#radical softness

[yipyipallyall]

[biodegradableriot]

🌿 hey, i'm Ex 🖤 eco-punk | nature lover | chaos gardener | trying to live gently in a world that wasn't built to be gentle.

i’m into: ✧ sustainability ✧ punk music, zines, and DIY ✧ foraging + urban nature ✧ fighting burnout, capitalism, and climate despair ✧ slow living

i post a lot about: → eco-anarchist thoughts → trash art + recycled fashion → small joys in big messes → angry hope

📍 based in Oklahoma, USA (CST) 🎧 soundtrack: The Oh Hellos 🍃 always down to connect with like-minded people

this blog = part journal, part protest, part nature shrine thanks for stopping by

[catucino]

No borders on love. No borders on humanity. This world isn’t owned, it’s shared.

[livingwellincolor]

Through My Eyes: Reflections on Assata Shakur

They called her a terrorist. Said she killed a cop. Said she ran. Said she didn't deserve peace.

But what they don’t say, LOUD ENOUGH, is that Assata Shakur was shot herself. That she was bleeding. That the ballistics showed she didn’t fire a weapon. That her prints weren’t on the gun. But, she was convicted anyway.

They don’t talk about how she gave birth while shackled to a hospital bed under armed guard surveillance. They don’t talk about how the system had its crosshairs on her long before that night.

I’m not here to debate guilt or innocence. I’m here to tell you: the facts didn’t and still don't matter to them. Because when you're a Black woman who resists, the system doesn't want justice. It wants your submission. Your silence. Your slow death under their rules.

And let’s talk about the double standard while we’re here:

Assata was convicted because she was there. Because of who she rode with. Because she was part of a movement.

But when we talk about police officers who stand silent while harm happens? When we talk about the culture of cover-ups, silence, and "brotherhood"? Suddenly we hear:

“You can’t blame the whole department.” “Not all cops.”

You can’t have it both ways. If proximity equals guilt, let’s be consistent. Let’s look at who gets protected and who gets buried.

I’m not mad at all that she got away. I’m not mad at all that Cuba gave her asylum. I’m not mad at all that she found a way to live.

This country was never going to let her live on her own terms. Somehow found a way and she lived anyway. That’s survival. That’s legacy. That’s the kind of resistance that makes the system shake.

As a Black woman in America, I read her story and I don’t just see her. I see all of us, carrying pain, truth, and fire, and being told we’re “too much” for surviving what we were never meant to survive.

She didn’t just escape. She exposed them. And for that, they can never forgive her. But I remember. And I write.

✊🏾 Through my eyes. From one Black woman to another.

[veltroxx]

if we can agree that life is just a series of weird decisions, why do we still let billionaires decide the rest of the worlds weirdness for us? like, can you imagine the chaos if we just voted on every major issue? snack flavor wars, anyone?

[4herforever]

🌲 The Forest & The War 🌲

There was a time when the chimps went mad. They clawed and tore at each other for years, not knowing why, only that something inside them said fight. Jane Goodall watched in horror, thinking the peace she once believed in was a dream. And then, one day, the war ended. As suddenly as it began, it was over. The forest grew quiet again.

Humans are no different. We too forget ourselves. We build concrete cages, plastic oceans, and invisible borders. We fight neighbors instead of asking who planted the fight in our hands. We forget that our fear is new, that our cruelty is not destiny but invention.

But there are some of us, scattered through the trees, who will not let the forgetting win. We carve messages into the bark: Yes, the eyes are evil. Yes, it is scary out here. But this way, the air feels lighter.

We are not here to save the whole forest. We are here to leave signs for the ones still wandering, so when they stumble through the darkness, they will see: the war is not forever. We can stop. We can remember each other again.

[bookofillusorylove]

If We Were Unafraid

Imagine—

if skin was not a battlefield,

but a language.

If the body was not judged,

but shared,

like sunlight spilling into open hands.

Men laughing with men,

not fearing the weight of eyes,

but carried by the joy

of being seen without armor.

Women resting with women,

not tallying flaws or envies,

but weaving warmth together

like sisters of the same flame.

And the ones between, beyond, outside—

not left in the shadows,

but folded in,

as natural as breath,

as necessary as belonging.

What if nakedness

was not hunger,

but honesty?

Not shame,

but communion?

We would learn to speak softer.

We would learn to love braver.

We would learn—

that the body was never the sin,

only the silence

we wrapped it in.

[yudzukii]

Spirit Petals 🌸✨

A sakura in blossom

whispers pink and white,

soft, fine, and gentle

- Rising

Its roots stretch deep 

into Mother Earth,

solid, strong, and sturdy

- Staying