I tag "text" and "non fandom" so blacklist if you only want to see fandom posts.
I try and tag trigger warnings but if there's anything you want me to tag, drop me an ask!
do you want a super cool handmade-for-you embroidered badge and subsequently help out a broke queer nerd? well, then check out my etsy! there are lots more badges than shown above (and new ones added daily, basically, as i’m sort of… you know… addicted to embroidery) and i do custom orders as well! if you have something in mind then shoot me a message and we can figure something out, easy peasy!
it would mean the world if you’d reblog this post to spread the world and go to the shopand browse around/favourite some items.
ok, i guess that’s it! i hope you’re having a super lovely day and that the vending machine spits out an extra chocolate bar! stretch your back, drink a glass of water, and remember your meds! love xx
You want to run, but every direction
tugs you with the same force,
so you do a lot of getting nowhere.
You think of that different version of yourself
doing better, knowing the right way to run.
She is a girl crafted from an almost,
A maybe you named to give yourself a guardian.
In your daydreams, she reminds you leaving
is more than longing across the lines of an atlas.
She tells you if you write them a letter,
don’t kiss the envelope after it’s licked and sealed.
If you want to let go, let go.
Don’t linger on the chance they’ll change.
But you know you’ll stay, like always.
This home has its holes, it is a
net that cannot always catch you,
but at least it keeps you breathing.
You still cannot be held without breaking.
You want to run, but you’re convinced
only the other girl could survive out there.
This place fails you, but it tries, and you
wonder if that is all any other can do for you,
if weak china will shatter in anyone’s grip.
Nothing haunts you like your own fragility.
It’s not something you think you can run from.
- ‘Too unstable to start over / too unsafe to stay’ | E.L.T(very vaguely another poppy poem)
To every version of me that thought she was to blame / to the girl almost lifeless on the bathroom floor / to the girl who didn’t eat for a whole weekend / to the girl who could only see herself as a martyr / or as a tragic heroine / or as a lost cause / you are not somebody else’s sacrifice / you are not a thing to be broken / or to be fixed / To every version of me who thinks she is to blame / you did not invite this in / you are not an accessory to anyone’s anger / you did not ask for this / it is not your fault / no one else can measure the success of your survival / you are here and that is enough / you are not less for living through any of it / you are so much and you are enough
honestly this is so difficult to put into one answer but like!!! you are one of my favourite people in the entire world!! you easily are in my best friend tier and you are so kind and lovely and supportive and i don’t know how i would have managed this past year without you!!
and also you are a beautiful, other worldly, vaguely threatening nymph, and also you are pastel trash and also you are the ilana to my abbi
and also you are super incredible with all your activism and you have done so much this year and i am SO proud of you bc honestly you are kicking ass and doing so much and its so great!!!!
and also you have written so many kickass poems that i am in awe of and also you are so unfairly talented at languages and just i could go on and on but yeah i love you and you are brilliant and beautiful and incredible and you do so much and still manage to have time to be an incredible friend and i love you to bits ok xoxoxoxo
somedays you just need to put on your favourite lipstick and take dorky selfies (also i am wearing a top, i promise, you just can’t see it bc of the angle lol)
You are careless cadence over chaotic cacophony.
Somehow your soft is always loudest and your hard
is nothing more than a whisper.
You practice your bitch-face in the bathroom mirror
and hope it will keep the catcallers at a distance
but all it does is frighten the high street chuggers in town.
You hoard all your receipts in a bag in your bottom drawer,
keep three Lush catalogues and handfuls of bent bobby pins
because you just can’t let go of anything these days,
except for the people who actually want to stay.
You spend eighty quid on poetry and polaroid film
and have to eat eggs and ramen for two weeks but
never forget to keep your nails bright and lips crimson.
You are hysterical happy and whiskey drunk, you are
up up up and you are fine, you are so fine but
you are also a goddamned liar. You paint yourself pretty
and you are so honest that you bleed but you are still
glowing like a goddamned lie.
