#One of the few queer fam of mine was there and she was saying shit like how she counted how many (insert minorities here no doxxin) were at

[hexastitchimera]

Anyways guess who found out how utterly two-faced my mother is

[sedehaven]

Saving Ophelia Grace’s Toe

Y’all seem to like my stories about being a witch in the Bible Belt, so here’s another one. This is a coming of age story about a young witch (me), a bunch of adults of various degrees of uselessness, and Ophelia Grace’s rotten toe.

This is not a happy story.

Names changed when necessary.

CW: Body squick, graphic injury, incompetent nurse, malevolent nurse, poisoning, bureaucratic nightmares, dark DARK shit ahead

So, in spite of the crushing poverty that I grew up in, I was given the opportunity to attend a very prestigious boarding school for Juniors and Seniors in Klan Kountry, LA. It’s a public school, so it takes kids from all over the state.

My school was run by a dude named Brother Dave.

Brother Dave was so awful that one of our senior pranks (I DID NOT DO THIS) involved a password-protected screensaver on every communal computer in the school (including, I think, Brother Dave’s office computer) of a bouncing, 3-D image of this:

Dude was NOT well-loved. It is important to know that he and I did not get along. When I was still a prospective student, he told us that our mascot was the mighty Eagle, because Eagles Flock Together.

Y’all. Someone watched himself too much Mighty Ducks.

I replied, loud enough for the whole auditorium to hear, “That’s not true, sir. Eaglettes push their smaller and weaker siblings out of the nest as soon as they can.”

He looked to the staff for support, red-faced and embarrassed by this ninety-pound child who stole his thunder.

The biology teacher (who left for greener pastures after my first year--rumored to have been forced out for being too fabulously dykey for the new administration) looked at him and stated, in her very particular and crisp fashion, “Well, she’s right.”

Safe to say, he hated me from the start. So, if you read this and you wonder, “Why didn’t this silly kid just go to the grown-up?” That’s why. He was our grown-up.

Brother Dave started at the school the year before I did. He was brought in by a local Senator, because said local Senator Fucked Up Colossally.

Senator Fuckup was running against Mr. Sketchy Businessman. Mr. Sketchy Businessman was backed by the Ku Klux Klan (a big deal in parts of the world, folks. My school was in David Duke country.)

Senator Fuckup had a fancy name--well-respected all around the state. Like, several statues of one of his relations decorate the state capital. Big name.

Problem is, Senator Fuckup is half-Black.

In Klan Kountry.

Y’all.

So he’s already at a disadvantage. As it turns out, it takes a village to start a magnet school. Senator Fuckup was one of the founding board members, and promised all kinds of benefits if they put the school in HIS district.

Their other offer was in my own hometown, the Hub City, where several of our major state highways cross with two Interstates.A place with art and history and culture. A place with one of the largest outdoor music festivals in the state--a multicultural, international music festival! With art walks and museums and Mardi Gras parades! With a three-story library, a library for French language and culture, and the second-largest university in Louisiana!

Senator Fuckup PROMISED that the school wouldn’t want for anything if they went to Klan Kountry.

So they did.

It was no great secret that this school was Senator Fuckup’s baby. At the time that I attended, the school was number one in the nation. Something to be proud of.

Except.

Except.

Except that in order to keep various forms of funding, the school was required to take in more melanin-blessed individuals than the locals liked.

Enter Mr. Sketchy Businessman, who ran a series of TV and radio ads claiming that our STATE funded school was stealing money from the local school district.

That’s right. He claimed that our school took money away from the poor Whites of Klan Kountry and gave to the diverse and metropolitan school for the gifted.

Senator Fuckup tried to deflect and dismiss, BUT did NOT rebut those claims. He didn’t believe that the school’s funding was THAT MUCH of an issue.

Any reasonable person would understand that the school was funded from the State taxes. Right?

As it turns out, Klan Kountry is not filled with reasonable people.

Senator Fuckup is a member of a particular subgroup in Klan Kounrty--a not-insignificant population of Catholic Creoles. So, after he wins his election--barely--he realizes that Something Must Be Done to help the image of the school that everybody knew as HIS baby.

Enter his old friend, Brother Dave. Brother Dave, who nearly bankrupted his previous school. His brother-in-law was a contractor who got a few really juicy contracts through him.

Protip: Nepotism only works if the person being nepotized is competent.

Spoiler: Brother Dave’s brother-in-law built schools about as well as Brother Dave ran them.

Brother Dave’s old school is attached to an order of monks who build cheap and simple caskets for people who are into that kind of thing.

They bake bread for the poor. These are good people.

Y’all, these people made it KNOWN--statewide--that they had a casket ready for ol’ Dave if he ever stepped foot in their town again.

Still, Senator Fuckup decided that THIS was the man who would lead my school into a glorious future.

