Be the riot in my heart.

josh (he/him) sm: @riotboyyyyy

[roseillith]

[peteneems]

[killed-by-overthinking]

[rboyyyyy]

[waxthevan]

Antoine Henault

[henk-heijmans]

Ronnie holds his mother's hand before leaving for camp, ca. 1954 - by Rae Russel (1925 - 2008), American

[theyneverfoundthebody-deactivat]

[theyneverfoundthebody-deactivat]

[rboyyyyy]

It's me, me, me

[images-that-inspire]

Chicago, 1926

photo: Shoji Osato

[pastart]

Daniyel Lowden (2021)

[rboyyyyy]

Grief is funny, scary, and cyclical.

There are blackbirds currently circling my apartment. For some reason, I guess I feel that's important to say. Maybe because I'm thinking how grief never goes away. It will always keep circling around me. No matter where I live, no matter who I meet. It will be always be there, churning inside of me.

To let someone in, To trust who they are, To have faith what they tell me is true.

That will never again be easy like it once was. It will never come naturally like it used to.

I want to write more. I used to write down my feelings when I was younger and project them into the universe like the internet was an open canvas. Back then I didn't care what people had to say, nor did it matter I wasn't the only one that felt that way.

Now I scroll through a thousand pictures, tens of thousands in words a day. Haven't these thoughts I think about and feelings been said and done? What's the point? Is there one? Is this just the outlet I have to take up space for once?

Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe it's just that I write down something. So that my words may move and flow like a river connecting the sea. Then one day, just like the tides, gravity might soon shift me.

May 9th, 2024

[de4dbl0g-deactivated20191110]

[gloomywings]

[inferior]

[madatmost]

[noco3n-com]

A rose whose beauty increases with the blue of the sky and the light of sunset.