VikTheBitch

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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna
magicalgirlpropaganda
kuttithevangu

If the ocean ever disappears DONT GO LOOKING FOR IT… go in the other direction

purified-zone

i know this sounds like a shitpost but isn’t this like, real advice regarding tsunamis

kuttithevangu

Yes this was about hurricane Irma it is not a shitpost

eff-word

This is actually really good advice so let me elaborate a bit: if you notice the tide is retreating very quickly at a very odd time of day, get as far away from water and as high up as you can. I live along the ocean and a long time ago we had a small tsunami and a relative of mine tells me how her father saw the tides retreating so he just picked her up and just ran, which probably saved their lives.


So yeah DONT LOOK FOR THE MISSING OCEAN just run away

stuffandsundry

ocean not lost, ocean is actually winding up to kick you very hard in the nuts.

What happened to silly socks and fun colors making your life brighter and why do we put an age limit on it. Why can’t we act like old time scholars and spend hours by the candlelight in our silly pjs and learn silly things we may not use. Or that we use religiously. What’s so wrong about learning languages, old culutres, what that leaf belongs to or what we enjoy to do. What would make out little selfs happy? What is that image that middle school you had and minus obvious reasons things could not become true, why can’t we dye out hair. Get snake bites. Listen to music on the roof like we always wanted to. Have Arizona ice teas in the middle of the road and talk about something you saw earlier. Why can’t we simultaneously be old wizards and middle schoolers once again. I want to travel the world and learn its secrets one day at a time but i want to do it in funny socks and lay in my dinosaur sheets because why not. 

Her

I dont love her, but my body does. Not in a way that I crave her breath like I used to. No more primal need for her grasp, her voice, her everything. I no longer wish to follow her scent like a lost dog hoping that if I find what created the wondrous smell that lead me to her I would finally feel my bones relax. My cartilage would soften, and my shoulders would fall from my ears allowing my body to finally breathe. My lungs would cry from the relief of her once more.

I dont feel like that anymore. Shes written secret maps that are hidden within the layers of my skin, and as I continue forward the skin falls off with each dead skin cell and there reveals the plans she made. I miss parts of her. I miss the way it felt when I was comfortable. I can tell you the small few moments that encapsulated me, but If I told you anything else about her you would look at me with pity like everyone else does.

I have tried and failed twice now to find another, someone who would support me and love me feverishly like I do them.

I believe my mother raised a dog not a child. A being that thrives off of tasks and awards. A being that feels the visceral need to belong to someone, to be owned. But they keep returning me to the pound. I beg and stare through cages hoping that someone may give me the opportunity to love like I once did. I wish to go through eternity following my lover’s scent. Knowing that at the end of each day I may lay with them, and no longer have to fear the cold silence of the kennel again. I would like to believe that everyone wants to love and be loved back. To share such a connection with another person. To hold someone knowing they are willing to hold you, that’s why you sacrifice the little spoon for tonight. To give someone the bigger cookie, because you know they would do the same if they had just happened to stand up to get the cookies before you. To have little reminders of each other throughout the day. That your lips are forever stained on theirs, and somehow the feeling of yours against theirs is never firm enough so you must continue to remind them until you are dead.

I have spent so much energy on others to get nothing in return but malice. It stays in my skin, my bone marrow. It’s a reminder that they had picked me, retrieved me from my kennel and took me home. Got me used to the environment, bought me toys, Did everything an owner can and should do. Even bought me the most expensive kibble. To then take me back to the shelter saying they could not care for me. I was a good dog, they said. I’m just a bad owner, I cannot care for a pet if I am a bad owner.

I will forever be the one who got away in people’s minds. The one they ran over so many times because he was able to endure. That one more day would fix everything. That if I endure for just a little longer I will never have to go back to the cold, hard metal cage. They will remember kissing me and holding me. Reassuring me that the pattern that is so embedded within me will no longer continue. But alas, no matter how hard I try it ends up the same way.

I know that when I’m repeatedly hurt I snap, snarl and bite. I cannot help it. I do my best to ignore the primal fear that envelopes every inch of my body but It ends up in me snapping or gnawing at my leg. I sometimes blame myself, and fear that one day they place a sign above my cage, “reactive.” Maybe they already did and its just out of my sight. For how am I supposed to understand things when not explicitly told. If you don’t tell me something directly I will not understand, the pound told them this. But again I’m still labelled as bad. He doesn’t listen they say, he’s mean they say. Maybe I am. Maybe they should move my cage to the back of the shelter, so that no one has to look at my pathetic face.

And yet, still. I try. Though the collar she gave me is no longer with me, I can still feel it on my skin. I feel the material. It was soft, but firm. It was yellow. My favourite colour. The tag was a star, because you’re my star she told me. But even stars die. Their light may exist long after the star itself is dead, the star will die.  

I hope one day I have another collar, another owner. One that will love me like I love them. Maybe its unfair to ask that of others, I’m unsure. Sometimes I miss being her star, but one cannot grasp a fading light, they can only drift through space hoping another star will greet them with kindness.