Brother Dave took an aggressive stance on admissions. He wanted kids who didn’t have a lot of drama, and kids who looked (WHITE) good on the recruiting materials. He pulled hard from the local Catholic (Segregation) Academies.

Y’all.

Our Black kids were nearly White-passing mixed-race kids, one kid who was ACTUALLY from Africa, a couple of kids from Catholic schools, and one dark-skinned Baptist girl who is bombshell model-gorgeous. (For those glossy brochures.)

So as many White Catholic kids as possible.

Y’all.

I’ve competed with private school fuckwits in academic contests my whole life, up to that point. If it was something that required preparation (science fair, for example), they wiped the floor with us.

Because daddy the petroleum engineer did the project for them.

If it was a you-know-it-or-you-don’t thing (quiz bowl, for example), they lost so brutally that I might have felt bad for them. You know, if they had souls. Which they did not.

So Brother Dave populated our school with what he thought were “good kids”. White, Catholic kids.

Spoiler: My class started with 250 students. We graduated less than half of that, even after he backfilled our class with new kids between junior and senior year. The class after mine was worse.

Why is that?

White Catholic kids at segregation academies in the late 90′s basically did busy-work worksheet stuff all day. They were not ready for 10 page papers and 5 page lab reports and 100+ pages of reading and 20-50 math problems and projects, projects, projects!

Also, if all you do is worksheets and sit-down-and-shut-up, there has to be a certain...chemical element...to cope.

So, yeah. Drugs. So much drugs. And booze.

Brother Dave also hired Nurse Bitchy Fuckface. She was actually his first hire.

Nurse Bitchy was a walking disaster.

I was sixteen when I first met her, and because she didn’t smell like street drugs (I KNOW WHAT THAT SHIT IS), I missed a lot of signs.

Looking back, I think that she might have been a Prozac-and-wine kind of person. But, as the only drugs that I was familiar with came from street pharmacists, I thought she was just evil.

Hateful to the queers, pagans, Goths, and all assorted weirdos.

You know, all the kids who could actually handle the schoolwork and the pressure. *eyeroll*

I’m allergic to Sudafed. Weird, huh?

A senior at my school told me to be careful with Nurse Bitchy. She has a sensitivity to acetaminophen (Tylenol) and couldn’t have it. Nurse Bitchy had given it to her a couple of times.

It was on my senior’s medical chart. If you’re keeping score, that’s felony attempted murder.

Nurse Bitchy gave me Sudafed seventeen times (that I remember) while I was at that school. She very nearly killed me doing it. Some times I knew, and some times I did not.

“But why did you take it, if you knew?”

Well, you innocent dove, if I refused to take the medicine that the Nurse gave me, then I got written up. Enough write-ups and I got kicked out.

My home school in the Hub City? Eh...as bad as Klan Kountry was, I didn’t have someone assaulting me daily. I didn’t have a gang of girls who got away with attempting to rape me with a broom handle. I didn’t have a very big kid who was given liberties with me (BY THE STAFF) because he was special ed.

Or, as my guidance counselor liked to say (after my father was murdered and I was flunking chemistry--not because of dad’s death, but because the chemistry teacher put all the girls and Black boys in the back of the class--which had NO air conditioning on hundred-degree days--after Brother Dave’s brother-in-law “fixed” it that summer), “Stephanie, you know that you’re the poorest student here. Do you really want to go back to THAT?”

No. I did not.

Under pain of going home to poverty, rape, assault, and maybe death, I took her poison. She watched me do it. And she smiled.

I only went to Nurse Bitchy when I was forced to. This happened far more often my Junior year. The teachers would send me because I was sick (I come from a smoker’s home, and I’m an asthmatic who is allergic to tobacco. My family never quit, so I’d end up with smoker’s pneumonia most times that I went home. Thanks for the lung scars, fam.)

Eventually, when I was a Senior, my computer science teacher realized that I was unresponsive with a fever in her class. She was new that year, and didn’t know any better. So she woke me up and sent me along. Nurse Bitchy gave me the usual and sent me back to class.

Very few humans retain the ability to projectile vomit after age seven. Did you know that?

Lucky me, I did. I still can.

I hurled all over my keyboard. I hurled and hurled. My classmates screamed and ran.

My computer science teacher, an ice-cold woman of Indian descent with a very posh English accent, unplugged the vomit-soaked, ruined keyboard. She took it and me to the nurse.

She slammed the keyboard down on her desk and screamed at her to NEVER send a sick child to her class again.

Nurse Bitchy was (shocking, I know) a racist. She feared the angry Indian lady.

My computer science teacher, I believe, spread the word about Nurse Bitchy’s ineffectiveness. Teachers stopped sending students to her.

That left a vacuum. Nobody was being forced to get medical help. But medical help was still needed.

