mothman's manic pixie dream boy blog

Shower thoughts, emo poetry, cryptic messages, memes, sketches, and like whatever I want I'm Mothman fU you-

[weevmo]

careful you stupid little thing

[adriagan]

it fucking sucks being a disabled person who can't work and having to see these fuckass posts where someone's like "ahaha jobless people have no life and that's why everyone shitty online has No Job" and everyone and their mother reblogs it joyfully onto my dash for me to see. yes unemployed and unemployable people are truly without exception dogshit people with no hobbies and no redeeming qualities. you're so right. anyway if you'll excuse me i have to start my shift at the I'll Never Be Employed Because Of Permanent Disability And I Love Knowing How You Really See Me store

[adriagan]

if ur able to work can u reblog this i am seriously SO sick of it.

[adriagan]

btw this isn't solely a disability rights issue or an issue about people who are entirely unable to work. you should also be thinking about the people who are regarded as unhireable. transfems are hugely discriminated against in this way, people of color are passed over for less qualified white people, anyone who has any difficulty playing the interview game is less hireable... frankly anyone who made the mistake of pursuing the things they love and now has a degree for a niche field. if you still joke about Jobless People it's because you've fundamentally connected the worth of people to their labor, and specific labor, work that you see as valuable. and while i'm at it stop making fun of people who still live with their parents. asshole.

[sleepingreader]

WHY TABLE SO MESSY QUESTION

A second Rocky, this time to try and get the rod system to work. Getting ready for making the big one!

[vulgarhabromania]

little age anguish

i have this urge to make everything as poetic as possible

otherwise i can’t get my feelings across the way i want to

i’ve been that way since i was a kid

metaphors and similes to help me communicate

“if words are a weapon, then i have a battery”

and with a pen in my hand, i cant figure out how to use it

do i write something meaningless

shooting in the dark, and hoping i get a hit

or do i take the time to learn the dips and curves

do i take the time to turn on the lights and aim

do i take the time to turn off the safety before i point

is it easier to sit with my sentences and get to know them

or perhaps i just empty the barrel at whatever i can find

incohesive and scattered like a battering ram

even now, i find escape in description

you wouldn’t know what i meant if i didn’t paint you a picture, would you?

it’s a little age anguish that scrapes through the halls of my house and haunts

must i always feel the need to make my feelings pretty so that i’m understood?

april 15th, 2026.

- w

[nobodyspoetess]

This room

There exists a simple truth

that lies heavy in my chest;

a harsh whisper in the void of quiet

presses itself to every surface, none in sight,

as dark consumes this unintelligible hollowness.

 I am a stranger in my own life.

I am driven by a force, 

one like a stranger on the street,

marking me with want to change something

to fill the void that has embraced me,

unfamiliar and cruel like a fox 

with a cunning gaze of the lie. 

 I can’t wash it away from my body. 

No one sees me and my eyesight is a fog, 

I stand amidst the crowd and I lose myself,

bathed without love or warmth in the night;

nothing lasts forever except for the fear,

paralyzing me so I could die,

hating my animalistic needs. 

 And I write about this without winning. 

I write and oh, I write, about the pain

that only masks itself and strikes out of nowhere

and I throw away words without a point in doing so; 

I dedicate words to the monsters and I bleed

because of the nightmares in my mind

and nothing matters!

There’s no delicacy or love in my desperation,

there’s only a kid with aching ears and hands,

dissappointed and betrayed

by the world that lied to her about love,

love that only took from her.

Now I have nothing. 

I wanted to save myself so badly from that room,

from that world,

from that fate,

reeking of loneliness and nothingness and unshed tears

and I broke my everything to do it,

but I am always here,

and even after I scrubbed off my skin with dreams and hopes,

even after I said what I desire for in the dark, 

I can never erase the smell.

It’s my fault that I swam in hatred,

that I am a part of this fucked up world. 

It is that bad, yes!

It hurts me and I am scared, I’m unsafe,

embarrassed and humiliated, terrified, 

confused about why and exhausted,

unable to cry or scream!

I didn’t cry. I wanted to cry. The world told me it isn’t that bad. 

And I can’t talk about it well

without being scared, without being pathetic.

