First and only Zine I made, will be making more. Sexuality is confusing!!!
Most relatable. đ
Three Goblin Art
noise dept.
KIROKAZE
DEAR READER

shark vs the universe
I'd rather be in outer space đ¸
Xuebing Du

ellievsbear

â

Kiana Khansmith

Product Placement
tumblr dot com
One Nice Bug Per Day
Claire Keane

Love Begins

â

JVL
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

Origami Around
NASA

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@highfunctioningstonergirl-blog
First and only Zine I made, will be making more. Sexuality is confusing!!!
Most relatable. đ
Mary Cassatt
The Bath, 1890
 drypoint combined with aquatint
I'm gonna start reblogging things because #marycassatt
|1/9/16|
I'm folding I'm holding my self accountable. I'm keeping my options open. I'm simplifying I'm scaling down all the shit that I own. The things and stuff presumed to change Four walls to a home. Or rather, You could say that shit owns me. I'm going. I'm getting my cat checked up And his paper work. In a couple of months he'll forgive And stop being a jerk. A new carry-on carrier to hold him. And some rescue pastilles to calm us both. Mostly excited. Nervously excited to start a new life. Less homophobia and far less social strife. And people I just might like.
|1/9/16| I ain't 'cha mutha.
I donât want you to report to me. â¨I donât want you to ask my permission for things. â¨I donât wanna have to tell you â¨Not to use a dozen paper towels â¨For your regular Cobra spill; â¨That those things donât grow on trees â¨Like they do at your parents house. â¨Iâm not trying to contribute to your fatherâs â¨Middle-upper level income bracket â¨Maintained in the paper-waste industry. â¨I donât want to watch you subsist on junk food; â¨Little Cesarâs and gas station hot dogs. â¨A steady diet of two forty ounce beers a night. â¨Iâm sick of your solemn âhmmmsâ at my cooking; â¨A little kale in your 25th year â¨Isnât going to kill you. â¨Your change littered on the floor â¨From lazily sloughing off the same pair â¨Every single goddamn day; â¨Coins that might sooner dissolve â¨Into the Berber fibers of the carpet â¨Before you even come to notice them. â¨I love you in every goddamn day â¨In every second â¨Of every minute â¨Of every way. â¨Unconditionally, â¨You might say.â¨But retain â¨one thing: â¨I ainât your â¨Mother.
|1/9/16| I ain't 'cha mutha.
I don't want you to report to me. I don't want you to ask my permission for things. I don't wanna have to tell you Not to use a dozen paper towels For your regular Cobra spill; That those things don't grow on trees Like they do at your parents house. I'm not trying to contribute to your father's Middle-upper level income bracket Maintained in the paper-waste industry. I don't want to watch you subsist on junk food; Little Cesar's and gas station hot dogs. A steady diet of two forty ounce beers a night. I'm sick of your solemn "hmmms" at my cooking; A little kale in your 25th year Isn't going to kill you. Your change littered on the floor From lazily sloughing off the same pair Every single goddamn day; Coins that might sooner dissolve Into the Berber fibers of the carpet Before you even come to notice them. I love you in every goddamn day In every second Of every minute Of every way. Unconditionally, You might say. But retain one thing: I ain't your Mother.
|1/5/16| IÂ miss sex.
I often say âIâm off the D,â
Half sincere,Â
A quarter joking,
A little sad,
The rest, bitter.
Pathetic, eh?Â
Even more pathetic, though:
I spent two years
Carefully rationalizing
âWhat we have,
Itâs not about that.â
I couldnât have been
More correct.
It felt pathetic,
It still does.
Weâre moving past each other.Â
Different harbors,
Different habits.
But the curvaceous bounce,
Itâs returning to my hips.
Iâm finding my footing again
In believing I can be loved,
Satisfied as well as satisfying,
Back into an old, comfortable vice
Liberated and anew;Â
Dropping boundaries.
I definitely donât have the time
For that shit,
Especially now.
đĽâ¨đĽđŤđ
Give yourself plenty of space. No one else will do that for you.
Me, on social anxiety
All the girls are gathering
In front of your camera.Â
Strangers calling your name
With drunken familiarity.
I sink further back, and away.
I know how I seem when I say these things;Â
I mean it, the jealousy.
You, almost oblivious.
Catching small smoky wisps ofÂ
Intimate conversations.
The type of conversation you could
Never muster with me.
Together for two years here.
Were you true, were you honest?
But still, here I stand next to you.
Searching for some point of commonality.
I sink further, into my bubble,
Down and down and away.
But you donât see it that way.
Perhaps for lack of caring,
But mostly for not understanding.
It turns out you only hear your own needs;Â
Discovery of encounters.
Hundreds of requests forÂ
Hundreds of dick pics;
Hundreds of chances
And not a single solitary sorry,
Just excuses. Without true acceptance.
Good luck with anyone else
Who you might use as your cover,
Because the best thing you neglected
Is moving out next week.
|12/30| no one hurts me - I.
