My Grandma Thinks I Shouldn't Over-share With My Friends Matters Related To The Family (w/ Good Intentions).

I make homes of places. I make homes of cafes with soft lightning, reading nooks, and faceless people. I make homes of the narrow, empty corridors in second-hand book shops housing hardcovers with creases. I make homes of strangers sitting opposite to me on the over-night train going home, talking about travel and the story behind Don’t Stop Believing. I make homes of all the terraces I walk on, indentations of my feet on once empty spaces.

I don’t like it. I don’t like that when I leave, parts of myself are left behind. I don’t like that my mind hangs on to the feeling of nostalgia the way moss covers trees. I don’t like that my attachments are fleeting. I don’t like that I cannot put down my roots anywhere because change is the only thing that is permanent, and trees can’t move, they just keep shaking. I don’t like that I remember feelings. I don’t like things that are intangible. I don’t like what I cannot see, because people don’t believe you when you say you see shadows of things that aren’t touchable, hear music that isn’t recordable.

I want to be a palm tree. I want to live on a beach. I want to be so sturdy; the sands of time won’t change me. I want to settle down so deep, storms and waves won’t move me. I want to be a tree house, my own home, made of myself, made of my blood and skin and bones, so that from people, places and paroxysms of nostalgia I remain free. I want to stop leaving pieces of myself like breadcrumbs for heartbreak; I want to start collecting what I have already lost, the way the sea reclaims shells, the way birds return to their trees. I want to be whole again, but I am simply living kintsugi.

  -kpm ©

how to tell your family you got a boob tattoo :

step #1 - don't.

remember when we were younger and thought that calling people crazy/insane/mad and asking them if they've taken their meds that day and saying that they had a mental disorder/were mentally unstable and that there was something wrong with them was considered cool/fun/hilarious? bleck, the absolute horror-- can't imagine doing that shit rn. and can't imagine being friends with people who do that shit rn.

Could you recommend kid friendly critical/independent thinking/youth liberation/etc material and so on that we can get print outs of?

"like to do whatever, reblog to explode someone bad" yes absolutely we should do that but you know what else we should do

go to this website

Little Free Library

Take a Book. Share a Book. - Little Free Library

Little Free Library is a nonprofit organization with a mission to build community, inspire readers, and expand book access for all through a

find one in your area or search "little library [your city]"

go to goodwill every once in a while and buy whatever you can afford worth of kids books and go stuff every single one of these things full of them.

have a printer? print out kid friendly critical thinking and environmental pamphlets and other appropriate educational materials and shove them in there. who knows what you're indirectly teaching someone that could change their life?

being a radical is doing things that challenge the norms, standards and institutions that are currently established. whatever we do on tumblr matters, it's a form of praxis, but if you wanna get real wild with it, go out into the world and start forcing it to be the way that you want to see it rather than waiting for everyone's cooperation.

told my mom my therapist said she's getting more solid proof to confirm ADHD and my grandma mentioned that a cousin had ADHD didn't he, and I said he has ADD - she asked what that is, I said attention deficit and my mom made a joke saying oh you need more attention, not getting enough attention - and I snapped at her and slammed my tea cup down on the table and yelled about how I've told her that I don't like jokes like that and why she can't seem to understand that and then stormed off, and she felt Sad I know and she was alll like it's a joke, can't I make a joke now and my grandma was like isn't there freedom of speech now and they're both upset with me I think (but in my defense I've told them MULTIPLE times how I hate jokes like that) - still can't help feeling embarrassed a bit tho

something I'm proud of myself for : I have learned to ask for the things I need. A person to sit with when I study. Words of support when I'm freaking out over public speaking. Words of reassurance when I feel alone. Without shame, without guilt, without self criticism. and that's something.

me, thinking: *don't say it, don't say it, istg if you say it-*

my family: "it's for your own good, we're only thinking about what's best for you"

me: *control, deep breaths, control, deep breaths, control, deep brea-*

family: "if we didn't care about you, we wouldn't say all this to you"

me: *BOOM* *EXPLOSION*

PLEASE STOP GIVING A SHIT ABOUT ME IF THAT'S THE REASON FOR Y'ALL TO SAY INSENSITIVE, CONTROLLING BULLSHIT

things allies can do this pride month to show their support instead of just "happy pride" posts/messages :

casually mention queer stuff around children instead of censoring it.

make your language more inclusive.

stop perpetuating gender essentialism. especially when it comes to periods, sex and so on (eg. "things only women will understand about periods" / "all men are sexual, it's in their nature" etcetc are huge ass no no's).

normalise asexuality and aromanticism - stop placing so much emphasis on "finding the perfect partner", toxic monogamy culture, placing romantic relationships highest on a relationship hierarchy, making sex out to be a "natural need" that no human can resist etcetc.

watch media/read books or works/listen to music featuring queer characters or by queer people.

spread awareness and call in people when you witness them being queerphobic, exclusionary or ignorant; yes, even your family.

support queer activism and activists.

if women's day is more than just "appreciate and respect your sister/mother/daughter", pride month is more than just acceptance for a few loved ones who're queer (however important that may be).

would you still love and respect me if I destroy my body? would you still love and respect me if I didn't get out of bed or move? would you still love and respect me if I did not contribute to society and perform productivity? would you still love and respect me if I harmed myself through alcohol, blades, food and/or drugs? would you still love and respect me if I were unhealthy and didn't do anything about it? would you still love and respect me unconditionally if i were a broken down building on a dark, gloomy street that was once a lovely neighborhood with parks and joy? would you still visit? would you still love and respect me if i didn't take care of myself? why do you love me? would you respect me if the only thing I can do is love?

I'm walking around the house braless and my grandma was whining about it and I asked her - in a very jokey/teesy tone - why she had a problem with it when I didn't, and that it was my body anyway, she was like I don't like you staying here, what about that then - what will you say to that. And I'm so fucking angry and upset and so, so done. I hate adults. I hate adults. I hate adults. They're insensitive, cruel and self centered.