Someone Remind Me To Learn This Lol

Life is too short to keep it professional in the workplace, amp up that Workplace Whimsy folks!

As a joke, once, I claimed I was a slut, an absolute whore, for poetry - well, maybe it's not entirely a joke - and you said, "If only I were poetry," - as per joking goes. But, oh, god you are poetry. The rawest kind of poetry. The kind that takes only special glasses to be able to read. You are art in its barest form - like the many interpretations of Lucifer's fall from Heaven. Your very being is the poetry I'd learn; if only to carve into my bones.

For your sake and mine, I hope this version of you - the one I hum soothing lullabies to at night - is merely just one that pays no fee to live on in my subconscious. I'm afraid I cannot repeat this. Im afraid I must. I'm afraid I might learn you were never real.

PLS STILL BE DOING THIS THE COLLECTION MUST BE INFINITE

Reblog if you're not homophobic

Every url that reblog’s will be written in a book and shown to my homophobic dad. 

Tropes in writing are cool and fun and all that jazzy shiznit but like, tropes in writers/artists/neurospicy folk is great - and no not stereotypes those suck - because like, you have the AuDHD folk like myself who'll find a specific sensation or texture absolutely repulsive, and then go on and make said sensation or texture the representation or symbol of any and all "evil" or "bad" sides of a piece. Like for me, anything made of microfiber material EW get that shit AWAY-!

Of course I'm gonna villainize that shit.

And then you got the homies who (understandably?? I haven't decided) take shit they're absolutely TERRIFIED of, HORRIFIED to the point it causes them fear that has physical affects, elevated heart rate, sensory overload, worsened anxiety, losing consciousness, panic attacks even- but then thEY'LL GO MAKE SHIT ABOUT IT LIKE SOME HAPPY-ASSED FOOL WHO ADORES THE SHIT WITH NOTHING BUT SAID FEAR- like???

Joy Sullivan, from “These Days People Are Really Selling Me On California”, Instructions for Traveling West

( ; ´ᴗ ‿ ᴗ`)

I had my chance, I missed them, or blatantly turned away; every single one. I had many chances. Now, this grief is entirely on me. I'll spare you of any final apology. I'm sorry. Goodbye. I hope you'll turn out to be well, whatever might the situation be.

I stole this from myself, lol. R.I.P. to this Deetzy when she wrote that.

Franz Kafka, from a letter to Felice Bauer written in 1913, featured in Letters To Felice

Cries because anything mint or mint related sends me into sensory overload and assaults my nose and taste buds from a mile away (cant even use the toothpaste lol)

Someone keep my rear accountable and tell me to just read this damn book already lol

I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.

— Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles