Trans Artist - Tumblr Posts

Going to start reblogging my art on my main blog to get more attention to my art account.

Hi Tumblr!!! This is my art account!!!! I’ll be posting my art here!!!! For now here’s my pfp, it took me a while to be content with making it look good but I then decided to make myself look straight out of Pokémon and it worked! I’ll be posting more art here soon!

"An angel walks into a strip club."

An idea I've had in my head for a long while but have never gotten out till now. Inspired by the title of an itch.io game by Sophie Artemigi (as well as a load of abstract comics). I can't wait to play the game now that I've finally gotten this idea out of my head!

Two new guys ive been going crazy over. Help.

Dark haired one is ben (belonging to @labyrinth-walker <3 also hes not green i swear) and the blond one is jude. Pure self indulgence in these two on our parts!!!

It is judes assigned birthday today happy bday old man!!! (Hes 62 now)

haven't been writing lately. traded living in my head for living outside this body.

because here at uni, i’ve been static. no one knows anything about me. no one ever asked. i don’t know anything about anyone. my friends say i’m an alcoholic in the making. i like to think there is more to me than that. but i probably am. i think i just wanna throw my life away. its so easy.

squeeze all the toothpaste out of the tube. punch a transphobe. smoke a cig. drink just to feel. drive somewhere far away. sleep in your car. spend all your savings. and then die. i’d be happy then.

you cross your arms. shut down.

“don’t worry about me, i’ve got a lot on my mind”

i smile as i turn the conversation back around to you. its beautiful, all the words come pouring out of you. you sound like you might cry. there might be something wrong with me, because i want you to cry.

maybe i just want you to be comfortable with yourself around me.

you ground me.

i really do love you.

nonetheless, i listen. as i start to run through my thoughts, try to select an appropriate response, you usually end up speaking again. i hope you don’t mistake my silence for not giving a fuck. if i voiced every thought in my head around you, you’d never be able to get a word in otherwise.

rush week

she’s really drunk. she loves her boyfriend, and wishes she was a man.

she’s adamant. she wishes she was a man. she used to wear a binder everyday, but then she met her boyfriend.

and her boyfriend wouldn’t love her if she was anything but who she’s pretending to be.

“i wish i was a man,”

“you know, i used to have these thoughts a lot before i realized i was trans.”

i’m stone cold sober.

“i’ve been ignoring it for years, wait do you want a white claw?”

i walked into this party with a shaking body, but i put on a happy face and talk to my friends. but they know its an act.

i chug my drink. i want to be drunk.

“are you alright?”

a lot of people have asked me this lately. i used to be good at hiding it. there must be something in the way i carry myself, or the lack of light in my eyes when i smile.

“yeah, just really fucking depressed. i don’t want to be here but i know i should go through the motions.”

i feel fine, but my body won’t keep up. i’m getting migraines a few days every week. i stopped getting my period. sometimes all the lymph nodes in my body swell up. sometimes i get so dizzy i can’t walk straight. (i started writing again)

i don’t have the energy anymore to keep up with a room full of laughing friends. my body language falters, the smile in my eyes is gone, my apparent apathy // disenchantment comes through.

but whatever.

“you’re so cool. you shouldn’t be sad, you have so much swagger.”

she’s medicated and four beers in.

i should join a frat. not sure i could do another cult though. i gotta stop going all in on an institution.

i don’t know how to end this. just kept getting worse. i wanna sleep.

vendetta, wi

i keep my eyes glued to the road when i start seeing the exit signs for you. like i might accidentally start sweeping the town for you. not that we'd recognize each other. politely turned down i-love-you’s. the pit in my stomach faded into the fluorescent bulb buzz. the face of my grief changed to some other kid desperate for a body to sleep with. i keep my eyes glued to the road, and i repeat, what does it matter anyway? because its all i can think about. every impala, straight piped, navy, broken bumper, black, dented fender, tinted windows, doors that don’t lock.

i never cried for you like i cried for him.

to hyperventilate in his room. to cry as i hug him goodbye. to watch 300 miles of highway lines pass through my tears. to call my friends to come to my room, because i’m shirtless, laying on the floor with blood thinners in my right hand and a knife in my left.

thats not the same as forced tears on your couch, as you tell me i’m not a good person. hell, we were sixteen. fourteen. twelve. what did we know? you never cared for me like i cared for you, like my friends care for me now. i pity anyone who ever crossed paths with you.

artist statement for photos not yet developed:

its cliche to run around taking pics of gravestones. yet i do it anyway. i take pictures of the same things over and over again.

exit signs.

yearning for loved ones.

the balance between processing emotions, grief, and running the other way. grief.

