haunting your narrative

0 days since checking my tumblr

[pukicho]

Lord Puki, what's your thoughts on therianism?

Since I'm not an insane person, I don't give two fucks what you kids do. Pretend you're a horse, pretend you're a stone, If you want to don a little fox mask, crawl around and bark, then I do not care if you do. It is of no interest to me. I view your actions as though a pilot views an individual walking the city streets from 34,000 ft above: Invisible, and of no consequence.

[omtai]

they should invent a cigarette that gives you vitamins and hrt and shit

[infectiouspiss]

TESTOSTEROEN CIGARETTE BEING SMOKED BY A BUTCH DYKE OUTSIDE THE BAR SHE SHOTGUN THR SMOKE INTO MYMOUTH I GET SO HARD I PASS OUT SMASH MY HEAD AND DIE

[infectiouspiss]

sorry that was meant for the tags

[omtai]

it’s okay. You’ve painted a beautiful and true picture

[skernerd]

Saying Goodbye

ive had this tumblr ever since i was 11 years old. i’ve written poems, dumped personal issues, reblogged one direction edits, everything the typical tumblr user does. in that time, i’ve figured out that i’m a non-binary lesbian and i have bipolar.

when i was a teenager, i wrote this long journal in the style of 13 reasons why (it was before the show lol) to be given to someone after i didn’t make it. now i’m 24. i just graduated undergrad and have a degree in neuroscience now. i’m living with my girlfriend in a nice apartment in a city i always really liked as a kid. we have pets together, and she makes me tea and hot chocolate while i work. she loves me, and i love her.

i have friends, now. i’ve peeled off the skintight mask over my face and healed the raw skin underneath. those friends look at me, at me, and they say that i am beautiful. that they love me. and i love them.

this blog has chronicled a chapter of my life that feels as if it is coming to a close. from start to end, it’s the chronology of a 2010’s teenager growing up online. i’ve grown up now. i’m 24, and going to make a new blog that isn’t attached to my face, name, or this blog in any way. (mutuals dm me and i’ll send you my new user)

if i could tell the 11 year old who started this blog in their bedroom on their first laptop anything, it would be this:

it actually does get better. it did get better. hold on just a little longer, and it will be worth it. of all that you’re experiencing, know that somehow, what’s on the other side will be worth it. i remember, and it’s still worth it. it’s worth getting through. it’s worth being here. it’s worth staying. happy exists. you’ll find it. it will find you.

much love

<3

[skernerd]

Y r u such a big nerd I think it's really cool

hehe tysm i just finished by bachelors in neuroscience that’s why <3

[skernerd]

the_very_last_last_last_letter(final.final) (2)

it’s never over for me

not even after all this time

put on Become the Warm Jets by Current Joys. it’s on right now.

thinking of you is an addiction now

i try to let you pass on by me

you’ve become a pathology in me now

if i saw you in the grocery store like you said you wanted

i’d break down

and wouldn’t you feel so happy?

and would you feel any guilt from that?

the boy i knew would have.

the person i created you in my head to be.

“did you know /

that boy is an armed man?”

and here i am, in your living room

and there you are,

and all my poems are about you

and they have been for years now.

and what is it

that i should say

at the last meeting?

the very, very last letter?

this last fantasizing about you,

sitting in front of me,

gagged, blindfolded even,

to shield me from that fury behind your eyes.

and how do i join these two worlds—

one hating you,

one still—

how do i join them?

“honesty,” you’d answer, “just be goddamn

honest for once,” you’d plead.

here’s honesty:

my loved ones call you a psychopath.

i present them with the bare facts

of us, i defend you,

even still i self-immolate in grief;

my loved ones now put out the fires

you lit in me so long ago.

they say 16 was too young for you.

they say that the things you’d say to me

curdle their stomachs,

that the things you did to me are unforgivable.

they’ve broken out the psychology textbooks, and the slideshows,

are able to explain up and down why

you were bad for me.

here’s honesty:

sometimes i can’t help but not believe them.

you wove your way into my DNA.

you’re part of me now.

here’s honesty:

i can’t shake you, i can’t,

not the thought of you,

not the memory of you,

it’s pathological. it’s disordered. it’s post-traumatic.

and wasn’t it you, that said you felt the only way to get me to love you was to hurt me?

you were right.

when did you realize? that you were right?

here’s honesty:

everyone who knows me knows you,

and everyone who loves me hates you.

but i still look for you in the grocery store.

i put my makeup on in the car in case

you see me.

when i leave, i’m always disappointed.

so i stopped doing the shopping.

the very last letter will say that i’ve started shopping again. that i don’t scan the aisles for you.

it’s over,

it has been, for years now,

but it’s never over for me.

maybe someday it will be.

six months later

and i haven’t written about you in all this time.

the closure worked,

this last, last, very last letter to you.

the last day i loved you

is somewhere untouchable

in our shared past.

i cant put it on a calendar—

it faded, as all wounds do.

i stopped noticing the scars, even.

stopped covering them with makeup, even.

i look for it on my body,

there, just under my hips,

a thin white smattering of scars.

i only see them now when i look close.

maybe closure

is forgetting a muse.

i organize the poems,

the short stories,

letters,

stack them neat in a drawer.

for academic study, later.

the blood ink has long dried,

the pages sun yellowed.

i place them without hesitation

into that drawer of past loves.

you’ve become one of the others,

now.

not unshakable, metastasizing you.

the monster under my bed and

in my closet and in the hallway

has faded into something less

than a memory.

