We create our own spaces. Our own leagues. We send the same $8 back and forth when we most need it. We uplift each other however we can. I love us so bad. My hope is stubborn. It is built. Constructed. Intentional. In the face of blatant apathy. In the face of transphobia.
I exist fully with or without anyone’s approval. Fuck your discourse just leave us alone.
I don’t want praise when I’m fucking dead. I want you to fucking fight for us while we’re here.
I’m really tired. I’m tired of my existence being debated. I’m tired of my desire to fucking play sports being debated. We can’t do fucking laundry in peace. We are losing our Trans siblings every fucking week for as long as I can remember. I can hardly catch my breath.
it makes me sad when people seem to have a huge vocabulary for critiquing writing but very few ways to describe what moves them, what they find effective or exciting or memorable, what they love—and why
the thing about writing is that it is *so easy* unless you are good at it
good morning trans people you do not have to forgive your mother
It’s not blush blindness, you just don’t have love in your heart like I do
it’s the last day of national poetry month have you told a poet theyre your favorite moth yet
thank you lesbians that make strange and unmarketable art
A break from my usual antics? I was recently reminded of this poem by @pigeonculttt.bsky.social. I love it so much and it absolutely wrecks me every time I read it ❤️🩹😭
crying watching a wrestling documentary on the plane to Seattle yayyyy <333
so much of my journey with poetry (& learning in general) has been accepting that I know less than I think I know already. Which is great in practice, but also makes it quite difficult to articulate how to effectively practice writing. I think I’m ready to make an attempt
what if I actually started talking about poetry On Here what then
went to the hospital 3 times this month and rent is due tomorrow... there has never been a better time to grab a shirt 🫶
finally available as a shirt!!!! 🦂🏳️⚧️