Will People PLEASE Stop Arguing With Me (in Real Life) And Trying To Convince Me I Am Gay?? I Pulled

with tears in my eyes, I begged you to stay/you said, “hey man, I love you, but no fucking way” or (kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the face)

Sorry for professing my undying love for you. Can we go back to just being two dudes who flirt with each other in a really funny, totally one-hundred-percent platonic way? I’m sorry for telling you I thought you looked kissable tonight. When I first met you I fell hard. You’re the reason we got together and the reason we broke up. (Not really. That had more to do with being left on read for weeks.) When you don’t answer I get scared. I even started checking the obituaries by Day Four. I’ve never believed in anything as strongly as I believe you in you. This is love, and it’s bitter. It’s sour, and it’s awful, and it’s ugly, but I’ve felt it in my bones for two years now, so I know it won’t just go away. You’re the rhythm guitar in my heart. I asked you to join my band just so you’d always be there. Even if you can hardly play, you’re still my first choice. I want you with me for the rest of my life. I hope you don’t see this shit. I think I’d die. Well, this is the part where I admit I’m tired cause it’s two a.m. and I’m probably sick again. Goodnight. 

–S.S. (yours)

saw the post in the screenshot (inside of the screenshot) and it’s the time of year where family is all you have, so…

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The worst part is I don't even have her face, I have his. I wish I had the kindness of her eyes. Instead, every day I wake up and the mirror is just another reminder of him. His brown eyes, his sharp angled face, and his spirit. His hands, his feet. His anger. His rage. It's all mine. All of it. Sometimes it makes me hate myself. Everyone thinks I'm his carbon copy. "Just like his father," they say. Well they don't know how much it hurts me. They don't know what he really was. They don't know the pain and bruises I carry around because of him to this day. Nobody lived the life me and my mom did. They saw the best side of him. We suffered through the worst. I can honestly say I'm glad he's gone now. And all I want is to erase his face. It was all him. And he was the sum of it all—he was the only mistake my mother made.

The body of Christ as a symbol of self-punishment. (or, stigmata)

I’m a seven year old boy’s little green toy soldier, crushed and broken under the weight of his father’s work boots. I’ve fought in a thousand wars. I flinch at the sound of rough hands. God has forsaken me, even in my dying breath. Maybe my prayers never work, not because he can’t hear me, but because he chooses not to. Because he hates what I am. He despises me, yet I amuse him. I am The Divine’s favorite plaything. I’m made of duct tape and scars. It’s a vicious cycle of patching myself up, and falling apart. Nobody hears me beg. Nobody listens to my pleas. I cry out once for every punishing lash of the belt.

The wind is as cold as my feet tonight.

Outside on thanksgiving, in my grandparents back yard. I’m almost half as tall as the tree that once towered over me. I’m more comfortable here than I am inside. I like being alone better sometimes, when my head isn’t too loud. And I am grateful for many things. For him. For my best friend/the only girl I’ve ever loved. For my cat. For the cool windy air. For stolen, secret lunch-break kisses, and flirting with people I’ll never have. that the band that’s always been a part of me, might now actually work out someday. For my cousin. For the bands on the radio that got me this far. That I can express how I feel, even if it’s only in what I write. For all my friends, the people I know I can count on. That he’s still alive. I think the thing I’m most grateful for is that I’m still alive to experience the rare good things in my life. I held on long enough for that. And it would be a tragedy if I had died before finally being happy. Goodnight, I guess. (For once I think I mean that.)

summer or winter // coffee or tea // straight hair or curly hair //fiction or nonfiction // necklaces or bracelets // marshmallows or whipped cream // night in or night out // sunset or sunrise // pizza or pasta // cold drink or hot drink // vampire or werewolf // crop top or oversized hoodie // be able to fly or run at super speed // speak many languages or able to speak to animals // be invisible or read minds// phone call or text// laundry or dishes // pool or beach //flats or heels //stay home or go out // coke or pepsi // cook dinner or do dishes // books or movies // dogs or cats // chocolate or vanilla // facebook or instagram// over-dressed or under-dressed // morning or late nights // always late or always early // dancer or singer // always eat only dessert or always eat only savoury // shopping or museum // art gallery or zoo //parties or picnics // white lights or multicolored lights

Thanks for the tag @youreyesaremyfavoritecolor no pressure:

@empty-pools-vacant-alleyways, @ghostopossumlives

thank you for the tag @lirenthenonlyrist <3

summer or winter // coffee or tea // straight hair or curly hair //fiction or nonfiction // necklaces or bracelets // marshmallows or whipped cream // night in or night out // sunset or sunrise // pizza or pasta // cold drink or hot drink // vampire or werewolf // crop top or oversized hoodie // be able to fly or run at super speed // speak many languages or able to speak to animals // be invisible or read minds// phone call or text// laundry or dishes // pool or beach //flats or heels //stay home or go out // cook dinner or do dishes // books or movies // dogs or cats // chocolate or vanilla // facebook or instagram// over-dressed or under-dressed // morning or late nights // always late or always early // dancer or singer // always eat only dessert or always eat only savoury // shopping or museum // art gallery or zoo //parties or picnics // white lights or multi-coloured lights

no pressure tags: @pretentiouswreckingball @ablique @doofranch @callmesel @friendofthefrogswastaken :)

Reddit just gave me a THREE DAY ban. I hate my life

Courtney Love is actually super hot, you’re all just wrong btw

hope this helps!! 🩷🩷🩷

For My Father

For you, my Father, if you came back, I would leave something cooking on the stove. I’d let the smell fill the house so it’d be like you were here, making dinner while I watched cartoons. I would take the sweaty, stinky, athletic clothes you used to wear running and leave them in annoying places so Mom would lecture you the way she always did. It would be like you never left. We would still be a family. 

When you come home, I would buy the things you liked to eat. I’d put things on our table for you, like the odd-smelling ‘’healthy’’ foods, the gluten free bread that always tasted like sand, and the fig newtons that always made me think of you. I would hear the sound of you opening the door again. Coming home from work, you always greeted us with a smile, even though sometimes, even as a child, I could tell it wasn't real.

I’d leave your blue and green, size thirteen running shoes by the door for you. You could put them on and go for a run around the neighborhood like you used to. Then you’d come back home and spend the evening with us. We would sit and talk, just to be father and son again. I’d set aside everything you ever did if it meant I could get closure one last time. You’d tell me and mom that you always loved us, and all the bad things never mattered. I’d look at your crow’s feet, and see my own eyes staring back at me. I’d see myself in you, an older version of me, but still one in the same. Those same brown eyes.

When you died, I was young enough that I still called you Daddy. Now the memories are distant like you were and I call you ‘my Father’, but if you came back, I’d call you Dad, for old times sake. I’d let you hug me, and we could pretend we were a perfect, happy family. God knows we were far from it, but nobody ever died trying (except maybe you.) 

I’ll tell you who I am now, what my life is like. I hope you’ll say you were proud of me. If you don’t, that’s okay. I’ve managed this long without you. I think I can manage the rest of my life. I’m resilient. I get that from you. So, when the day is done, you’ll go back into the ground you came from, and I’ll be okay. After all, I’m still your son, no matter how much I wish I wasn’t some of these days. Just know that you can rest now. It will all be okay. Goodnight, Dad.