than I am inside. I like being alone better sometimes, when my head isn’t too loud. And I am grateful for many things. For him. For my best friend/the only girl I’ve ever loved. For my cat. For the cool windy air. For stolen, secret lunch-break kisses, and flirting with people I’ll never have. that the band that’s always been a part of me, might now actually work out someday. For my cousin. For the bands on the radio that got me this far. That I can express how I feel, even if it’s only in what I write. For all my friends, the people I know I can count on. That he’s still alive. I think the thing I’m most grateful for is that I’m still alive to experience the rare good things in my life. I held on long enough for that. And it would be a tragedy if I had died before finally being happy. Goodnight, I guess. (For once I think I mean that.)

delor.

the world is my stage and im blundering my way through a closed-curtain performance. a close call, set to halftime.