What If They Started Printing Ads In Books

what if they started printing ads in books

Any other dyspraxics obsessively chew on their straws, making it always clear which drink is yours?

Today seems like the day to highlight two poems, one I write, one by a beautiful stranger to me:

i tore out my veins and replaced my blood with soil and let the flowers grow inside of me in a desperate attempt to make myself closer to god

“The day I’m killed, my killer, rifling through my pockets, will find travel tickets: One to peace, one to the fields and the rain, and one to the conscience of humankind.

Dear killer of mine, I beg you: Do not stay and waste them. Take them, use them. I beg you to travel.” — Samih al-Qasim

This time last year, I was in shock over Pulse. I didn’t know yet the KJ died there. I left the house, and saw my death in every face I saw. Saw the deaths of my lovers, friends, community. Saw the faces of every TWOC murdered, every trans youth suicide. Saw the face of Larry King, who was murdered just days after I came out at 15. That was the first time I wondered when I would be next.

A year later, I’m still alive. Not everyone in my community is. Hate has increased, at least it’s public repercussions. I see a young queer with blue hair on the train. I pray for their life and safety and joy.

Please hold each other fiercely, love each other with every fiber of your beautiful souls.

I see you. I love you. And I will fight for you every day until my soul isn’t returned to my body

You’re blushing~   🐰💕💐