Before going to school in Klan Kountry, I was a veterinary technician. I worked under-the-table from too young. Illegal-child-labor-too-young.

But, I knew my stuff. I had a stocked medicine cabinet and a dissection kit.

I started doing everything up to and including prison surgery in my dorm room.

I could handle most anything. Which was better than worrying that the nurse was going to poison one of my friends into the ground.

I didn’t ask for money or food or anything (food was a commodity at that school because our cafeteria was infested). I worked for the goodwill of my classmates, which is the shiniest coin in the realm.

I’d gotten into witchcraft earlier that year. People trusted the witch over the nurse. That’s where my school was.

I only had one case that I really couldn’t treat.

Y’all.

It was traditional in the girls’ dorms that unless you were asleep or studying, you kept your door open. Mine was open that night. I was writing Sailor Moon fanfiction, procrastinating on one project or another. I don’t remember, it was twenty-two years ago.

Ophelia Grace (not her real name) came to my door in Doc Martens, favoring a foot. Her roommate or a suitemate or maybe another theatre kid was holding her up as she hobbled into my room.

I hadn’t heard that she’d been hurt, but apparently she had been. She was feverish and weak. Her face was bright red. She was babbling.

“I’m sorry,” she said over and over again. She apologized for coming late. She apologized for coming at all. She was shaking.

I sat her and her friend on my roommate’s bed (we’d bunked them, and I had the top bunk). My roommate was out, in the art lab working on a particularly tricky painting. Probably for the best. He was squeamish (my ex-roommate is a transman, so I’m using his preferred pronouns.)

I grabbed a large bowl and a mug, filled both with water (salted the bowl of water), and went down the hall to the microwave.

The water in Klan Kountry was filthy. It smelled bad and tasted worse. Remember Mr. Sketchy Businessman? He wanted to relax EPA regulations for himself and his sketchy business friends.

They were actively dumping into the city reservoir. But Mr. Sketchy Businessman promised to KKKeep KKKlan KKKountry Lily, so he got 49% of the votes.

Racist douche.

I boiled the water in the microwave--first the mug, then the bowl. It was a walk I’d make several times that evening.

Ophelia had a fever, holding steady at “fucking HOT” by the estimate of her friend. My thermometer pegged it at 102. Not good.

I put a teabag and two whole cloves in the cup and let it steep while I took her temperature. I asked her what happened. I don’t remember the specifics of the injury, but I believe that something got dropped on her toe. I think it happened in the theatre.

Ophelia thought she could walk it off. I remember that.

She kept apologizing. I honeyed the tea and shoved it in her hands. The tea helped. She was shivering--hard--from the wracking chills of her fever.

I remember how her febrile shivers made the bunk beds shake.

I remember thinking that I was in over my head.

I remember grabbing my oldest towels, and closing my door.

I remember praying.

And then I took her boot off.

Y’all.

I’ve smelled rot. Some people think that all rot smells the same.

It does not.

Corpse stink has its own bouquet. Blood rot has a distinct stench. Necrotic yeast infections almost smell good--like yeast rolls and something meatier.

I’d smelled Ophelia’s particular rot before.

I was fourteen. A momma dog was brought in, heavily pregnant. She’d been delivering, and the third pup got stuck. There were 11 left. The stuck pup was dead, but we managed to save 4 behind him, plus the first 2, born healthy.

The uterus had begun to rot inside, and several of the pups had been dead for some time.

The spaying that happened after the pups were removed was green and black, with the consistency of pudding. We pulled as much out as we could, but the rest had to be rinsed out.

Thankfully, I’ve smelled that smell very few times after. It smells pungent and strong. Like garlic. Like a cream of garlic stew.

I thought I’d gotten a whiff of THAT smell when Ophelia walked in, and again when she sat down. Pulling her boot off was like the first deep cut into momma dog. Garlic and blood.

The smell of something rotting in someone still alive.

She had on two socks. I peeled off the first one. There was a stain at the toe. The second sock was worse. The smell hung around.

Our windows were screwed shut. I couldn’t do anything about the smell.

Ophelia cried into her tea. She was still apologizing.

The toe was purple and black. There was a lot of yellow pus under the nail, which was leaking out on either side. Red streaks ran up her instep, tracing her veins.

The toe was swollen and needed a lance.

I had no idea how she climbed the stairs to get to me. (I was on the third floor, and she lived below. We had no elevator.)

She started to get loud (peeling those socks off HURT), so I asked her a question. I asked about her history paper. The ten-page history paper was a rite-of-passage at the school, and I knew it was coming due for her. I told her to tell me about her topic and her sources.

She did.

Thank the Lord and Lady.

I got my dissection kit and rubbing alcohol. I made things as sterile as I could.

I told her that it would probably hurt, but that I would work quickly.

Her friend left after the first cut. She didn’t stay gone long, but I heard her vomit in our suite’s toilet.

Ophelia kept talking about her paper. I led her around on that topic, asking questions and asking for clarification. Asking about the books she’d read, and offering a few that I was familiar with on the subject.

This is why doctors and dentists know so many things about so many subjects. Talking keeps the patient calm.

Meanwhile, pus and blood dripped from the slits that I made in her flesh, onto a towel that bore the stains until I donated it to the animal shelter, years later.

I soaked her toe in the bowl of water. The salt burned, but she couldn’t scream.

There was an adult who was supposed to be watching us. If she was alerted to my low-tech medical unit, she would have stopped me and sent Ophelia to the murder nurse.

I filled another bowl, salted it, and microwaved it.

Ophelia’s friend rejoined us, and watched as I squeezed the rest of the pus out of her. Her toenail slipped off in the third bowl. The toenail was cracked. Ophelia kept it.

I wonder if she still has it?

Triple antibiotic ointment and a sterile dressing later, I told her to tell the nurse that she needed a doctor. Nurse Bitchy couldn’t keep us from a doctor if we asked for one. She said that she would.

I gave her a few oral anti-inflammatory pills and some Benadryl to get a good night’s sleep.

She left, with her boot in her hand and a soft smile on her lips. I cleaned my tools, my bowls, the floor where her foot was, and had to do a load of laundry because that one rag smelled so awful.

My roommate came back in time for headcount, and asked if I’d made ramen. Said it smelled pretty good in there.

It did. Rot can do that.

It was hard to sleep that night. I cried quietly until sleep took me.

Ophelia recovered. She became a witch some time later. In college, I think. We’re still friends, in a Facebook kind of way.

Brother Dave is still alive. After working for my school, he ended up helping the Church cover up three decades of sex abuse at a diocese school. Not sure what he’s up to, but probably nothing good. He’s a garbage human.

Nurse Bitchy just retired. She lasted twenty years at that school. God knows how.

Senator Fuckup died in a car crash and the school is being renamed after him. So are the new dorms that are being built.

Klan Kountry cleaned up their water after I left. That’s really good news.

The school continues. Apparently, it got better with Brother Dave’s leavetaking. I hope that’s true.

And me?

I’m still a witch. I’m still here.

And I can still smell that rotten toe on the edge of nightmares half-remembered.

~*~

I don’t want my diploma revoked or to be sued, so disclaimer time.

This is fiction. Any resemblance to people living or dead is coincidental.

[mandysimo13]

First post of 2020

The last couple years have been a doozy, fam

From lost and shitty jobs to sick family members to bad dates to losing friends to political strife, it’s all been just overwhelming and a seemingly endless line of shit. 

So first thing, I’ll recount the positives (of my life) of this year: 

I was able to finally go abroad again and visit three countries I’ve been dying to visit: England, Scotland, and Ireland. And I was able to do it with a good friend and see a lot of amazing thing in 20 days. 

I started visiting with a group of other tour guides and history nerds for drinks once a month and it’s become much less isolating for me. 

I had an amazing spring tour season with my student groups and was given many good reviews that secured me with offers for this coming 2020 season. 

I joined a new company that specializes in “over 50″ and unique school tours and they have given me opportunities for this coming 2020 student season. Through them I was also able to do my first seniors tour to places I had never been to but was able to absolutely kill it and get lots of good reviews. 

All my friends had something good happen to them this year that gave me happiness because I was able to share it with them. 

My mom’s lupus, amongst other diseases, seems to have hit a plateau and she’s actually been able to manage her symptoms the best in years and lately has been able to have higher energy and less pain. She’s lost weight and is happy and I’ve not seen her this healthy or happy in years. 

But now the shit part, the negatives: 

My dad, who was diagnosed with heart disease and diabetes in 2018, has not been taking care of himself at all and now he needs to have surgery on the major arteries in his leg to clear a 90% plaque blockage in one leg and a 60% blockage in the other. My dad still smokes, refuses to quit, and still has a horrible diet and refuses to change that so this surgery may be all for naught. 

My grandparents are not doing that well, particularly my grandma whose memory is going and she’s becoming increasingly paranoid, mean, and mistrustful. She’s always been a martyr and kind of a bitch but she hasn’t left the house in over a year and has nothing to do all day but think of hurtful comments to say to me. And the kicker is, I want to help her with things. But she won’t let me so it’s a continuous cycle of hurt and worry and disappointment. 

While I have a partner (he’s in an ethical poly relationship and already married) he cannot provide me with the things I want -marriage, children, a home with a partner, etc.- and as such I am functionally single. He is very encouraging with me finding someone else and is happy to be here for me in the meantime. But it also means I have no backup during family stuff, I don’t bring him around to events as a date, and I end up feeling like second fiddle to his wife despite his best attempts to tell me I’m not. 

My finances have been less than ideal for the last few years because of all kinds of crap circumstances and I’ve been trying to claw my way out of my family’s house so I can live on my own again. 

Several friends of mine have had major losses in their life (one her wife, one her mother, one her husband) and being an emotional anchor has been difficult. But also coupled with the fact that so many good things have happened (one friend sold her house and is moving to a bigger and better one, a couple got new pets, some got promotions and degrees and advancements in their careers or school endeavors, one is trying for kids) I feel a little left behind. Like I’m not good for anything aside from highlighting the fact that others are doing well because I’m not where I want to be. (A feeling I’m working on snuffing out) 

Politics in the world, but most troubling for me is the US since that’s where I live, have been exhaustingly bad. I’ve had to take several news breaks just to keep a semblance of sanity and then get upset when I catch up because it’s just one shitstorm after another. Rollbacks on environmental protections, removal of social welfare protections and benefits, more hate crimes, equality for women/minorities/children/immigrants/queer folks are all on the chopping block. It’s depressing. 

I haven’t felt as creative as I have in the past. I’ve written less, drawn even less than that, crocheted very little. I’m mentally and physically exhausted all the time between labor intensive jobs (one is physically exhausting and one is both mentally and physically exhausting). It’s made me feel like crap because I have ideas. I have WIPs. I have aspirations for creativity. And none of the energy or drive to do it. I also have not found the energy to do research and further my historical knowledge for tours. 

It’s hard not to feel like I’m a failure. It’s hard not to feel like it’s all too much and I should give up and accept life for the shitshow it is and not improve. But I’m trying. I’m trying to look at my friends’ successes and go “I’ll get there”. I’m trying to look at the positives in the news and be excited because maybe not all hope is lost. I’m trying to set boundaries with my family while also being there for them. I’m trying to date and meet new people to build up more friendships and connections. I’m trying to take care of my mental health so I can get my drive back. 

In the coming year I am making plans. I am taking steps. 

I have made an appointment with my doctor to get on some anxiety medication so that when I start to spiral I can pull myself out of it. I am also going to ask for therapist recommendations. 

I have already secured a future roommate, we have discussed expectations and boundaries and wants. We’ll be looking for places come late spring/early summer. 

My projected income for 2020 means that I will actually be able to move out. 

I will continue doing research for companies and tours so that I can keep my income secure and my travel aspirations in sight. 

I have a date tonight (with someone other than my partner, partner is very excited for me and wants to hear how it went afterwards), I have been keeping an eye out for other prospective people to date and have it in mind to ask someone else out. 

I have looked into the sustainability of taking swing dancing lessons (a thing I’ve always wanted to do) and have decided it’s worth it. I plan to start taking lessons soon. This will give me exercise, a weekly engagement to get out of the house, and open me up to a whole new social network. 

I’m trying. I’m working on myself and my goals. I’m tired of feeling like I’m going nowhere. I’m not saying “new year, new me!” but I am saying that I’m working on making the me that’s already here better. It’s gonna be hard, I’m going to feel like I’m sliding back when I may not be. But I’m going to try and focus on the positives, the payoffs, and ask for help when I need it. 

tldr; 2016-2019 sucked. Hoping to make 2020 suck less. I’m trying. 

[ubelyptus]

soooooooooooo bb,,,...,.,,,strawberrry.

......I JUST FIND IT

  interestinggggggggg

how you Big mad cuz MY block game seeems 

skrong or summn

hanh???

oh.

well.

i never blockedt you 

on snapchat 

or whatsapp (you weren’t even muted),

yup, i still haven’t

but i didn’t have a properly working phone...

still......don’t

but either way you keep threatening to split on me 

like a weapon…fcking

manipulative as shit

it just seems to me that you just want to?

you never imprinted tho 

but she did 

so why should you?

i won’t ever, again, fight....

….with you.

my favorite accomplice

i wanted to learn with an open mind 

even after my phone died 

how to remain soft with you.  

even after being callled 

“old news" 

pffft

at least until

 i ‘m  eventually murdered by a cisgender man...

but

don’t fckn

pppppppop shit 

cuz like….. literally…..all i did was change my url.

shit, i Only blockedt you AFTER i saw you referencing gaslighting.

bc uhmm IIIIIIif that is about meeeeeeeeeeee 

ha!!!

 how fucking dare you.…..lyk....wuhh?

like when you said there is no difference between syn and alesia?????

HANH?

oh, but you think i blockedt you first bc i didn’t wanna get my feelings hurt?

