Log in
Avatar

[Lumber] Jack. Fiend for life.

@motherinferior / motherinferior.tumblr.com

When you're a kid of the Delta, ain't nothing that'll help ya.
PostsLikes
motherinferior
literallyaflame
Avatar
phoenix-jasper

Hey! My name is Tony. I am 21 years pld and I am a trans man. I set up a GoFundMe to help raise money for me to get top surgery and I would appreciate if you could help by either donating or spreading this post! For those who donate more than $5 I can send you a pour painted rock on the colors of your choice, like the ones pictured below. If you can't donate, that's okay, times are rough right now, but I would appreciate if you would share this! I have been told that Tumblr doesn't like links so I will put the link to my GoFundMe in a reblog. I also sell pour paintings on Etsy at PourOneOutPaintings if you would want to support me through there.

Thank you!

motherinferior
lunchboxpoems
Avatar
lunchboxpoems

MISUNDERSTANDINGS

I thought insulin was what they put in sleeping bags.

I probably should not have called my class in feminist literature Books by Girls.

When I compared humanity to a flower growing in the shadow of a    munitions factory,                                              it may be that I was not being fair to flowers.

I thought someone was watching and keeping score.

I believed the desire for revenge was a fossil fuel that you could drive a lifetime on.

I thought suffering had something to be said for it.

I said, “Love me better or go to hell.” I said, “I will forgive when I am good and ready.” I said, “Rumors of my happiness have been greatly exaggerated.”

I still don’t understand why what I give and what I get back in return                                                  never seem to weigh the same.

My favorite days were gray—troubled, moody, and infinite.

Each time I plunged into cold water, I was happy in a way that can never be destroyed.

I went a million miles, I don’t know why—maybe some kind of quest,     maybe to hide.

All those years I kept trying and failing and trying                                                  to find my one special talent in this life—

Why did it take me so long to figure out                                                    that my special talent was trying?

TONY HOAGLAND

motherinferior
readmorepoets
Avatar
aridante
“After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: if anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her problem? We told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu-biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—she stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late. Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother until we got on the plane and would ride next to her—Southwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out, of course, they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, the lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—non-alcoholic—and the two little girls from our flight, one African American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice and lemonade, and they were covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing with green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, this is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.”

— Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.”

motherinferior
lorinwasadiver
Avatar
rithmeres

please make sure that wherever you’re at in life, you don’t treat it like a transitory period. don’t waste your college years wishing to already be graduated & have a job. don’t waste your single years wishing for someone to be in love with. if/when those things come, they will come in due time and they will be good. but there is nothing like looking back and feeling empty because you wasted literal years ignoring what you had because you were hoping for something better. while it’s important to better yourself and reach for your goals, don’t neglect the present because that’s where you are now and it’s your now that determines your future. 

Avatar
motherinferior

I feel this and some of my best years were my transition years. I had the most time to relax with my pals when I was working towards something or not fully committed to something.

motherinferior
literallyaflame

Y'know what I really fuckin hate?

Tiny houses.

Not the concept, the notion, the Platonic ideal of a low-cost low-impact high-efficiency dwelling. That’s great. That’s awesome.

What really imagines my dragons is that in practice about 9 times out of 10 tiny house communities are just a way for rich hipsters to finally fulfil their greatest fantasy:

They found a way to fucking gentrify the trailer park

listen i know you’re making a point here but i cant stop thinking about ‘imagines my dragons’