LETS ALL AGREE THAT EVERY SHOW NOMINATED, (AND EVEN SOME SHOWS THAT WEREN’T) ARE BEAUTIFUL IN THEIR OWN WAY!!!! I have seen so much hate aimed toward specific musicals/plays recently on tumblr and it is breaking my heart! Broadway is about appreciating each divine work of art! A huge controversy right now is DEH being nominated for best show! I know many people want other shows to win, but I think we should all acknowledge the beauty that each show has encased, before deliberately rioting against the nomination/winning of another.
Thank you, and goodnight!!!
I get very……nervous when people say they’re jealous of me because I’ve had people straight up hate me for it even when I thought we were friends and it breaks my heart cause there’s literally…..nothing anybody should be jealous of cause I’m just…. some anxious idiot who draws lame pictures….Im thankful for what I have but I’m also still so critical and hateful towards my own stuff….and everyone is so talented like…look at yourself and see your worth…you’re all wonderful and so very talented…😰😰
Also…before you get angrily jealous of someone first think…about how hard they must have worked to get where they are now…don’t devalue that……support each other, inspire one another…especially in this industry where we could all use good words and advice. Be proud of your fellow artists, be proud of yourself. 😔❤️❤️
okay. okay i can’t just start this and not talk about my expectations from tv!lyra i usually try not to have expectations of any kind (see my approach to doctor who) but it’s impossible when it comes to my all time favorite female character so, @bbc -
give me a lyra who’s wild
give me a lyra who’s got torn, worn hand me down clothes and dirty knees and bruises and scratches all over
give me a lyra with twigs in her hair and stars in her eyes
give me a rude lyra, a lyra who yells, a lyra who doesn’t (and frankly, can’t) hide her emotions
give me a leader lyra, give me a decisive and arrogant lyra
give me a lyra who lies without hesitation, who lies like she’s been doing it all her life because she has, give me a deceiving and cunning 11 year old child
give me a lyra who’s still CHILDISH as hell, who looks up to the adults she admires like they’re magic, who bluntly acts like she can blend into societies she admires with varying degrees of success (mrs. coulter’s lifestyle, the gyptians, bolvanger - depends on how hard she’s trying to lie and whether she’s just trying to have fun or actually lying for her life)
give me lyra’s and pan relationship - something deeper than anything else
yet give me a lyra who seems so different from her daemon - from responsible, planner, voice of reason pan who always has to look out for her
YET give me lyra and pan who are children and play together and laugh together and act as the one whole being that they are
give me the lyra who drove jordan scholars mad
give me lyra who lad gangs of street urchins into wars
give me lyra who earned the respect and admiration of iorek byrnison, lee scoresby and serafina pekkala (two of which are monarchs)
there’s rose vines growing from my stomach &
they’re aiming straight for the balloon of my heart.
fragile, ready to burst if you touch it just right.
internal bleeding doesn’t scare me. i think i would
prefer crimson bones, saturated organs. for now,
i rub orange zest into my pulse points. hide lavender
in my hair so there will be remnants of it left on your
pillowcase. i leave small shreds of me everywhere.
push my poems against your wrist, try to get you to
see yourself the way i do, realize i only make paper
cuts up and down your arms. i sing to the clouds,
but spit up the rainwater. in a body that never
knows what it wants, the most i can ask for is a
song that makes my hands stop shaking. a field
of stars that burn my fingertips. if i can’t be safe
out here, maybe the trees will still have me.
twine my hands in ivy, complain when i can’t get
loose. maybe i’m a walking contradiction. i want
both the sweet and the sour melting on my tongue
at once. i want salt and cinnamon sifted across my
body. to want intangible metaphors is a way to make
the past ache a little less. i had it, but now it’s gone.
so i over stuff the poems until they’re bloated, all
honey glazed and cherry picked, then kick them
into the oven and turn it up high. let them burn.
let something other than my body go up in flames.
1) “I did everything right.” That was the worst part - if I had done wrong, if I could pinpoint some flaw, some rotten thing, I could have understood. But I’d really tried my best this time. It seemed even that wasn’t enough.
2) You didn’t do it to be cruel. I could have hardened myself against cruelty, cruelty requires some sort of intention, some acknowledgement. I’m not sure you even knew I existed for longer than the three seconds it took to politely brush me aside. Like nothing. That was it - nothing. Inconsequential. I wish you would have been cruel.
3) “I would have done anything to save you.” They managed a watery smile, and touched the other’s cheek. “You did.” “Stay with me - please.”
4) “You broke my heart.” “Pity, I was aiming for your spine. Clearly I need another shot if you’re still fighting me.”