hi all, this is oddly specific but a friendly reminder to check up on your queer/trans friends with catholic backgrounds today!
the pope is dead. there are varying feelings going around this, but many of us are scared because pope franics was honestly relatively considerate of the lgbtq+ community (for a pope), and the next pope is not super likely to be, which affects way more than you'd think in some religious communities and households.
sending love to all 🤍
"what's your artistic process?"
pile o' post its
may the best post it win
I choose to believe that Simon is doing something similar back for baz but like.. kinda unintentionally? baz off handedly mentions to Simon one day "I really love how our dryer seems to never produce any lint" and Simon sits there like "uh huh.."
...cut to Simon obsessively cleaning the lint tray because he finds it satisfying to peel off
Do you think Simon's toothbrush looks like this?
when I have birthed a child,
when I have slaved away
my time and tears,
dimes and fears,
I hope they never say
that my worth is complete.
my life, obsolete.
I swear it, my
time and tears,
dimes and fears
are not an investment put to play.
I may grow stretch marks and pimples,
may sag in places unseen.
but if past a birth, that word is thrown out-
know that my call for your respect
has always been a thing.
my soul wants to write more things like this. I love this thing so much I'm just bringing it back for myself
The taste of cold fries and sweet ketchup reminds me fondly of my grandma. A McDonald's stop on the way to her house. A seat at the Little Tike's plastic table. The smell of cigarettes.
Distant conversation hums from my mom to her, and her to my mom. A sweet tune from a carpet cleaning commercial plays on the TV. A fudge ice cream bar is waiting for me in the freezer. The porch swing outside will accompany us as we're completing a midwesten goodbye.
I was fourteen when my grandma passed away. She never knew much about me, and truthfully, neither did I about her. But this feeling- a day at grandma's- lives in solidarity within me. And sometimes when my fries get dipped in ketchup, or when I pass by a lighted cigarette, a hint of warm nostalgia passes me through.
I don't think I need a life that's loud. I often need something quiet, peaceful, and uniquely mine.
I want a life like a southern woman humming on her porch swing. She has watered down iced tea in hand, just admiring the way the wind caresses the trees. Her melody is found about as soon as the tune itself ends. The moment is as fleeting and insignifcant as the fly buzzing past. But it's her home, her yard, her swing, her watered down tea, her melody- and for that fleeting moment, she shared it with all that surrounded her. Hell, the fly buzzing by thought it was quite lovely.
The taste of cold fries and sweet ketchup reminds me fondly of my grandma. A McDonald's stop on the way to her house. A seat at the Little Tike's plastic table. The smell of cigarettes.
Distant conversation hums from my mom to her, and her to my mom. A sweet tune from a carpet cleaning commercial plays on the TV. A fudge ice cream bar is waiting for me in the freezer. The porch swing outside will accompany us as we're completing a midwesten goodbye.
I was fourteen when my grandma passed away. She never knew much about me, and truthfully, neither did I about her. But this feeling- a day at grandma's- lives in solidarity within me. And sometimes when my fries get dipped in ketchup, or when I pass by a lighted cigarette, a hint of warm nostalgia passes me through.
Saturday morning daydreams
Of hands around my waist
It was never his, eventually hers
Interlaced
And I used to long to be
The man behind the ring
Told myself "another lifetime"
..yet another thing
The subtleties will get you
Dangerous darkened yearning
A "crush" on him, but really her
The cause of passion burning
And though your attempts are many
It will all be in vain-
You'll find hiding entirely unfruitful
Become tired of the game
Knowing one day eighty candles will be blown
Looking back on your life
With no desire to conceal
The angel you call your wife
my niece of seven years
do you think she knows?
I hold my queerness like a battle wound
pride and shame embed in me as foes
oh, sweet young one
when your mother tells you, or if she has
I hope you don't find it strange
please build the courage to ask
for little A- I love you, you're growing up way too fast 🤍
🎆 Mads / Mishmash | she/her | 19 🎆 --------‐---------------------------------------------------- hello dear!! this is a mish-mash of my ramblings and poetry and art about god knows what !!! have a seat get comfy!
15 posts