No one hurts me like you do. Even after a past life Of abuse At the hands of the one person Genetically Presumed to be Tasked with teaching Me how to care for Me. Why does your offense dwarf hers? To her, I am numb. To her wiles, I am dumb. I've seen her truest form, Tensed, grimacing; Her tongue tucked peculiarly under her lip, As if preemptive guarding her teeth Against a youthful and long-suppressed Counter-blow That would not land for many years. Long after her talon scratched my cornea By grabbing my face from behind; Long after the tackling and hair-pulling; The two-handed choke-holds; The double-row, metal-riveted belt whippings And the broken hickory saplings; The Dread Waking up; The Fear Going to sleep. The thick red rings of welts on my upper thighs And the swollen lines across my ass. An able-bodied man now enlisted to to her bidding Scoffs. You won't be able to sit down again. I rebuilt my idea of safety. Years later, I am still stitching together The Shards. The ones I picked up And dug deep But not too deep Sharp And just sharp enough. A small jar I smashed In a pillowcase Against a tree. Just enough red To know how I FEEL. Standing, barely. Trembling, violently. My precarious mood swings Faltering my meekly established Credibility. Flooded with insecurity, Inferiority, Smallness, Inadequacy, Fear, Doubt, Rage. All these things instilled in me, Enforced in a daily rhetoric; As a mother bear would instill in her cub The importance of always seeking sustenance. I re-learned love Safety, Security, Care, Comfort In your hands. You, unaware; No notice of the greater thing Happening Here. I luxuriated in the calming comfort Of You And all you shared Without Noticing. (To be continued...)
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Arati Warrier.
So much beautiful rage to be had. Why stuff it away and pretend that everyone's okay?
People would rather you repress your own emotions. I say "FUCK THEM" because they're only concerned with saving themselves.
|12/29| Extra-ternalize / fighting self-abasement / the unfortunate sometimes truth
-----------------I.
My laugh.
A shrill and throaty cackle.
Echoes past the the buildings,
Booming off the sparse trees.
Hearing it travel back to my ears
From afar
And surely those around me as well.
This, like many bursts; self-annoyances
Prompts a soft-sided apology.Â
Another unnecessary burst
Drives another chiding
From that peaceless piece of me.
------------------II.
The words.
Escape me with ease
As steam from an open kettle.
Every body on this small patio
Perceives my Smallness
Or self-perceived smallness.
A chill of discomfort
Makes its way throughÂ
The third story railings
Holding us together in the cupped
Hand of the house.
-----------------------III.
Today of all daysÂ
I was reminded againÂ
Two years ago returning to that place
A similar box among the boxes
This one one bedroom less
And among what was there
A tapestry that now hangs among my things
Some bumble & bumble dry shampoo
A splotchy gray shirt of a fragile material.Â
These things once containedÂ
In one solitary boxÂ
Would soon be lived in,
Used
Tattered.
------------------------IV.
Brought to a point of unrecognizable being.
Commodities that now, by virtue of use,
Belong to me.Â
I spent so longÂ
Twisting my shoulders
A knot from holding posture
Of someone more informed.
An admired friend
So much the wiserÂ
In so many ways / For so many reasons
A confidant I let in
With very few barriers
Who shamed me for growing old
For picking some battles
For not fighting others
For being broke
For working to live
For âexternalizing a lot moreâ
(A moment I would come to never forget)
Again the echoes bounceÂ
Off the edges of my mind
Along with all those timesÂ
You spoke of fair-weather friends
Of all those fair-weather friends
And how all those fair-weather friends
Would make you wanna never be that to me.
---------------------------
|12/22| Four posts in a month
â You can hardly call it a dedicated blog. But then again, Iâm not quite married to anything, Even in the mildest sense of the union.
âŚ..especially nothing mediated through technology. Through paneless windows Directing crumbless mice Gazing placidly through gridless screens. The words that my few weary fingers tap out Even change on the page; Some unknown source, All-knowing âWANTSâ To change this word Iâm making up âDESIRESâ To format this odd concrete space Iâve put there. Capitalize this letter. PERIOD. PERIOD. PERIOD.
The urge to communicate pulls through me, To lash out to the clouds âEyyyy, Iâm thinkin heyah!â So many distractions, Such little solitude. Not none, For it was once there, now slowly chipped away From the inside.
The inside The part of you once scooped out And pushed aside to make way for the other things âMORE IMPORTANTâ âSKILLSâ âREQUIREDâ To âBE SUCCESSFULâ By âTODAYSâ artificially-derived, Everlasting and enduring Vision of what it even means To be a âSUCCESS,â Even as our everyday actions Drift further from intention.
