In Regards Of The Trump Government Scraping All Trans Inclusion In Its Queer Information Portion Of Its

Trust made of dust and bones

Trust is like a chalkboard.

Covered in words and phrases and actions, Written with a chalk made of dust and bones.

It's easy to erase, But the chalk is so hard to make.

I always used to wonder, Why didn't we use ink instead?

Write it on paper? With the ink made of blood.

Its more permanent, It lasts longer.

I think I understand why we use chalk now.

Any mistake made in ink can never be fixed.

It can be hidden, It can be covered with more ink,

But it's always there.

We have to work hard to make the chalk, When ink is so easy.

We have to treasure the chalk, But we don't worry about the mistakes made in it.

The ink made of blood is far to easy to make, Far to easy to write with, Far too easy to mess up.

When you mess up once, It can never be fixed.

With chalk, You can just wipe it away.

Spilled ink is forever ink astray.

what if instead of having spell slots, each time we cast a spell, we have to eat a proportional marshmallow? Like, eventually ur gonna become so disgusted by the taste that you can't eat them anymore. And thus, you are out of spells.

the balcony

(TW for suicidal themes at the end)

The balcony.

My most prominent memory is of the balcony, Leaning against the railing and staring longingly into the sea of stars above my head.

A whisp of a memory from when I was an infant, My mother holding me, Standing on the balcony.

No matter what had happened each day, I always found my way back to the balcony at its end.

My fifth birthday, My sixth, My seventh, All the way through my fifteenth, At every party, The balcony was where I hid.

I met my best friend there, My crush asked my out there, My mother died there.

And that is where I became queen.

Now, So much time has passed, A cycle at least.

Of which cycle I cannot tell, But it is much time nonetheless.

I stay trapped here, On this balcony.

The balcony where my life began, I am trapped.

But I cannot leave.

If I leave they will be forgotten, The people of the balcony memories.

If they are forgotten, They never existed at all.

I am trapped in this balcony.

This balcony where my life began, This balcony where it shall end.

And as I lay there, Looking up at the stars, with the balcony just barely in view, I wonder.

And I hope this will not happen anew.

just got hit with a wave of pain

L I f e s u c k s

Me: *disassociating in the car on the way to the musical I'm in*

The podcast my mom has on: for more on fish having a better life than you,

Me: *suddenly aware and slightly offended* I know it's true but still RUDE

Me: *dehydrated as fuck*

Me: I don't wanna moveeeee

My brain: get water idiot

Me: I w I l l s u f f e r

yall know that one audio where a woman yells STEVEN in an Irish/Scottish (I genuinely cannot tell which) accent?

Imagine Danny and Damian's reunion goes like this:

At a gala (Danny is unfortunately vlads heir)

Damian: DANYAL!

Danny, freezing:

Damian: I thought you were dead!

(please tell me I did not hallucinate a whole audio)

What if we all just treat the rich and politicians like dragons?

They hoard their wealth, so why don't we make like brave knights and steal it?

SLAY THE CORRUPT POLITICIANS AND STEAL THEIR HOARD!!!!