My dad is always telling me how I can’t ask people to stop making noises that trigger me if I sometimes make noises or do things that get on their nerves. For example, this morning I’m stirring my iced coffee quietly in the car (trying not to be annoying but ice) and he said “oh so you can do that but we’re not allowed to crunch loudly?!” These kind of comments used to make me feel really guilty because on the surface they make since, i can’t get mad at you for making noises if I do it too, but there’s a big difference here. I have an actual disorder that’s being triggered and he doesn’t. Even still, I try to be considerate of his feelings but I refuse to feel guilty for asking them to stop talking with their mouth full of food and crunching chips in my ear. It’s my disorder and I have every right to ask them to be considerate.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” But, Mama, my mouth is always full of something. I’ve always got fire to spit. Tell me: why shouldn’t we be razing these cities carved from the spines of those too bent over to ever see the sun kiss the spires they inspired? You always tell me you were born a ten-years too late protester. I’m right on time.
“Keep your voice down!” But, Mama, there is so much left to say. There are so many “thank you”s (the most important of which belongs to you), so many “I’m sorry”s (the most important of which belongs to you). Do not curse this voice when you are the one who taught it to speak.
“Keep your hands to yourself.” But, Mama, how do I stop myself from reaching out when this world’s got so much to offer me? I know it ain’t all pretty but I will keep pushing my palms up to grasp it. Even when it stings. Rain ain’t always warm but it still manages to melt everything.
“Stand up straight.” But how can I, Mama when the galaxy is splayed across my shoulders? Atlas ain’t around to support the sky no more. He gave the job to you after seeing the 1999 Las Vegas Polaroid of a much-younger you holding a much-younger me as if I was the world. Your smile in that photo, half hidden by the white down of my coat and magnified on my own face says this is easy. Your smile today says this is far from easy but it is the closest thing to worth it. You gave me the stars, Mama. Someday I will ball up the heat of them and forge my spine into a lightning rod like the one which stands in you.
“Do as I say not as I do.” But, Mama, there is no better feeling than that of my feet filling your shoes.
so I was in like third or fourth grade and I was sitting at the lunch table with this friend of mine just eating my chicken nuggets. at the time I never understood why my mom had always told me not to talk with my mouth full, until I turned to my friend and started to say something about the homework. A chewed up piece of chicken nugget flew out of my mouth and straight into her eye, so for like five minutes she was sitting there screaming while some chewed up food sat literally on her eyeball, she was so traumatized that she had to go home. I was so humiliated I never had the heart to tell the teacher that it was me who made her go into hysterics
things abt RWBY chibi that make me infinitely happy and cure me of all my ailments:
-Chibi Blake’s cat ears twitching
-Ruby when she ate LIKE ALL THOSE CHOCOLATE CHIPS
-My baby daughter Yang talking with her mouth full of cake like no that’s bad table manners but its ok cuz ur cute
-THEIR SQUISHY LIL ARMS AND LEGS
-the tiny tamping sounds of their feet when they walk or stomp around
-tfw there’s no tumbleweed on Beacon Cliff so u gotta use the dog
-The lil slaps when they’re “attacking” each other
-The light-hearted renditions of the character songs
-The chibi weapons
-The transition animations
-How everyones’s hair looks tbh I love how they simplified their hair forms
-When the characters use their extraordinary semblances for ridiculously mundane things
AND MOST IMPORTANTLY:
-the ^_^ face (THE BEST FACE, TOO PURE FOR THIS WORLD)