Remember How Sally Told Percy That Not Everyone Who Looks Like A Hero Is A Hero And Not Everyone Who

Girls are coming out of the woods, lifting their broken legs high, leaking secrets from unfastened thighs, all the lies whispered by strangers and swimming coaches, and uncles, especially uncles, who said spreading would be light and easy, who put bullets in their chests and fed their pretty faces to fire, who sucked the mud clean off their ribs, and decorated their coffins with briar. 

Girls are coming out of the woods, clearing the ground to scatter their stories. Even those girls found naked in ditches and wells, those forgotten in neglected attics, and buried in river beds like sediments from a different century. They’ve crawled their way out from behind curtains of childhood, the silver-pink weight of their bodies pushing against water, against the sad, feathered tarnish of remembrance. They're coming. They're coming. 

A segment of poem by Tishani Doshi

"Thoughts on women?" Yeah pretty much constantly

rip magneto you would have loved killing elon musk

“The Good Still Finds Me”

I used to think healing meant feeling nothing—

no ache, no fear,

just clean slates and steady hands.

But healing, I’ve learned,

isn’t quiet.

It’s crying in the shower

and still showing up.

It’s being afraid

and doing it anyway.

It’s doubting yourself

and choosing to try again.

Sometimes,

it’s laughing so hard you forget

why you were hurting.

Other times,

it’s getting through the day

and calling that enough.

I still stumble.

I still carry the weight.

But life keeps showing up

in little ways—

a stranger’s kindness,

a song I forgot I loved,

sunlight that lands on me

like it meant to.

I used to search for signs

that things would fall apart.

Now I look for proof

that I’m still becoming.

And I find it—

in my softness,

in my strength,

in how I keep going

even when it’s hard.

No, I’m not fully healed.

But I’ve stopped calling myself broken.

The good still finds me.

And this time—

I let it stay.

- DK

After years of waiting, nothing came.

Radiohead

sorry for being weird online. i'm even worse if you see me in person

Frank Zhang if Olympus had their own version of the Met Gala!

The laziest femme you know with the messiest bedroom is daydreaming about being a housewife to a butch rn

Jason Grace if Olympus had their own version of the Met Gala!