Filthy, disgusting and ugly - me - 

and I can’t look at myself anymore. 

I’ve no strength left. World, I have no strength left!

To search for love that doesn’t exist. 

To be a part of this room. 

It’s eating up my body, 

eating up my nerves, 

leaving nothing of my brain,

except for this fragile truth that I’ve got to accept,

this poison in my veins I’ve got to embrace. 

There’s nothing clean in me,

nothing left untained by my sickness, 

by this virus that spreads for the world to see I’ve got.

Above it all it’s loneliness.

Rotten loneliness inside of a reeking body. 

And a truth that says it all.

 There’s no home for my soul. 

[mothmans-shower-thoughts]

The world was not made for me. I was not made for the world. I could spend my entire life trying to find a home that doesn't exist for me, or I can just accept that I was born wrong and give up. I didn't ask to be born. I didn't ask to be made unwanted and shameful.

The place I yearn for only exists in my dreams. Maybe it's heaven, if I'm still allowed there.

[veryluckyclovers]

[seaphine]

I always feel so bad after oversharing thing with people like could you please delete that from your memory and pretend you never heard anything.

[mothmans-shower-thoughts]

I like men.

...

[nothingspecialjustasoul]

I confuse intensity with intimacy and wonder why I always end up alone.

[joeyandy]

Hey, kid.

I don't know how I ended up like this. A year passed, and another and another Until I'm old enough to grow hair in Places I've only ever seen on Dad, Or some I didn't know it could.

Hair isn't all though; it runs deeper than the follicle. Deeper, and deeper yet, you might try to search And find a shrivelled up soul, black and bruised, Beaten into blind submission.

It was once yours, little cherub. Yes, yours with the warm radiant stardust And no money. You gave it all away Walking down the homeless street.

I conserve my money now, you'll come to learn They're not all such tragic victims. After enough times getting to the arcade Penniless and poorer still, Dad will tell you. They're junkies, kiddo. Scars on their wrists. They've got AIDS from IV drugs. That's what they'll spend it on.

I don't think it's all true. Must not be true. Because if addiction makes a man an addict Than that's all I'll ever be. No need for heroin.

No, you'll have a hero, he's a he. You don't love him any longer, but you will for a time. He saved you and what else can you love for? Love, love, love. All you are is love. I wish I could be something other than pain.

You're more like them than you think: the junkies. You're queer, don't worry though, Enjoy your fleeting youth, you'll figure it out later. You're like them because of the AIDS they have, Dad will tell you about that too. You'll think it means gay disease, and you're close enough.

Don't forget the scars, you'll have those too. Look, right here on my wrist. Look closer, ever closer. They're gone mostly, still there if you look hard enough.

What I would give to be you again. How did I end up like this? Weary of those in hard times, Clutching my wallet like it's my heart. You give it out too freely, you'll learn to stop.

Don't become me. Or do, because that would kill me. I'm getting better, unlearning, unwinding, Becoming you again. Trust me- yourself- kid. Become me.

[writingdose]

your inner child is so proud of the writer you’ve become

[terrorignitis]

People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own souls. They will practice Indian yoga and all its exercises, observe a strict regimen of diet, learn theosophy by heart, or mechanically repeat mystic texts from the literature of the whole world-all because they cannot get on with themselves and have not the slightest faith that anything useful could ever come out of their own souls.

Carl Jung, Psychology and Alchemy

[nigelgraz]

Rot

[goth-queen]

[mothmans-shower-thoughts]

Mood

[bluesandbarebones]

Forest talk

If you haven't heard it you weren't listening close enough, or maybe you were distracted by your own small life— a pebble in your shoe or the obsequious fly But if you were there with me we would stop we would find a nurse log and sit, patiently with the lichen and leaf litter We would observe life in motion that requires nothing from us but to be still, waiting apart from our flimsy selves crouching in the humility required in the presence of greatness giants all around whispering of things we will never know

[mothmans-shower-thoughts]

This captures an aspect of being in the woods I hold dear to my heart and spirit

[friendlynoodles]

I painted my cats as pikmin 🌱🌺

[mothmans-shower-thoughts]

This is perfect, this absolutely makes my morning