In My Sickly Victorian Boy Thing Era. Ive Sported A Deathly Pallor For Three Days Now And Must Be Taken

What would you do

What would you do if you showed up for a date with me, and instead of a guy like I said in my dating profile, I was a small injured deer?

And you asked me why I didn't say I was a small injured deer in my profile, and I said I was worried you would hate me for being so small and injured?

And then I got a salad and slowly nibbled on it, flapping my ears while you told me about warhammer 40 thousand. And then when it came time to split the bill, I told you I had no money because I'm a creature of a forest, but that I would pay you for my portion in song?

And so I sat up on my hind legs, and sang the most beautiful sonata you've ever heard in your life. I sang of the valleys and the rivers. In the first part of the song, you could hear my voice waver from the pain of my injury. But then it crescendoed with fire and determination, as if in the middle of that very song I decided that I must keep living no matter what happens, and that you must keep living too?

Then, when you came back to your senses from being entranced by the beauty of the song, there were tears streaming down your face? I was nowhere to be seen, leaving behind only a single autumn leaf on the table? You looked down at your hands, and in your hands was a small note with your childhood dream you had long forgotten on it, written by your own hand?

What would you do?

Would you be mad?

the thing about being nonbinary is that you really do start to forget that other people have such strict walls around what is and isn’t allowed for genders. i thought we all agreed that we made that up. could you climb out of the cave real quick and feel the sunshine for a minute.

need you to see this banger combination of signs i saw today

Poster I did for fun

SHAPE HELL

Yup.

I had a red dot on the palm of my hand for over a year, near the left-hand fate line. I wondered for a while if I gave myself a tattoo of error when my grader's pen met an open wound without my notice. I thought cancer, then shrugged it off until the dot turned black, and sick, I poked at it with tweezers.

When I was twelve or so, I fell off my bike. After an agonizing hour of first aid, everyone was sure all the gravel was gone but me.

Vindication. The last piece of my childhood driveway worked its way up, cell by cell, and made its way to the surface.