still calling it Fashion
noise dept.

Janaina Medeiros
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
KIROKAZE
dirt enthusiast
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Claire Keane
Mike Driver
will byers stan first human second

titsay
$LAYYYTER

JBB: An Artblog!

izzy's playlists!
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Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
todays bird
Keni
wallacepolsom

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@cynthus17
still calling it Fashion
I talk a lot of smack for a person who faints after standing too long
I like things
Possibly unironically
I can’t be sure as I sang along with
Alanis Morisette in the 90s
And am now unsure if my definition of Irony
Can be trusted.
Am I openly old enough
To have sang along with an actual radio
In the 90s?
While time has left its marks
I also enjoy stickers and optimism
So who’s to say.
I am (possibly) unironically myself
Despite the caricature visage
Some would paint over
My actual face.
The indelible lines
Of a life lived well
Adventures bravely had
Cannot be painted over
Those imagined mocking colors
Running immediately
In the face of my own expression
The welcoming, self assured smile
That prompted the fearful and inept
Paint job.
Cover your own face if you wish
Mine is nakedly glorious
It’s called fashion sweetie, look it up
2025 update, still calling it Fashion
I thought I had to
Change the unchangeable
Solve the unsolvable
To gain entrance back
Into the life I had already
Made for myself.
I’ve been so very tired
And only now can I see
That I’m worn down from
Chasing an impossible dream.
The Quixotic plays beautifully
When trodding the boards
But for real life
The infinite beauty of reality
Is the only path available.
Redemption cannot live
Beyond what’s possible
It instead resides
In what already is
The universe already having bestowed
The beauty of this moment
Valued against its fleeting nature
Precious for its uniqueness.
I cannot give
What I will never possess
And I refuse to lament that
In favor of savoring what I am.
I am imperfect
So are we all
And if I can accept that
And you cannot
Then I bid you a fond farewell
And perhaps on some nights
When you are tired
Of running and pretending
You will look towards the stars
And be thankful for yourself
As you truly are
And not as you wish to be.
Onward I must sail
As adventure is always ahead.
big mood
Being different
Is a state that terrifies
So many.
When there is no choice
And different is simply
What and
Who you are
You learn.
You learn to live out loud
To embellish with sparkles
That which others might hide.
Boldness becomes a valiant shield
To defend with outrageousness
Against the despair of others.
Tactics include
Sharing love and acceptance
For all
A hand reaching out
More powerful than any slings.
I will share my unique dazzle
And meet your fear
With my own brave and steadfast
Determination and pride.
Knowing who I am
Sets my own stage
The heckled edits of others
Simply part of the raucous show.
You are welcome to join the party
As it will be held regardless
And you might as well
Have your cake
And eat it too.
a smol bear
walker bling ✨
Perhaps there are things you’d like to know about my condition. This would be understandable, my doctors have had to embark on a learning curve, and for me knowing my own body will always be a work in progress.
Perhaps you’ll say you’d like to understand, but your fear pulls you the other way. Some aspect of my condition might challenge a comfortable previously held notion about me, or even more troublingly, call your own past behavior into question. Knowledge of my mysterious and rare body could be a dangerous and volatile acquisition, better left avoided.
You wait for me to tell you that I am the same as I was, not to be feared. Your friend to be counted on to do without so that you may pull ahead. To eat my pain and sorrow myself to leave room for only your own.
But perhaps you should fear me, as I no longer wish for you to understand. I can see that in fact you have always understood, better than I, for how else could you have known what to steer away from? I no longer wish to help you run from the truth- the truth is my lifesaving home, and I live there now. The darkness of your comforting fictions cannot shroud you as well when pierced by reality’s bright light. As you lash out at me, desperate for cover, it is I who now understands. I felt the same lashes brimming inside me during my many lifetimes of your unseeing gaze. My steady kindness to you is a choice, often hard won and hotly contested. But I will not look past others the way they have looked past me. Knowing that I am worth seeing brings all souls into my vision, all of us worthy of our places in the world. Everyone among us entitled to own our space, to know and be known.
Perhaps there are things you’d like to know about your own condition— and I will continue to believe in you and your strength to one day find out.
*slowly removes my heart-shaped sunglasses* i beg your fucking pardon
They see me rollin . . .