raynicorns are real
Month
as in yeah i see you over there with the potential to be flyer than I ever imagined you could be (via elementsofchill)
(via blkproverbs)
I read in the paper that my brothers are being thrown from rooftops blindfolded with their hands tied behind their backs for violating sharia law. I heard the crowds stone these fallen men if they move after they hit the ground. I heard it’s in the name of God. I heard my pastor speak for God too, quoting scripture from his book. Words like abomination popped off my skin like hot grease as he went on to describe a lake of fire that God wanted me in. I heard on the news that the aftermath of a hate crime left piles of bodies on a dance floor this month. I heard the gunman feigned dead among all the people he killed. I heard the news say he was one of us. I was six years old when I heard my dad call our transgender waitress a faggot as he dragged me out a neighborhood diner saying we wouldn’t be served because she was dirty. That was the last afternoon I saw my father and the first time I heard that word, I think, although it wouldn’t shock me if it wasn’t. Many hate us and wish we didn’t exist. Many are annoyed by our wanting to be married like everyone else or use the correct restroom like everyone else. Many don’t see anything wrong with passing down the same old values that send thousands of kids into suicidal depression each year. So we say pride and we express love for who and what we are. Because who else will in earnest? I daydream on the idea that maybe all this barbarism and all these transgressions against ourselves is an equal and opposite reaction to something better happening in this world, some great swelling wave of openness and wakefulness out here. Reality by comparison looks grey, as in neither black nor white but also bleak. We are all God’s children, I heard. I left my siblings out of it and spoke with my maker directly and I think he sounds a lot like myself. If I being myself were more awesome at being detached from my own story in a way I being myself never could be. I wanna know what others hear, I’m scared to know but I wanna know what everyone hears when they talk to God. Do the insane hear the voice distorted? Do the indoctrinated hear another voice entirely?
missing someone - something?
a lot of the time, you don’t miss the way they are now,
but how they were
with you.
which blows because it can’t
be like that.
so you find another level
for them to be on.
and if you find that level,
you feel like
they’re totally different,
and
completely out of character
and
that level doesn’t even work for
who they are now.
and
what if this new them is the real them, and
whoever they were with you wasn’t.
and
what if that new them
isn’t someone
you
want to know.
now you’re confused because
you
just asked a lot of questions,
but none of those
questions
ended with a
question mark,
just a period.
you
know the answers.
it’s this long winded experience that
you
want to sulk about,
but simply can’t
because it’s not sad, just frustrating.
not infuriating, just upsetting.
embarrassing, almost.
my kink is when people admit i was right