when i was 8 i drew this comic about two girls kissing and my mom was out raged and i thought it was because my art wasn’t good enough so i kept trying to draw girls kissing and she sent me to therapy and my therapist tried explaining homosexuality to me and i didn’t even know what that had to do with my art skills
At this time last year, I was a
mess that couldn’t be cleaned up
with the simple flick of the wrist
or with the sweep of a broom.
I have been moving and lifting furniture,
trying to remodel the abandoned corners
of my soul that haven’t been touched since he left.
It has proven to be therapeutic to me,
and has healed my heart in ways that
putting things in the metaphorical boxes
to ship off to far away places couldn’t do before.
I’ve been painting the walls in my newly hollowed ribcage
so the sound of my heartbeat can echo against
my bones once more, and not be held back by the stitches or
makeshift ties that barely held my brittle body together.
i want to create a tv show about a group of friends where they’re all queer except the one token cishet friend who’s only there to say stereotypical “straight” things for laughs like “macklemore got me into rap” and “my mom and i got into a fight because she wouldn’t buy me a fourth obey snapback”
Or we could just stop stereotyping people.