….mhhhhhhh. ok.

seeems odd since you’re not liar 

right, eli????

but,,,,,so what’s this about the cozi password change? am i just shifting too rapidly between your and my reality???

bet.

no, i blocked you on things after THAT 

AND THAT WAS TODAY

oh, and didn’t your friend, my so-called “fighting buddy,” anan…

.just,,,,,fckn block me like i’m useless

trash

randomnly 

after all

i asked 

was that they 

not speak to me 

about you?

but YAAAAAAS  twas ONLY Me and simply Myself and just i 

who ain’t wanna get….hurt.

hanh?????

oh ,

obvi,

yeaaaaaaa

yeeeei

truuuu,

sooooo 

sssssorry,,,,but

calling me “old news” or saying i’m “old too” 

don’t forget your girl is 2 yrs older than you 

and then staying silent for these few days about changing passwords

that..... already did that, boo

at least i sent alesia third party emails thru the app, boo

she pushin 30 and can only talk you 

venuse....????. no....a 

talking and 

w a l k i ng tragedy

entyway don’t bring that up just to be loud and wrong about that too

you’re not always wrong tho, you know

you’d probably fuck up and slit my throat 

 powertripping

when i’m wrong about you

and you can only do that if you

 black and white 

me out 

to NEVER BE WRONG 

AND I DO 

ACTUALLLY HATE THAT ABOUT YOU!!!!! 

WHY CAN’T I EVER BE WRONG, ELI???? 

WHY????//

OH your emotions....? about your father that after 6 yrs you didn’t tell me about?

your reality? when you have a habit of projecting?

 and lowkey being dishonest 

to yourself first

 and then subsequently

 to me????

your time? when i’m mostly on yours?????

your efforts? like ripping up notes and telling me 

“my turn” to get fucked 

by you 

was over

when the only reason i was tiredt

was bc i crashed

too tiredt after explaining to You

that

  i‘m not even going to LET you play middleman

for a baby pushign 30????

oh. bet.

but since we’re being transparent:

here are receipts with timestamps:

http://microhealer.tumblr.com/tagged/hop-hop-hop-hop

http://microhealer.tumblr.com/tagged/hop+hop+bun

http://microhealer.tumblr.com/tagged/hop-hop-bunny

yea you must love dirty laundry

oh.

but that’s what i knew about you.

oh:

be yr own guest my love

i Knew you would ignore the “old news” message since that's literally when you started telling on yourself 

you do treat trans partners

 like side hoes, 

thasssa wholeBET 

and some change

 for you to create

cuz thassssssss 

how you feel about me fr fr

so that “like” is mine but

  i…..actually really Really love that you laughed tho.

bc i haven’t heard you fully belly laugh in a long time.

if ever iirh.

even after knowing you for 6+ years, 

your supposed “first friend “ in the DMV

the person i can trust my life with

the only

you’re my only...

 ,,,,,even after i spiraled 

and cut myself for the first time since middle school?

now my friends are fucking spotting you 

and talking to each other 

about you

oh, you didn’t know. 

but i got mehndi done today 

let a summer baby boy

love 

a cut up 

by me

body

 before noon

today 

thinking i’d see you and we could talk like,,,,

…..like real people do.

and you’d be distracted by the design and not zone in

 on the failed cuts

 on my wrist 

since i’m shit at not just repeatedly carving into 

white meat

 when i can only use a ceramic blade

i just didn’t WANT you to 

so i never “came home to [you]”

you said that on nov 4th/5th of last year

and

i’ve been looking up bpd all day

eventho i told you

  i don’t trust the internet 

sooooo you not telling me 

didn’t hel p

but it’snot at all your job to 

and i sitll

stilllstil stil stilllca’t see

....and i dind’t want you to see.

bc i’m not just a man.

i’m still femme

which you seem to love to forget

and still soft enough, i think.....

i hope…..or learning to be soft,,,,

where it won’t get me killed,,,,,

but where it still counts.

with…or without you.

either way i’m a man who loves you. a man whose phone died at 28% trying to get you to see that i was trying to be soft even after you called me

 “old news”

but,,,,,.....,,,compared to …..who?????? sh....oooo??????

your new girlfriend who is 1 or 2 years older than you?????

and can’t speak to me 

a man who is only barely out of 23???

and instead only whispers

 to you?????

bruh, she’s clearly not fond of me. 

and you’re not a liar , 

so don’t 

she had to tell you that she wasn’t the one putting out “aggy energy”

specifically

during yennayer which

i ruined

and im still sorru

but which means

she’s probably done it in your apartment on purpose already, boo

didn’t think of that, did you

lingustically.,,,,,nope.

oh, but there’s power in a whisper, darling.

i am just cardinal like you

i am air too.

  i should know 

bc i accidentally whistled....and,,,,,,

i only blockedt you so that you wouldn’t “hurt [your] own feelings”

 like you told anan you sometimes do.

sooooooooooooo yea... i

did it so you wouldn’t hurt you. 

as cardinal water/pisces moons 

are prone to do.

