he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Show & Tell
d e v o n
will byers stan first human second
almost home
Xuebing Du
#extradirty
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Today's Document
roma★
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Product Placement
JBB: An Artblog!
titsay
shark vs the universe
ojovivo
JVL
h
PR's Tumblrdome
@theartofmadeline
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Switzerland
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Chile
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from Bangladesh
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Canada
seen from Russia
seen from Brazil
seen from Colombia
seen from Kosovo
seen from United States
seen from United States
@regrettably-human
trying to prove a point to the boys at school
reblog this if you believe trans men are real men like this if you dont
You better reblog and not like
That is WAY too high of a like number.
TRANS MEN ARE REAL MEN
TRANS MEN ARE REAL MEN
TRANS MEN ARE REAL MEN
it is late and i am alone,
sitting on the front porch,
and i wish, more than almost
anything else, that i had someone
that wanted to sit with me.
someone to look at the stars with
on the nights when the weather
is nice and the clouds
feel like sharing their secrets.
someone that will ask me
to stop by the store on my way home
and pick up a couple of bottles
of that champagne that we like.
someone to wake up with
the next morning,
instead of sleeping in,
because a walk in the park
and a sit by a fountain
cures everything, even hangovers.
someone that will share
those kinds of secrets with me.
someone to stop me from arguing
by reaching over and
plucking a few flowers for me.
someone to say, "here,
i know these will make you sneeze,
but i also know you would rather
have them and be sneezy
than not have them at all."
i want someone
for the little moments.
i want someone that gets
that the little moments
aren't little at all.
-mars
i would hold your hands while you drove
until sweat ran down my fingers
and even longer still
because i can feel
your heartbeat between them
pounding in my chest
and if i listen closely,
i can tell it’s beating just like mine
in tune, in sync
keeping the steady rhythm of love
thank you for being here
here in this overwhelming, sometimes really fucked up world with me. thank you for sticking things out to see how they will go. it's a nice feeling that even though I don't know you, we're in this together, and we will get through this together too
crying because i call myself my dog's mom but i'm probably more like a sister to him and the way i love people is always spilling out over my hands in milk so yes i got told a lot you try too hard as a kid and i didn't know what that meant i just try to shove everything i care about under my wing and hold it there so every feather acts as an umbrella and if you're normal that's okay they'll say you're kind but if you're not normal it is a problem and someone who says they're an empath watched me fall down on the train and refused to give me the hand up
and yeah maybe i'm kind of bitter because every time i try to open up i only get to the bones of the thing before someone else takes up the whole room with meat and gristle and sparknotes of their own life painted in a pelt across my palms and just as i'm tryna clean up one mess another seems to pop up and it's really difficult to explain to your therapist that the problem is that you are too aware of the problem and that you keep fucking up and it's really difficult to explain to your partner i have no faith in the concept of love and life is a lot of sliding down these days, turn my body ice and moth, and that's okay! i am broken upside down like an egg and i am going to love you like an explosion and a star and a fucking galaxy! i'm gonna be too much
because god forbid you feel like me! god forbid you know what it's like! holy shit, god forbid. i'm gonna love you because i didn't get love. i'm gonna love you because otherwise the world is too cruel. i only live in the dark. maybe i'm a martyr. i think it's more like - i need to be right about this, about hope and trying and community. i'm going to be right about this, even if i need to set myself on fire to procure the warmth. come take it then, come latch on. i need you to be okay so someone is okay. so there's a reason i was born. i need it to work. i need to be shelter. a lighthouse. endlessly giving more.
i need to be. holy shit, god forbid. i can't live in a world that's only storm.
It's my 1 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳
Coffee
if there is a reason, tell me.
tell me now, before it is too late.
tell me as we sit outside,
you're drinking coffee; i'm having tea.
the leaves are beginning to turn,
i wish we were here long enough to watch them fall.
your coffee is always so bitter.
I often wonder how you can drink it,
my fondness of you kept me from seeing
how similar we were to our drink of choice.
now, the leaves are gone,
the mountains are capped in white
and I am no longer outside.
tell me while I wait, for you,
tell me there is a reason for this.
I am drinking tea.
the snow is melting,
and my tea has gone cold.
as I sit here with my tea,
I think of nothing but you
wishing you were here,
and with only the memory of your company,
I begin to forgive you.
i told them i love them
for the first time today
and i half expected their
response to be, "i know."
i have said it in
a thousand ways already.
my love, for you i will learn
to say it in a million more.
