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The Race

So a life of fatigue
from jumping over
                       Mental hurdles;

My imagined legs
leapt with power
           And so exhausted
their feeble assets —
                       I still go on
Through the pulled muscles,
through every opponent
           Passing me by

But when I lastly arrive
past that finish line,
Who would cheer
             For such a loss?

How people treat sexual orientation, as explained with furniture.

Heterosexuality is a couch. Nobody even bats an eye if you keep it in the living room for everyone to see–it’s simply expected. I mean, where the hell else would you keep it? Hidden in a bedroom? No, that would be weird.

Homosexuality is a bed. Having a bed in a public room is considered weird and gross–you’re expected to keep it in private bedroom you close the door to before anyone else comes over. Because even though there are a million and one things someone can do sitting on a bed that aren’t sexual (and plenty of ways to have sex on a couch), the first and foremost thing anyone associates beds with is sex.

Bisexuality is a Western-style futon. Sometimes it functions like a couch, sometimes it functions like a bed, but whichever position it’s in at the moment, it’s still a goddamn futon. People who want to use it as a couch give you shit for not having a real couch; people who want to use it as a bed give you shit for not having a real bed. It’s acceptable in your living room, but only if you make extra certain to put it in couch position and hide the sheets before company comes over. Otherwise, you’d better hide it in a guest room.

Asexuality is a table. No matter how many times you tell people it’s not meant to be sat on, dickheads with no manners will try to park their nasty asses on it anyway.

The amount of fire in my bones
right now is enough to make a
volcano blush. I hope you know
that I never meant to burn you,
only create islands for you to
rest on when I finally cooled
off, when you tired of swimming.
—  resting place // Haley Hendrick
he is a moon
she is willing to forget
during mornings and afternoons
but every night
she realizes that at the end of the day
he will always be there
in her dreams and
she cannot avoid him
at the end of the day
it will always be him
the one she’s looking forward to see
during nights and the times
she’s crying herself to sleep
—  excerpt from a book i’ll never write // r.b
Born out of water,
Waves pushed her outward;
Of the sea she’s the daughter
And not one of a coward.
Child of the ocean,
Wild and free;
The tide set her in motion,
The wind whispers her decree
To erase mankind’s sins
And wipe them clean off their skins.
—  denmysterywoman