I Bet You Didn't Intend To Be THIS MUCH Of A Muse... [:
Hurricane rescued me salvaged calamity she held on to my last bit of sanity she claims firm grips are merely good planning
but i say they’re proof of a solid reality.
our passion and progress is proof of the loyalty. our eyes in our pictures are proof of the certainty that covers our worried little heads when we sleep with assurance; our sandman, is a fuckin’ Marine!
why we know when we’re right, how we know when we’re wrong they’re simply the harmony to the same song—
the hymn of intuition plays softly in minds but it plays loudly in yours just like in mine
YOU are the reason you are still here. because YOU are the power behind your sheer— will. Will you make it or not? Will this monster you claim to be swallow you up?
Not while my ass is staple-gunned to your side.
I already took down all your bricks from last night… I collected them neatly, they’re stacked in a pile awaiting the next time you stack them with style.
but your lack of mortar shows you don’t mean it.
i can see through your
through the cracks of the bricking.
and that’s why i dissassemble it every night, awaiting the fresh morning’s sunlight to shine on your soft, sleepy face
and prove to you yesterday’s mistakes
have been erased.
so please, for my sake, don’t get any ideas don’t try some mortar to make a good seal.
it’d be quite a workout for me to bust down. but i would, sledgehammer in hand, find a way around
your best attempts to block me out because our flickering wicks don’t count
our fire can’t be stifled its impossible to snuff out.
like those really, really, annoying trick birthday candles that people always try to “surprise” you with, but after trying to blow them out like 3 times, the gig is up and the jokes not funny anymore, but then your family wants to take more pictures cause they didn’t get one that wasn’t blurry the first few times you were trying to blow them out, so you have to keep pretending to be pleasantly frustrated that your candles won’t blow out for a stupid picture that’s probably gonna be bad anyways cause parents suck with cameras.
except OUR fire can’t be dipped into cups of water meant for the ice cream scooper…
oh well, i’m sorry, i don’t think i can rhyme any more, that took alot out of me….
“Drag queens and drag kings are transgender tribal royalty — they bravely go where few men or women have gone before. Why do you suppose we call them kings and queens? They are breathtakingly brave, gorgeous, and fierce. Please keep in mind, it was the chicks with dicks and the bull daggers who led LGBT people into revolutionary battle at Stonewall in 1969. Our queens stood on the front lines for us. Do you get it, GL(noT)AAD? Without drag queens, you’d have nothing to be glad about.”—
stop. staring. at. me. or just go ahead and take a picture, it’ll last longer.
i’m aware i have rainbow hair. make an assessment and be on your way.
i’m also aware that i have my cheek pierced; yes it hurt, but only for a second.
i’m not a lady. no, i’m not quite what comes to your mind when you think of a man either, but that doesn’t mean i’m not one.
i’m aware my Fiancé is beautiful. i’m also aware she’s amazingly supportive and understanding. i’m very glad you noticed, thank you for appreciating her, but please limit your compliments now. they’re starting to get creepy. and stop comparing her to your girlfriend. she’s not like your girlfriend,rememeber? that’s why you started talking about my Fiancé to begin with? complaining about your girlfriend?
yes, i piss sitting down. for 2(or more) reasons: i like reading breaks throughout my day, and i’m pretty regular, so its more of a hassle to pee standing up, and then have to turn around and sit down. i’m lazy. get over it.
please start paying attention to what lane your driving in instead of craning your neck to catch a longer glimpse at my *gasp* “ghastly” mo-hawk. traffic sucks. you suck. your hair sucks. mine’s fabulous. but this isn’t the most permanent of problems, so it’ll be okay.
i didn’t steal this baby. she’s part mine, i’m allowed to be pushing the grocery cart she’s sitting in, or holding onto the side of. queers purchase goods for their pantries too. do i look like a kidnapper? BAH! don’t even.
OH, and while i’m on that note, stop pulling your kids closer to you when i pass by. like i look like some sort of serial-killing-child-rapist. come on. i’m a pot-smokin-tranny-hippie-fuck. and i’m the future, bitch. so get used to me.
STOP WEARING SO MUCH GODDAMN RED. and stop buying red cars, red shirts, red shoes, red hats, red portable folding chairs, red FUCKING BULLDOGS with no use other than to put on your doorstep— JUST BECAUSE THEY ARE RED. it doesn’t make you a better UGA fan and it definitely doesn’t help your fashion sense. it just helps you match EVERY OTHER PERSON AT YOUR SCHOOL.
no one really cares, Mr. what’s the score? so don’t ask.
and if you really think that genitalia has anything to do with anything about a person—if you REALLY can CONSCIOUSLY say that people were made to be binary-gendered,and anything less than that needs to be altered—if youREALLY are going to describe something to me as “like a man”—
you can go ahead and blow me. cause you suck.
i’m done ranting…. sorry.
I didn’t write this…. just found it on a random tumblr….