- Me: Where are the owls? WHERE ARE THE OWLS?
- Hooters Waitress: Please sir, you're causing a fuss and disturbing the other customers-
- Me: *banging my hands rhythmically on the table* WHERE-ARE-THE-OWLS? WHERE-ARE-THE-OWLS? WHERE ARE THE OWLS?
I need a friend that would go to different forests and abandoned places with me
I would, though.
I would stop accidentally assuming they’re straight. I would feel safer pointing out cute people around them. I would ask them about their pronouns or their names. I might discuss things with them that I can’t talk about with my straight friends. I would totally change my behavior, to honor their identity and their experiences.
As a child, I learned Death was feared
But I am in part made up of death
From the mane that hangs nappy from my head
To the nails speckled in pink gloss on my hands
Even the skin that clings to the delicate living pieces below it, is dead,
I am a carcass.
I brush and accessorize the dead parts of me
Until others claim them beautiful.
But I am a corpse.
I am death.
And so are they.
And we are lively corpses together.
Decorating our dead parts
And hiding our living.