How do I be authentic
when authenticity is taken as
being too different,
not in a quirky, loving way,
but as rudeness?
Lucy Dan ([IG, Medium, TWT]: @ramyeonjpg)
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Mary Oliver, from “Hum Hum”, A Thousand Mornings
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FOUND family??? you think i just found them like this??? babes this is FORGED family. Me & the bros were scrap metal in a junkyard (very valuable, very sharp, very dangerous, uncared for) and we GOT IN THE FUCKING FIRE TOGETHER. WE did this. we said I AM NOT LEAVING YOU and melted into each other for better or for worse (it’s for better) and we are A FUNCTIONAL UNIT now. DO NOT SEPARATE. BATTERIES FUCKING INCLUDED. FOUND family my ass, we built this non-nuclear family unit from the ground up, don’t devalue this!!! it was is and will be a labour of love!!!
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Blackout poetry exists on a dual axis from "banal" to "insightful" on the input side and "kind of deep" to "incredibly fucking dumb" on the output side, and while taking something banal and producing something kind of deep is well and fine, for my money taking something insightful and rendering it incredibly fucking dumb is where the real art is.
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Just realized that the reason I love making friends on tumblr is because it’s exactly how you make friends on the playground as a six year old. No, I don’t know their name but they love mermaids too and built this awesome sand castle. No, I don’t know their age but their imaginary cheetah is friends with mine. You like this show? You like this character?? You can sing the theme song really loud??? Here is a flower crown. Here is a juice box. You can share my time and I might never see you again but part of you stays in my soul forever. In my mind we’re still on the swing set and the sky is blue and nothing will ever be wrong again.
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the universe looked on sweetly,
as god laid out all my parts and pieces
on the workshop table
she did not interfere, as i was
taken apart and reconstructed,
my neurons appropriately rewired
and when it was done,
when i was rebuilt a different,
more fragile person
she picked me up, and held me gently,
but the glue that held my new body together
was not yet dry
so i crumbled apart anyways,
doomed to repeat the cycle,
when the sun next rose
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{Words by Anaïs Nin, from The Diary Of Anais Nin, Vol. 4 (1944-1947) / Cynthia Cruz from diagnosis,The glimmering room}
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