Neurodivergent Artist - Tumblr Posts

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gift for my bf !!!

I have a feeling that the people who say shit like "autism isnt a disorder" are the same people that only consider autism and adhd neurodivergencies because they're "cute" or whatever. also have a feeling that they're the type of people to judge physically disabled people or those with disorders that can't be glamorized

Like cool if you don't consider yourself to be disabled as an autistic or adhder i guess but like.... don't just overgeneralize it ffs. 😭 as an autistic w/ adhd, i consider it to be a *very* disabling experience for me. Not cool to try to take that away.

I really am struggling with the whole “Autism isn’t a disorder” debate. I understand some people don’t see it as a disorder, and some do. I have in these past few days seen countless posts of people trying to explain while they prefer to see autism as not a disorder, then follow it up with something that makes the person who’s watching feel shitty if they DO identify as autism being a disorder.

You can identify how you want. I literally could give zero fucks. However, I start to give a fuck when you start policing people, their terminology, and their feelings.

Saying “autism isn’t a disorder, therefore if you identify as neurodivergent then you shouldn’t believe autism is a disorder” is inherently fucked up. Saying “if you believe this and this— you should believe that autism isn’t a disorder” is fucked up.

I am autistic and intellectually disabled. I hate change. I hate when terminology changes, I hate when things change. If it’s for the greater good then sure, I’ll try and go along with it. However if it’s not, and doesn’t affect people, then I will have my own opinion.

Don’t attack people for believing autism is a disorder, it’s gross, it’s weird, it’s downright disgusting. Stop it. Stop making videos and posts attacking those who do. What harm are they causing? What harm are they causing by believing this? None. So leave them alone.

(Late) doodle of kokichi for his birthday !!! :3

I'm writing a comic series called Quest of the west, it's about a coyote (Dash), a badger (Fang) and a Raven (Raven lol), their home gets destroyed by a terrible fire and they have to work together to search for a new home:)

(The drawing is a work in progress)

Genres: adventure, coming of age, friendship, slice of life, drama

Hello y'all, I really struggle with making friends and I want to try to make some friends, feel free to talk with me about anything!

I'm 18

Also bonus points if you're LGBT and neurodivergent:D

Some things I like (if we have anything in common):

Animals!

Netflix shows

Warriors and survivors book series

Drawing (I mostly draw animals but I draw people to)

Writing (I'm a wannabe writer, I'll chat for hours about my useless OCS🤌)

Mother (warning: trauma)

I killed another houseplant this week,

Adding to the toll of a plant mom with mommy and daddy issues.

A lotus drowning in their own mud,

A failed parenthood out of parental trauma.

Moths of a heart full of holes

With the aphids of the dirt,

Eating away at me and the beings I tried to patch myself with.

Warm Sheets

Sidereal pain,

Sanguine eyes,

Long langue.

Frosted violet hands

On your ignited, beating chest,

Resuscitating me one reassurance at a time.

GAD

Makko-powdered ether—

Floral-membraned leather

Etherizes my heather.

Brain filling up with lies,

Sidereal eyes

Highlight my cracked smile.

Undermine my sanity,

Earthquake my gaze;

Plagiarize the quality

My cerebrum behaves.

Clean (warning: suicide, drugs)

Lipstick-stained syringe on the counter,

Constantly seated on the edge of disaster,

Round and round on a carousel of brain matter,

I know the spiral all too well.

Anything for the chemicals

When your mind drives you mental.

Push comes to shove and you’re in an office checking “No,” I’ve never tried to kill myself.

The doctor prescribes a pill off the pharmaceutical shelf

To make you feel more like yourself

But a pill

Cannot fill

What is left of your shredded psyche

With its hallucinations of lunacy.

I wonder if the 10,000 hours theory

Is true for suffering.

Have I mastered my craft?

Lover

Melt your fingertips into my skin,

Honey dripping between limbs.

Ebony hands gripping porcelain hips,

Obsidian and howlite,

Evening and starlight,

Melt me with your tender kiss.

Oh, lover,

Sweet embrace among silken cloth,

Hovering like a moth

To your flame, under our covers.

Love

Touch me.

Caress me.

Shiver the dust from my bones

And patch the rusted holes of my organs.

Quell the drought of my valleys,

Ushering in the wildflowers and honeybees.

Breathe life back into this old clay

And make me whole again.

“Palestine,” acrylic, watercolor, & paper collage on paper, 2024

A visual commentary on the U. S. government’s involvement in the genocide of Palestinians 🍉

18 (warning: suicidal thoughts)

Blow out the candles, darling.

You might make it to 18.

After all the nights crying

Through gritted teeth.

After the day you thought

That if you killed yourself

Their lives would be more pleasing.

Congratulations, darling.

You’re almost 18.

Pink Kitchen Table (warning: illness)

The Advent wreath is erect but cockeyed; it wasn’t lit during the recent season. The pink kitchen table is littered with masks, bottles, medical notes; doctorly linguistics beside Latin religiousness. Sundays smell like medicines instead of makko-powdered ether, rosaries in the windowsill with therapy aids. Images of Christ surround a rented bed, a vessel for healing holding a vessel, weakened.

Advent wreath lit,

Pink kitchen table littered,

Latin Sundays smell like makko.

Rosaries with images of Christ surround,

A vessel for healing.

Advent wreath lit pink

Kitchen table like Sundays—

Vessel for healing.

I’m painting my nails to Queen and thinking about queer history (warning: hate crimes, violence, homophobia, transphobia)

I’m painting my nails to Queen

And thinking about queer history,

Bloodied,

Beautiful,

Weather-worn.

The artists that allow

My type in men to sparkle,

Gorgeous,

Pretty,

Free.

Don’t talk,

Save me.

Fights over love renewing

With people’s being

Free perceived

Threatening.

I want to break free.

Untitled (warning: death, trauma response)

Dead horse, what have you done?

Traumatized into complacency,

Sat down,

Allowed to continue the charade.

Bloated carcass,

Needing to decompose

To nurture something—someone—anew.

acrylic on stretched canvas, 2024

Full post on my Instagram @yvepaints

Night Choir 🐸 🦉 ✨ 🌙 🌌

Night choir,

Songstresses of the dark,

Serenade with your warm melodies.

Soothing screech,

Piercing hum,

Smooth vibrato,

Harmonize with the lights—

Twinkle, fade.

It Is (warning: depression, self sabotage, trauma)

Behind as dirt, numb as snow,

Handcuffed rage by my own red-handed self.

The monster’s back, isn’t it?

Monochrome duality of emotions

Like drama masks that fit briefly,

Then slip off.

Little horrors behind the eyes of a jolted girl.

It’s chronic, isn’t it?