you can;t drain

and you can’t drown

 ain’t that how i affirmed you

i already hurt me 

when i dissociated 

and i’m STILL FUCKING sorry 

that there was blood that you had to see. 

i couldn’t stay in my body long enough to clean fast enough

but i still didn’t want you to hurt you bc of me.

like you did repeatedly

bc of bpd or bc of basically cishet or at least cis ~queer girls

or other partners 

like when you were with kat,

who’s still disgustingly attached to a messy white

and now a new black kid.....

or with shushoo.

and how you might with alesia.

no, correction: how you have with alesia. 

how you will continue to, if you’re not careful, with alesia.

you’re a lion facing a prince of a house kitten ,....,

.,, who is homeless.

do you feel good, big boss?

all i asked was for you to listen t

o how you were speaking to me 

on the phone 

at your place of work 

and when she’s there

possibly a place of worshiop

..... even after i told you 

that i was intentionally putting energy into Not fighting you

and you

  say you

"don’t wanna be a middle person" 

but you also….wanna cape for yet another fucking cis girl.

who isn’t even muslim this time. 

HOWtragic.

i couldn’t laugh

couldn’t ever laugh at sway

bc by whatever fortune if you do split or don’t 

 i still  love you

i love you too much

but in those moments after that phone call….

after my phone died…

and my body couldn’t move to charge it.

wouldn’t move….

and all i could do was cry during the adhan.

bc you’re tooo much like matt now

i wish i knew what it could feel like to

 hate someone 

who called you 

"OLD NEWS” 

compared to a bitch pushing 30 

youza WHOLE fuckn clown, dawg.

matt did this same shit

move me out for a new side bitch

yet anotehr cis

look at how cute trans love can be

oh

no

NO

no,

no

no

this is what you give me:

laughter.

BC what fucking luck.

BUT IT’S gotta be TROOF

  s ince you don’t lie?/?

shit I LAUGHED TOO:

it sounds like….

NEITHER OF US

KNEW WHAT COULD

HAVE BROUGHT US

HERE, ELI.

maybe you nursing poison in your own home

and telling me i’m making you feel unwelcomed

on a blog and not to my face did it

fuckingggggggggg. why’ald.

you think it’s too much sweat????? false. 

that apartment stayed cold.

too many tears?

 ok ok yea troof.

but too much love? forreal?

we?????

ooooop

hoooop!!!

oh, you speakin’ french now. our collective colonizers tongue in 20gayteeeeeeeen?????

CAN’T RELATE 

bc I’M TOOOOOO GAY

wow. we ruined it, fam???? fr fr?

nah, chosen fam.

you ruined us.

you ruined us over:

 a cis girl and

your own impatience

and your own anger.

and my slow brain and my slow body

//

i’m not sure she’d find you from maryland

if you dissociated bc your other semi

 but not 

girlfriend emotionally abused you

until people who didn’t know you were muslim

thought you were fucking drunk

and you fucking stilllllll 

work with her?????

why couldn’t you just wait until she found a new job???

ain’t she trying????

or izzzzzz she??????

hahhnh???

where was the damn rush?????

you’re like two goofy high schoool kids 

reaching for the quickest nuts every 6 hours

 like jesus fuck.

you’re irresponsible as shit telling me i’m a grown man making grown decisions and i see this 

?????

unREASONABLE, ELI.

this isn’t a situation of a kettle calling a pot black

 babe

bc i’m actually Black

and you’re not

but she’s black too.

what did i tell you:

"you datin’ two whole Niggas. if you fight me over her, you will lose either way.”

but instead you called me “obtuse”

SAT words for me

 but not for you…….what.,,,.,,,,,,,, fckn luck……..

what luck,,,,,that the one person who housed me consistently

and kept me alive

when i trusted no one

would call me "old news”

and let their cis girlfriend

 turn herself into your

personal "healing” …...

sibkid. \\\\

howTragic like all of CC’18

you know what happens when you slip and get sloppy and let a baby bitch be responsible for your healing?

she leaves. 

for a real bitch 

with microhealing abilities, 

GOOFY.

she worships a new goddess every friday?????

well, i know only of orixas 

and only of black power

 but from what i know of goddesses OFF of OUR continent…

soooon...

at least one of them WILL want a soul from her

just letting you know it might not have to be hers.

…..OH!

and when i chargedt and openedt my phone after days of wandering. ….the last messages from you are:

YOU SHOULD HAVE SAID “LEAVE [[[[MMMMMYYYYYYY]]]]]] KEYS”

like a fucking baby.

imagine that.

even to you, i’m still a whore.

out…the…bakc….dooor.

