Ough You Go To Therapy You Take Your Meds You Learn To Drive You Make Friends You Graduate College You

dear march—come in— by Emily Dickinson

make bad art or you will always feel bad about your art. Make bad art until you find joy in the crooked lines and the off colours. Make bad art because art is about expression and artwork is never ugly because it was made by someone who has lived a life no one else will ever live. Make bad art and find love through ugly. Make bad art so you make art at all. Make bad art.

Bottlecap Press

It's Always This Beautiful, I Just Can't Always See It, by Codi Barbini

Prose poetry, chapbook, 36 pages, from Bottlecap Features. In It’s Always This Beautiful, I Just Can’t Always See It, gratitude becomes a me

From Codi Barbini's chapbook, It's Always This Beautiful, I Just Can't Always See It, available from Bottlecap Press!

To try to do anything in this day and age is courageous. Even if you suck at least you’re fucking doing something. You’re creating something. You are doing SOMETHING. That in itself is a courageous act.

PSA for fanfic writers

online communities are so strange because people slip away so easily. you can be on here for years, folding people you've never met into the fabric of your daily life, and then they disappear, leaving only ghost posts scattered across tumblr behind. or their blog stays dormant, for weeks, months, years, until you're only still following them because you remember that they love sunflowers or they were kind to you when they didn't have to be or the last thing they posted was sad and raw and you still worry about them sometimes.

and sometimes they come back when you least expect it, years later, even, and there's this sudden rush of relief like there you are, there you are, even though you barely knew each other.

there's a strange kind of love to it. i don't know you and i want to hold your hand across miles and time zones and oceans. i can still see the imprint of you in this community you left. you don't anyone will notice or care when you're gone, but we notice and we care and we wish you well.

i hope you're all okay out there. i hope the sun is shining on your face and you are breathing deeply. i miss you.

To make a prairie (1755) - Emily Dickinson

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,

One clover, and a bee.

And revery.

The revery alone will do,

If bees are few.

I love pop rocks, can I have some more [x]

*takes your face gently in my hands and looks sincerely into your eyes* listen. your home does not need to look like a showroom. homes are meant to be lived in, and that means a certain amount of mess. it's okay if there is clutter on your desk or if you don't remember the last time you cleaned your oven. mess is morally neutral. but at the same time, you deserve to live in an environment that is safe and comfortable, and that means someone has to clean sometimes. things like mold, spoiled food, and dirty litter boxes are genuine health hazards and need to be dealt with before they make someone sick. think of cleaning less as "my home needs to be completely spotless" and more as "I am an animal and I need a habitat that is free of hazardous material." it's okay. *kisses you on the forehead and tucks you into a blanket*

(and of course it is always acceptable and even good for you to ask someone else to help you with cleaning if it's physically or mentally difficult for you. even if you're paying them to do it.)

[gripping the sink] perfectionism does not help me avoid embarrassment or shame. perfectionism is in itself a form of shame. when i struggle with perfectionism i struggle with shame. when i struggle with perfectionism i struggle with shame. when i struggle with perfectionism i struggle with shame