#steve's post

[godsbyanyothername]

I know I’ve said this before in the past, but this time I feel confident in saying that I’m the luckiest darn guy in the hemisphere.

[godsbyanyothername]

/tries to make a playlist for someone I consider real special. /ends up vacillating wildly between songs that describe how Ifeel about the person in particular and songs that describe how I feel about all the baggage that surrounds us. Well, shoot.

[godsbyanyothername]

Well. That was a slap in the face from feelings I didn't expect or ask for.

[godsbyanyothername]

Help Cecil’s angry

[godsbyanyothername]

springtrapp replied to your audio post:

So battlefield-moon did a presentation on...

Indeedy I was, I remember it fondly. I was actually just thinking about his voice a few days ago.

:) That was back when most of us had a real hard time expressing ourselves verbally. It's still a challenge sometimes, but it's gotten easier with time and other people to be open around.

[godsbyanyothername]

A little alarmed by some energy feelings, and a little shaken up from some infighting recently, but it's been a good night. :) Watching Gravity Falls is fun for us Night Vale folks.

On another note, anyone know some fictive finder blogs that you can recommend to us (one of our newer members has been looking for family)?

[godsbyanyothername]

Holy Mother of Steve

Contains some possibly triggering things (mention of bullying and self-harm), but I'd appreciate a read nonetheless :) I had a little help, but I wrote most of it myself, about my "backstory".

---------------------- They told me, kicking my feet and stealing my books, scattering my food, that my mother couldn't be an angel. I learned to lie, so they took my truth and wrapped it around the lashes of their tongues to write shame across the back I would not bare. By thirteen I had already dreamed of tearing the roots of my wings from my shoulders and throwing them bloodies to baying schoolyard Romans. By fourteen, I thought they had forgotten. By fifteen I was drunk on a boy with sweet-bellied words who, when I, foolish in lust and loneliness, opened eyes long glued shut (multifarious) and revealed limbs alive with feathers and light, took my shame-stained truth and with it struck my open hands. These days I'm twice as old. The brutality's replaced by damp newborn respect and no one is afraid to eat my scones. Truth has left my scars and soaked back into my heart. My mother was an angel. Still I can only say it alone, with the walls of my yellow room the only sights my hidden eyes are allowed, the only bounds in which my wings can stretch.