about what it makes you
if you look Good in the face
and fire your gun
But she was the poet who wrote about making room for wonder
And you are the one who took her words
Can’t access my Spoutible account at the moment, which is where I confessed things
A DILEMMA
Currently navigating a MASSIVE autistic shutdown/meltdown and it’s been so long since I posted on my big account I’ve gotten like 11 messages from people asking if I’m dead 🫠
Like at some point I will have to talk to them all again probably but there are too many rn for my brain 😭
I wrote today:
CW: some mild suicidal ideation
When I was little and used to trace the shape of the owls on her arms I asked her if it hurt—the fire, the burns. “The burns hurt,” she told me. “But the fire didn’t.” That seemed incomprehensible to me. How could a fire not hurt? She said, “you go somewhere, when you are that close to dea
When I was little and used to trace the shape of the owls on her arms I asked her if it hurt—the fire, the burns. “The burns hurt,” she told me. “But the fire didn’t.” That seemed incomprehensible to me. How could a fire not hurt? She said, “you go somewhere, when you are that close to dea
Join The Stoop for “Signs, Symbols & Strange Happenings: Stories about the weird, the magical, and the possibly otherworldly” on October 23rd, 7pm, at the
Niece: *stands motionless in the corner of a field as I round the corner looking for her*
Other niece: *hums unidentifiable, eerie tunes*
I have CONCERNS @swilua