by tomorrow we’ll be lost amongst the leaves,
in a wind that chills the skeletons of trees,
and when the moon, it shines, i will leave two lines.
find my love, then find me.

(Source: ferllys, via liamdryden)

Tags: heyoooo

Anonymous said: Yo, is it racist to have trees as a sexual preference? My friend, who is a tree, said that it's knot.

yoisthisracist:

I don’t beleaf you.

The Only Thing I Love More Than Accepting People For Who They Are Is Telling Them What To Wear When They’re In My Presence

thatbadadvice:

Ask Amy, 2 September 2014:

DEAR AMY: I’m very accepting of same-sex marriage, and my wife’s sister is married to another woman. But this woman is very masculine in appearance, and intentionally so—as she seems not at all bothered when waiters at restaurants address her as “sir.” She has short, straight hair, uses no makeup, walks and dresses like a man, and doesn’t even own a skirt. She is so “butch” that I’m uncomfortable being seen with her. Is it asking too much for a woman —any woman— to at least display some feminine traits when with friends or relatives in public? — Right … or Judgmental?

Dear Right … or Judgmental?,

Look, I know you—a super-accommodating champion of LGBTQ rights who doesn’t actively oppose gay marriage and so is therefore the pinnacle of human tolerance and an authority on the subject of being the most accepting dude of all time—don’t want to play the gender police, but if you don’t ensure that whatever you imagine people’s genitalia looks like directly correlates to whatever you imagine their gender identity to be, who will?

All you’re asking is for the ability to dictate to another adult human being that they wear clothes they don’t want to wear, and affect mannerisms they don’t want to affect, in order to ensure you don’t feel weird in front of the server at Olive Garden.

With that in mind, I want to get straight to the crux of the question in your signature: are you right to demand that other people adhere to socially mandated outward signifiers of gender identity in your presence?

ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY! Man God created delicate lady helpers to complement and serve Man People like you, the extremely important boss of everyone. The whole entire population of planet earth anxiously awaits your ruling on how they should act and dress in your presence, lest a pair of slacks singularly usher in the end of everything you have ever known or held dear. After all, what if someone thinks your sister-in-law is a man, and then they saw you hanging out with your sister-in-law, thinking she was a man that you were hanging out with????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

When people defy gender norms in public, as if they have any right to a self-determined gender presentation or the wardrobe of their choosing, those who suffer most are the dudes they’re related to by marriage, because logically, flowers rainbows ballet unicorns dresses TOOLS BRICKS TRUCKS PANTS, clearly.

Oh sure, butch-presenting women, femme-presenting men, trans, queer and other gender non-conforming folks are frequently sexually harassed, assaulted and/or shamed both by other members of the public and by the police, politicians and elected officials who have ostensibly been tasked with advocating for and protecting them, but the real victim here is yoooOoooOoooOOOoooUUUuuUUUUuuu, a man-man whose manly manitude is wholly predicated on the sartorial subjugation of other adult humans according to culturally, geographically and temporally variable gender norms that have shifted, and continue to shift, significantly over tens of thousands of years of human history.

Have your wife craft a bedazzled menu of approved “feminine” traits from which your sister-in-law can choose (you wouldn’t do this, naturally, because DIRTBIKES BUD LIGHT FOOTBALL BUKOWSKI), and inform her that you won’t be seen in public with her unless she starts playing pretty princess for you. The situation should quickly resolve itself.

buttonpoetry:

Ollie Renee Schminkey - “Two Twin Beds”

"Loving someone means inventing your own language."

Performing during the Button Showcase at the 2014 National Poetry Slam. Subscribe to Button on YouTube!

(via clementinevonradics)

"Where exactly do you put your hands on somebody who hurts everywhere?"

— Charles D’Ambrosio, The Dead Fish Museum: Stories (via larmoyante)

(via twistedsickkkk)

And what are they to do with the pieces of it that lie in the grass
or waft down afterwards, floating through the atmosphere

like feathers from a featherbed in a tale about the girl
who disappears down a well and returns

in a shower of gold? What to do
with all the minute pieces, the shreds?

The air at times turns violet, the sun neglects
to warm this grainy strip of sand we lie on

waiting to be touched and transformed. And the body
falls apart like hair unloosed, returns element to element,

distills itself. We are only bone and water after all.
Skin covers the gray-tinged grass like the oldest balm

to heal sickness. The air corrupts, dries it,
breaks it down into its former life of cells

to join the inert world of soil and leaf.
They say Da Vinci’s molecules

still orbit the globe, that the air he breathed,
we breathe today. So that when blood is spilled

when skin rains down on this dry earth, perhaps
somehow, the earth remembers.

-Susan Dickman