My dance instructor has bad takes to go with her bad music taste. Fun to argue a little with someone who can't hurt me - except to ignore my song requests, I suppose

Can they see through my eyes? Do they look at my abundance with scorn? Or are they also with me as I roll down my own face?

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Their hands stoke the fires that feed me. I eat begrudgingly. I owe them a debt I never asked for

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I need something to grow toward, my own star. Without that thing I am contorted and shriveled, but I still live. I feel my ancestors pushing me forward but every cell whimpers in its progress

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The absence of hope makes me grow like a sad pale thing deprived of sunshine, living in spite of itself under a lone discarded bag of mulch

I don't let little things like poor judgment or Winter Winds stop me from showing my pound of Flesh

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Here's my wisdom of Ages: no one can physically stop you from wearing a crop top

Strangers are so funny looking and beautiful

Feelings I wish could be bottled: sitting, perhaps slightly miffed in traffic and a vehicle passes in front of your eyes. In a split second you see that the driver is laughing, surprised, fighting to keep their eyes open to see the road. The passenger has made them laugh, their face is aglow with giving-laughter. You couldn't say who of the two is happier.

I did my best to be understood. I did my best. I did my best.

I can't tell if I'm beautiful and at this point I'm too afraid to ask

Do you ever imagine a future for yourself that's so alien, you can't begin to predict what it might feel like to wake up in that life? What will the sun feel like? Is it cold there, or warm? Who will say your name - what names will you have there? What wonders are waiting for you, inconceivable, unnameable, and necessary?

In that mood at the store where you're throwing shit in the cart and when you leave you return the buggy but you really slam that motherfucker into the cart return. And it feels good. You understand why a person might punch a wall in that moment

Delicious to know what a person wants. When their naked need is written on their face, is punctuating each comment like an exclamation point, I know exactly who I will be

I hope I never fall in love again. Makes me feel off balance and uncomfortably drunk. I don't want to be a penlight beam tracing a beloved collarbone. I'll be the soft light of a distant star. My love goes in every direction. It's pale and easy. It's always there if you know where to look in the night sky.

If I complain that they sucked the soul out of the new animal crossing, then I have to ask myself if I'm fetishizing a fondness for inconvenience?

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Queer Party!

A silly instance of Mastodon for queer folk and non-queer folk alike. Let's be friends!