So like that bicycle wheel, Mounted; free from its full mechanism. The action of spinning Inconsequential to its location. Itâs only function Deemed dysfunction. The scoop from inside, That glob of Earth, Of You, Of You with the Earth, That mass you always intended to return To have something of yourself to hold One day Will, in a way, remain until you get around to it In the twilight of your life Baked onto the earthen surface. Baked and rained upon, Baked and rained.
|12/22| Four posts in a month.
You can hardly call it a dedicated blog. But then again, Iâm not quite married to anything, Even in the mildest sense of the union.
âŚ..especially nothing mediated through technology. Through paneless windows Directing crumbless mice Gazing placidly through gridless screens. The words that my few weary fingers tap out Even change on the page; Some unknown source, All-knowing âWANTSâ To change this word Iâm making up âDESIRESâ To format this odd concrete space Iâve put there. Capitalize this letter. PERIOD. PERIOD. PERIOD.
The urge to communicate pulls through me, To lash out to the clouds âEyyyy, Iâm thinkin heyah!â So many distractions, Such little solitude. Not none, For it was once there, now slowly chipped away From the inside.
The inside The part of you once scooped out And pushed aside to make way for the other things âMORE IMPORTANTâ âSKILLSâ âREQUIREDâ To âBE SUCCESSFULâ By âTODAYSâ artificially-derived, Everlasting and enduring Vision of what it even means To be a âSUCCESS,â Even as our everyday actions Drift further from intention.
So like that bicycle wheel, Mounted; free from its full mechanism. The action of spinning Inconsequential to its location. Itâs only function Deemed dysfunction. The scoop from inside, That glob of Earth, Of You, Of You with the Earth, That mass you always intended to return To have something of yourself to hold One day Will, in a way, remain until you get around to it In the twilight of your life Baked onto the earthen surface. Baked and rained upon, Baked and rained.
I applied for readmission to my university.Â
So things are kinda movin.Â
Also, my co-workerâs sibling wants to be my roommate.
A nice touch of normalcy. Maybe.Â
Moving out from cohabitation with a long term partnerÂ
Seems a strange predicament.Â
But really, I love this person more than words can express.
I feel kindred with this one.
But honestly --
Sometimes it is healthier for eachÂ
To have their ownÂ
Space.
I need my own room,
A while to clean up after one,
 Practice some better habits,
Eat healthier, cooking for one.Â
Get up on that sleep schedule,Â
Really start to engage with my hobbies.
Graduate.
Mother
Fucking
Graduate.
Seek counseling for the those thingsÂ
No one wants to hear
Me talk about.
Sometimes we savor moments with those we love
When the quality time
Is favored overÂ
Quantity of time.Â
Sometimes you have to give yourselves permission
To set each other free.
this
Will not be another abandoned thing.
A thing I left behind
A song I never did sing
Due to sheer laziness.
Sometimes it seems that all I do is start things
Goddamnit. Thus is my existence.
Journal - "Body / Working" (with endnote)
Were you just watching To make sure I used the scale? Or were you waiting for more A hungry hyena Asking something would fall To give a big chuckle A notable laugh To make me acknowledge That you noticed; To assure me Iâm special enough To be watched.
I was pouring the coffee For grinding; another approximate six ounces of The beans Bounced off the counter, Unharnessed, free. Useless commodities Slipping into cracks Away to unseen corners beneath the counter
All the while Your eyes scanned my seams; seemed to reach To nearly grasp my figure, close as my skin. When I look back, My face poised to appear the least Welcoming Uncomforting Aware Unflinching. Unaccommodating, Displeased to confirm That youâve again taken it upon yourself To supervise my grind, from behind the rim Of your mass-disposed paper cup.
Sipping your Senior Coffee You might think to find me pleased Flattered, even. Why, my wise, bald prince come to save me? From this fuckery, this modest wage?
Really, all that I hope youâll afford me: Spare me the raking of my flesh With your beady, wincing, failing eyes. Refrain from daydreaming into My Asscrack While you might boast flattery, I wonder why you suppose I would require Your unsolicited validation Was not part of the job description. Not the Least Bit Comforting. I know I have a body. Ass Tits Hips Legs I am familiar with your view. The hills of some raging landscape Tangibly, intuitively They feel Your pupils dilate against my light.
More than a whisper, A sigh or a whimper; You might as well reach out With your hand Instead.
This is the story of a creepy old man. Not all the old men, not even all the creepy old men, but one in particular who likes to watch my body while I execute tasks behind the counter at my work. I mean this in no way compassionately; this dude gives me the deep-down absolute fucking creeps, and maybe as this blog progresses you might come to understand why. It may be early in the blog to come to such an unpleasant topic, but this is the type of mundane self-consciousness that I cope with on a daily basis.