bring your loved ones closer, steal flowers from the neighbor’s, write their name in the prayer book of a god you don’t believe in. because its comforting to think you can help from where you are.

give grandma the memorial bench. its the thought that someone cared enough to, not the money and lavish treatment received. i miss her.

i miss people i never met. yet i feel my mother and father’s grief, i feel the holes in their heart, the weight of my mother’s sobs on the staircase, the night my grandfather passed.

i miss my grandma.

she’d be so proud. i’ll bring her a book. i know she loves me, she’s probably praying for me and doesn’t approve of who i really am.

but her love was infectious. it was strong. she was so proud of everything i did. i wish i had more time. i took her for granted. i still wish i could surprise her with flowers. go out for dinner with her. read her texts.

my heart starts to hurt. exit.

my heart hurts.

“i feel like i’ve been neglecting you lately,” and do you feel bad? i swear to god, the hardest thing i do is let you live. people grow apart, and thats just how it goes. i love you. i want the best for you. and maybe i’m not what’s best for you. and that’s what hurts. its written all over my face. its in the way i carry myself. its in my voice. my mother knows. she won’t tell me she knows. because i hate to admit that i feel this way.

but i love you. i want the best for you. and maybe i’m not what’s best for you. and that’s what hurts.

you had a pretty bad panic attack on thursday. you ran away on friday. this is how midwest emo songs start, how albums are created for years to come. cmon, “its been three whole years of me thinking about you everyday, sometimes for hours, sometimes in passing.” samples from voicemails. things like that.

its okay.

its going to have to be okay.

i will get through this.

i will have to.

you don’t need god, you need a single general admission ticket to a semi-rowdy crowd. you need the bass pounding in your chest, the push of bodies all around you, dry mouth, shirt stuck to your back with sweat, screaming along with strangers you have never met and will never meet again, that is healing you cannot get anywhere else. you need to take a minute to realize its safe to be yourself, howl along with the crowd. i don’t know how we synchronize up like this.

Q&A: Interview

would we recognize each other if we saw each other? turns out i do, it just took me a few minutes. i just gessoed over a canvas of you. that was enough.

would we recognize each other if we saw each other? turns out i do, but it took me a while. it wasn’t your face that pulled me in, it was your shirt. i have the same one.

i just gessoed over a canvas that put the last shovelful of dirt over your grave. i am now covering it in things that actually matter to me, with exactly one implication of you.

(i don’t want to disrupt the flow, but if i really didn’t care, why am i trying to rub it in? what am i trying to prove? and to who?)

that was a lifetime ago, was it not? the feelings i had at the time were okay to feel,(thisisgrowth) but now i don’t know why i was ever sad. angry. upset. empty. whatever the fuck.

(i have since learned that all emotions have been hidden and obscured)

i shoved you in a therapy shaped hole, diagnosed with bpd, (probably,) at least that’s what they told me in the hospital last march when they found me bleeding out and overdosed on the floor.

i shoved you in a therapy shaped hole, undiagnosed with bpd, because that psychiatrist didn’t know me for more than ten minutes, and she didn’t even write it down.

would we recognize each other if we saw each other? i asked myself that for years. i’ve changed so much, yet you might notice that nothing has changed. at all.

would we recognize each other if we saw each other? i hope my face was only familiar in a distant way, desperately trying to put a name on it. you don’t even know my name.

i had my closure forever ago. but i always wondered. if we’d recognize each other if we saw each other again.

he told me that we’d spend the rest of our lives looking for each other in new lovers, and then he said he was joking. i can think of twenty reasons why this is not the case and about three reasons why it is.

one (1)

i was never actively suicidal.

it wasn’t until i was shaking on the floor, (was i drunk?) staring at my wrists realizing that i may have fucked it up this time.

there was never a solid date and time, (why would there be?)

it wasn’t until the blood was dripping on the floor that i texted my friends, in complete fucking crisis, completely fucking incoherent,

“does she still have all your knives?”

“see, here’s the part you’re not going to like.”

i ripped a page out of a hard bound sketchbook. (there were rules?) addressed it to you, don’t totally remember what i said, something along the lines of “i think i might have accidentally ended it tonight, don’t blame yourself, i love you”

i write backwards to obscure what i say, as if my erratic way of jumping from thought to thought wasn’t enough. work for it. i don’t make easy listens. i give you something to analyze. everything has a reason.

or maybe i’m just a shit writer

i remember when i came back to my dorm room. everything was untouched. a half empty jug of milk sitting outside my fridge. the note in front of the door. a pile of blankets on the floor by the window, because i spent a whole week crying. my goldfish swimming in their tank on top of my desk. blood on the floor. i was wearing that bullets long sleeve.

blue jeans.

that’s how you know i’m sad. when i’m wearing colors? some part of me must love myself, because i do everything i can to try and cheer myself up.

want to talk about it?

some other part of me must hate myself, because he says “fuck this,” and i don't remember where i was going with the sentence, which is actually the problem.

endings. i was never too good at those. and yet i keep apologizing for it instead of trying to fix it.

last thursday night, i spent hours researching hrt. i told my best friend. i was 87% sure i wanted to do it. he said, “can i play devil’s advocate?” and i said, “yes,” and he said, “are you sure you want to do it? its a permanent change.”

i laughed.

