Roses, Vincent Van Gogh, 1889

(Nov. 11)

(Nov. 11)

being trans is a bit like

running hands over yourself and thinking

“i cannot wait for there to be a scar there

in the place of something else”

to know that all that will be left is the mark

a tangible reminder of how the creator wronged you

and how you made it right

hii ik we don’t interact much, but i just want to say that i love seeing u pop up in my notifs !

i also really love ur poetry. i totally resonate w the emotions being conveyed :^) please don’t ever stop writing !!! <3

❤️ aww, thank you! the support is really appreciated! much love to you as well!!

The Winter, Alexandre Calame, 1851

i have crawled so far on my own without you

that i am starting to think i can stand.

I would go through it all again for you

a hundred times

but I do not think I would still be me

when it was over

With @staff 's recent post saying 1/4 of this site is LGBTQ going around, I'd like to see what the actual demographic is

So!

Please reblog for bigger sample size!

something is rotting.

the smell pervades the house, wafting through the halls, seeping under the doorframes.

it’s subtle at first. easy to ignore. i turn on a fan and soon enough I’ve gone noseblind.

it’s been three days. I found a little mouse dead on the floor. it’s small. too small.

the smell gets worse. the fan is on all the time now. I put perfume under my nose to block it out. eventually, I grow numb.

a week. there is no escaping it. I have looked everywhere. it has stained all my clothes. It is here, somewhere, the source of it.

it has been months. I cannot leave. I am weak. it affects me constantly.

something is rotting.

it is me. it has always been me.

Dirt road Polna droga

it is slowly getting brighter outside.

the horror clawing at me as my eyes snap open,

terrified of images that are intangible

and cannot harm me any longer.

it is slowly getting brighter outside.