[sexhaver]

shopping list

eggs

butter

listening to shoegaze over laptop speakers at 1am after a few drinks and realizing how cripplingly alone you are in the universe for a split second before the feeling fades and you’re left with the faint afterimage of it burned into your consciousness like closing your eyes after staring at the sun

milk

driving in rain so light that the lowest wiper setting is too frequent and everything is coated in a fine mist and you see how long you can go without clearing it off the windshield

looking up at a city skyline and wondering what would happen if your current field of view was projected backwards through time to the mind of a caveman

Chips Ahoy (not the store brand stuff, they don’t get the texture right)

trying to remember the sound of their voice and the smell of their shampoo and the way they laughed and not being able to and not quite crying but coming close enough to make your friends ask what’s wrong, you don’t look so good, to which you reply that you’ve just been tired lately

a sense of purpose

waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat for no particular reason with the lingering taste of a nightmare hovering over everything

contemplating suicide in the abstract instead of the concrete, much like how astronomers contemplate the heat death of the universe

it’s middle school and you begin to figure out that laughing at people’s jokes and always being funny and irreverent gets you more friends than being yourself so you put on a mask in public and only take it off in the privacy of your own room

it’s high school and you’ve refined your mask from a crude approximation of a person into a fully fledged personality complete with idiosyncrasies and nervous tics and on the rare occasions it comes off it seems to stick to your face a little bit but you think nothing of it because you have friends now

it’s college and your mask is your face now, the only one your friends have ever known, and you can never take it off or even admit it exists because there’s nothing under it but a crying middle-schooler and sometimes you try opening up and tearing it off and it takes patches of skin and hair with it and you try to put it back on as quickly as possible so none of your friends see you like that and hate you like you know they would if they could see you

a gun

[radiofreederry]

[skernerd]

two anorexic addicts walk into a five guys. “remember when you were a vegetarian?” one asks. their pills are starting to hit. there is no punchline.

[skernerd]

things in my relationship i love:

1. the way she holds me at night, our bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces

2. the way she looks at me, eyes bursting with love and warmth

3. the way she laughs at my jokes, a path of no resistance in the sea, surging forward

4. when she does the dishes, and asks me to come look when it’s done

5. the way she holds the side of my face when we kiss

6. the excitement in her voice when she shows me something she knows i’ll love

7. the way she goes on and on about her favorite book, the way we now talk about it together

8. how the curve of her hips fits so evenly in my palm that it makes me think that holding her is what my hands were made for

9. our secret language, our slang

10. how she opens her arms to me when i cry, how she knows when to mind my berth

11. the way we surprise each other with flowers for no reason at all. every grocery store trip.

12. when i snap at her in my sleep, she giggles. she whispers she loves me. i grunt out three syllables of gibberish in return. she covers my exposed shoulder with the comforter, wraps her arm around my waist.

13. breakfast in bed every morning

14. our walks around the neighborhood, teaching her the native plants, the bird calls. she says i’ve taught her so much.

15. the dreams i have of our daughter, cooing “she has your mouth, and my nose, and your eyes,” as i gently touch each of her features. the way our baby laughs in those dreams.

16. the way she’s designing my engagement ring. it’ll have vines incorporated into it. and multiple stones.

17. how we can share clothes and makeup

18. holding hands in the car

19. singing together

20. how she brings me tea when i’m working. how i bring her tea when she works. how we drink tea together while we read. how we read together by the river.

21. the way i bring her honeysuckle, and raspberries from outside when she can’t leave the house.

22. how she loves my dog so wholly that’s she now our dog.

23. the cat and hedgehog we have together

24. the names we’ve chosen for our children, the season we’ve chosen for our wedding, the house we’ve dreamed of.

25. the love, that’s everlasting, and always growing. a rose, grown and cultivated from a tiny seed. nearly five years. a love ive dreamt of.

26. the way she cries of happiness when she reads the poems i write about her :)

[majaaaaaaaaaa-with-10-as]

[thepromiscuousfinger]

[skernerd]

haunting the narrative

[hungwy]

Don't care + you were killed in a hunting accident 3 summers ago and never received proper burial + you're forever a deer now...

[inthesensethat-deactivated20240]

[convelocity]

Where magic whispers among the trees

[waspcup]

hello my name is Very tiny flying insect i see you’ve got an uncovered beverage outdoors. Can i fall into it and kill myself please please please please please please please please please please

[cryptotheism]

None of you would survive the wind swept field of daffodils I was raised in