(i say shit without thinking. i will always say yes to him without thinking. i won’t think about the consequences with him. that’s what happens when this shit is indescribable.)

i get where he’s coming from. but i feel weird, wasn’t it painful to watch me struggle for years to insist i was a girl when i so clearly never quite wore it right? do you really think this is something i’ve decided overnight?

I'm filled with feelings cause y'know.

FUCK

Image description: A drawing of a monster that's similar to a human except it's arms and torso are covered in lumps under it's skin, it's eyes are empty spirals and the back of its head is drawn out into a point. It's drawn with sketchy lines and has it's right hand on its heart and is looking to the left, showing you it's profile. Around it's leg and left arm it has bloody bandages. Around its chest a bandage is wrapped so tight it's bending the ribs inwards.

It's ears are long and pointy and it has a wide smiled.

Its fingers are sharp and its hands are big, its fingertips, joints and nose are all scribbled over with black. It's skin is white and on its right side it's got a shadow of red behind it.

In the second image is the monster accompanied with the text "I GOT OUT"

(Image description: a profile view drawing of a woman wearing a pink hijab facing to the left. She has medium dark skin and pepper freckles with brown eyes. She has a crooked nose with a gold piercing. Out of the back of her head there are tree branches with bright green leaves and pink flowers. She's confident and smiling. It's a cartoon style drawing so her eyes are bigger than they would be realistically and she has a "triangle nose" colored darker than the rest of her skin. Only her upper lip is colored in, the same color as her nose. End image description)

FUCKIN ART

POSTED THIS TO THE WRONG BLOG GOD DAMMIT

[ID: a traditional drawing of a head cut off at the neck with two slices of it bleeding floating just under it on a white background. It’s drawn in a cartoon style with bigger eyes and a “triangle nose” in a slightly darker color as well as the ears and their upper lip with their lower lip uncolored. Their neck is cut at a slight angle and red blood is dripping from the slices. They have light skin and pointy elf ears, they have shaved sides with longer hair on the top dyed a pastel purple with dark brown outgrowth. They have thick short eyebrows and extremely defined cheekbones. The eyes don’t have a pupil and the whites are veiny. They’re wearing cyber bite piercings. End image description]

Feeliosis SUCK

And are the reasons I haven’t posted for so long

[ID: a person drawing of a light skinned person sitting in a jar that's a quarter filled up with earth. The person does not have a head and out of their neck there a white flowers growing. They are wearing a red over sized hoodie with four pins on it. They are curled up with their knees to their chest and their arms are crossed. The background is black and inside the jar there are stars behind the person. End image description]

ART

[image description: a traditional drawing of a floating head. The face is round and soft with a small mouth. The eyes have long thick eyelashes and big eyeliner. The cheeks and chin are dotted with acne. The hair on the sides is short and black and the hair on top is longer and blue. An arrow is going through the head at an upwards angle and the point is covered in blue blood. Where the neck is cut off blue blood is dripping. The eyes are closed and the corners of the mouth are slightly upturned.

On the right side of the drawing it's written "Boys bleed blue" with a typewriter.]

Boys bleed blue

[Image id, first image: a drawing in black and white of a cartoon catterpillar wearing a beanie, open hoodie and that has a pissed of face.

Next to him it says: Dumb teen boy

-feels stupid

-ugly

-doesn't care about the goverment

-really needs a hug

Second image: A black and white drawing of young woman in profile with long black hair and freckles. It's in a cartoon style and her hair is tucked behind her ear on the side facing the viewer and the other is let out so it hangs down. She is smiling slightly and looks serene.

Third image: A screenshot of two instagram "asks". The one on the left says "teen boy but a bug" and the one on the right says "lovely". End image description]

Follow me on instagram (@ Sammy_lads) and or send me prompts on here

please send prompts I'm desperate

[image id: a traditional drawing of a dark skinned feminine person spinning around and laughing on a white background. They are wearing a loose fitting, dark purple, knee long dress with long sleeves, reddish boots, a reddish scarf and white tights that end just above the knees. Their black hair is pulled up in a loose bun.

They're smiling and yellow light bathes them from the left. End image id]

I was SO CLOSE to not finishing this but I'm really happy I did!