The answer to your white guilt is not to lament about there “not being any Indians left” to show people you’re a caring white person. We were harmed, but we are still here, and erasing us only harms us further.
"Those blankets look like there's a person under them. But my SO is downstairs, so obviously not. They're just lumped in a person-shape. I'm not that paranoid." *stomps on blankets to be sure*
“She forgot her knife that morning.” Some things come out pretty fucking ominous when I narrate my day.
When they say "make love, not war," but your cock ring is stretchy enough to shoot at your partner like a rubber band.
Little flag they put on little carts for children at the store. It is gross and disheartening in its truth. This is what children are in United States capitalism.
One of my favorite things about a history of abuse is that the most confusing and even suspicious thing a person can do is act with tenderness toward me.
❤️💙🖤💛
"I am not going to go pee. I just peed like five minutes ago, I refuse to let my bladder win." "That's not how it works..." "I. Refuse."
Eye contact = too much intimacy. Touching hair= ah, perfect.