??????

i couldn’t even work a john when i wanted to

 if i was sad about you.

but imagine?????

  a cis-pixie woman older than you

letting you treat her like a child?????

then

imagine me feeling shamed into leaving

bc of pictures of your smiling face

after i cut myself and felt shame 

that

in your unwelcomed  to both me and you

BLOOD

 blood 

is what brings me back

 to life.

how.

fucking.

why’yald.

i blockedt you so that you didn’t lurk.

bc THat is what you do.

instead of speaking with me, 

you seem to have expected me

 to read your blog back 7 years.

and just know all of the fatherly things that trigger you.

like…even during the times when i was afraid of my own phone and laptop for 2 months bc of my sister, brother, and birth parents????

funny how i’m the youngest of us “grown folks” and yet still find that really 

FUCKING

immature.

of YOU

to do

you really never knew me, or did you…..??

you donated to me before you even knew me.

so i know your heart has parts made of gold.

but now you show off your crystals and your gold.~~~

yep.

here we are.

you’ve "only every seen [me] as a boy.”

ok. bet.

and unti this post:

i’ve hardly heard you refer to me as a man.

so:

ain’t you late?

ain’t you late, babe??

ain’t you late?

i’m a year younger than you.

which means if you grown

i musta BEEN a man too, boo.

but you’ll always be

 my favorite accomplice

 and always be my favorite friend too.

but you cannot think you can play me by calling me

 “old too” or “old news"

 for young fish who is basically femme trade

and thinking i won’t cut open a fool.

which coincidentally always happens to be me

she’s hardly out to anybody important and lying at work too.

i must be bigger fool.

bc you knew better and didn’t do better.

but i’m being immature.

  ok ...,.,,.,,

cute.

your pisces moon is keeping you from seeing clearly but that’s what young water seems…to do. to much light reflected; tho it is a fountain of youth.

she’s pushing 30 baby 

but true, you’re her boo.

yea, a childish boo.

you ever wonder why her playlist from you had more songs than ours did?

why she can never keep a man around for valentines day?

oh but don’t you love “patterns”, baby????

unless it’s her leaving shit around the apartment

or her triggering you

or her treating your dick like it’s foreign, 

even to you.

my gay ass was shookedt 

when you told me you voluntarily 

triggered yourself

 for her kitty too

but i AM 

a grown man

 who is “running” from….you

you think that statement is not…. dishonest??

you really think that statement is true???

—

i didn’t run. i just

needed space

and you afforded me none.

you couldn’’t afford it.

february is before march which is before april 

sooooooo it’s always a tight month ain’t it???????

oooooooh but you afforded her plenty.

she gets to take off her fucking pants while i try to figure out if i should move from a spot next to you….

on your fucking bed.

she took off her pants to climb near you before she could even say hi to 

nooonoo

ahh right

and THEN ME.

“Oh, you CAN stay”

that’s what She told me.

and you said nothing.

so i left….the room.

i never run.

you pushed me out with your captain save-a-cis silence.

it’s violence.

and

you’re still pushing and pushing and pushing and pushing 

until me…you know 

i, the "old news” 

just feels like he should just 

fucking fall 

onto the district streets

and she finds it

to her fucking fancy 

to fall

 into your lap

like a damn,,,,zel. 

distressedt.

with a roof over her head outside of your apartment too.

woooooooops!

yip, as she is probably prone to do.

her kind….isn’t new….boo.

her kind isn’t new to me

her kind isn’t new to you

you ever wonder why she feels so familiar to you?

she reminds Me of the girl who told you 

she could never marry you 

and is now trying to date someone just like you

so don’t be so unkind to me 

or to you 

or be so foolish

 as to believe i gave up on you

you gave up on me

and on top of that

you think i just...ran

ran….with what clothing?

the ones you packed up for me and left at the door 

that i was suppose to pick up 

and slide out the back….like a fucking whore?

you just tryna be

a cissie's bae

who stay clownin on trans folks now?

oooooooh issa bet, mo

. i mean.,,,.,,.mhhhh i guess?

—==—

but troooof, i don’t “need" anybody.

but i want you.

but you need her.

that’s how it work, don’t it?????

that’s why you risk job security every day.

and let her leave her panties on my clothes.

and let her tell me i "can stay" in …..A, not MY, spot next to you

in yo'bed?

what fucking fools. the two of you.

but “no one is forcing [me] to"

oh, baby you /are/ forcing me too

i look on your blog and then find out you’ve been feeling “unwelcome in [your] own home”

this whole fucking time

all the way since early november, innit?????

if i love you at all, 

what else am i to do?????????????

??????????????????????????/

know that you will self-destruct 

and just…wait for you to????????????????????

???????????????????????????????/

no

i didn’t run.

you just fucking pushed me.

and you’re still fucking pushing.

and you’ll keep pushing.

bc that is what you do.

embe…..@strawberreli 

se sá’m te konne nu’ou.

you like microblogging so much

so like it if you read this shit