—mars
I love you so much I hope we get reborn as housecats who sleep together like puzzle pieces
This is us in the next life
extra love to trans people who have to go by their dead name around their families for the holidays
i know we’re both just messing around pretending to be whole but look at me. if the train was coming would you move. if the ground was falling from under your feet would you even notice or would it just be another tuesday for you. if somebody stabbed you could it hurt worse than you already do. what i’m saying is that i love you but i think we both drive over the speed limit when it’s raining. what i’m saying is that i want to hold your hand and i understand about how you sometimes have to sit down in the shower. what i’m saying is that i’m here for you and if the train comes please move.
i wrote this 7 years ago, somehow. every day someone else finds it and whispers to me - oh, i understand this. something always turns in the wash of my stomach: i am so, so glad you feel seen. i wish you had no idea what this post was about.
i wrote this while working in a program for new writers. on wednesdays, two of the teachers would be contractually obligated to read our writing aloud to the group of 300+ teens. i had never read my work in public before. i had something like 6k poems and was panicking about it. none of them are good enough. sometimes the train is howling. it is hard, actually, sometimes, even as an adult.
and then i thought - what is one thing i wish i could tell all of them. each of these 300 kids. what did i need to hear, at 16?
i wanted to tell them about the day you wake up, and the sun feels warm finally. i wanted to tell them about carving a life out of soapstone, your hands turning bloody. i wanted to tell them that sometimes yes - it actually does feel easy. i wanted to tell them about weddings and cookie dough and long road trips. about albums of new music and old friends laughing and the sound of snow falling.
you will learn the pattern of the train. you will learn to close your eyes when you hear the engine rumbling. you will learn to let yourself have the grey days in their lily-soft numbness. sometimes it will feel like life is wet paint, and god has smeared your canvas across a sewer grate. sometimes it will be so boring it isn’t even pronounceable - the tenacious, soundless blankness. survival isn’t just ugly nights and wild mornings. it is also the steady, unimportant moments. it is just driving with your seatbelt on. it is calling a friend on the way home. it is burying your face into the fur of your dog.
when i had finished reading this poem aloud, the auditorium was silent for a solid minute. someone stood up to take a picture of where it had been projected onto a screen, and then three more people followed the action, and then - like a bad internet story, people remembered they were supposed to be clapping. kids came up to me after it - thank you for writing that. i think i hear a train coming.
i would write this differently now, i think, but it has been 7 years. i still live by the tracks. i also haven’t picked up a blade in over 10 years. the scars are still there, but these days i only pick up scissors to cut my hair. i know why you can’t tell your mom about it. i know how the numbness slips over everything, a restless horrible cotton. i know how when you dropped the dish, you weren’t crying about the broken glass. i know about feeling like all the roads have closed their exits, that you aren’t supposed to still-be-here - and yet.
i am still here, and still yours, and i haven’t forgotten. what i’m saying is if any hope is calling to you - i know it’s hard, but you have to listen. i’m saying keep driving, but slow down the car. sit down in the shower, i’m not judging you. we can stay in the dark with the good hot water and do nothing but stare. notice the stab wound. make it through another tuesday.
i know what it is like to miss yourself. do what you need to. come home to me. i am writing to you, my past self, from the future. i’ll be waiting for you.
and when the train is coming - please move.
guys i am fucking crying i got an old copy of pilgrims progress from a used booksale and i just opened it and there's a handwritten dedication to a girl from her grandfather from christmas 1888 and she put a little fucking drawing in the back and im sitting on my bed losing my fucking mind over a hundred years ago a grandpa gave this book to "miss maggie" and she loved it and it's lasted a century and im holding it right now
i showed the book to my mom when she came home from a trip and she reminded me that in little women (1868) each of the march sisters got a copy of pilgrim’s progress under their pillow for christmas there is a high, high, HIGH chance that this little girl was a huge fan of little women and talked to her grandfather about it and he got her a classic book just like her 1880s blorbos i am flailing on the ground humanity is so special
throughout the years
it's something that happens to everyone.
when you were born, it was the light. the new environment.
when you were three, it was a skinned knee. sleeping at night made it happen too.
when you were five, it was the first day of school. clinging to your dad's leg, you fought to not let go.
when you were seven, it was your brother. or riding your bike. when you were seven, you began to realize.
when you were nine, it was breaking your thumb. now you know how to write without using your thumb at all.
when you were ten, it was the loneliness. bad school and not understanding.
a few months later, it was the understanding. the deaths. the sickness. the fear dripping through the adults around you.
when you were eleven, it was the new environment again. your grandparents weren't here anymore. you never knew life without them being close by- without the dog, either.
when you were twelve, it was the dog. you couldn't say goodbye. the next time you were with your grandparents, it felt so hollow.
when you were thirteen, it was everything. it was realizing you weren't normal. giving up on things. on yourself. the cat was your angel. she still is.
when you are fourteen, it is the necessities. it is your friends. your parents. the haircut. the name. the nouns. it is everything, it is still everything.
you will always cry, no matter how old you are. and you are a liar if you say otherwise.
you're scrolling tumblr!! *kisses ur forehead* *kisses ur forehead* *kisses ur forehead* *kisses ur forehead* *kisses ur forehead*
this US election season it is your duty to tear up any racist/transphobic/etc propaganda you see :-)
