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#nonconformity – @mxmorbidmidnight on Tumblr
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FOR I AM THE SHAPESHIFTER

@mxmorbidmidnight / mxmorbidmidnight.tumblr.com

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧
MINOR 𖤐 WRITER 𖤐 POET 𖤐 GOTH 𖤐 FULL TIME CRINGEFAIL GAYASS GOOSE 𖤐
ִ ࣪𖤐⭒⭑⋆♱✮♱⋆⋆♱✮♱⋆⋆♱✮♱⋆⋆♱✮♱⋆⋆♱✮♱⋆⋆♱✮♱⋆⋆♱✮♱⋆
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If thou wishes to inquire about my life with disability, queer and nonhuman identity do feel free to send an ask in my direction dear. I find when learning about one’s identity or the world around us, it can benefit to hear the experiences from others. I also believe there can be comfort sought in conversing with other persons. This blog is a place of inquiry, thine questions are welcomed. If you do not understand aspects of who I am, my poetry or what I say, tis no reason to feel ashamed. Ask and I will be delighted to answer.

Mine ear does belong to thee as do my tales. Ask away dear.

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So, interesting story I just realised how much people stare at me in public. I have terrible vision, and I never wore my glasses because I hated them. Recently I got contact lenses and I suddenly realised how many people stare at me whenever I leave the house. I was walking through the shops the other day and I’m not even exaggerating, every second person would stare at me. Parents giving me disgusted looks, kids walking up to me just to stand in front of me and stare (not their fault, they’re kids). People are always telling me, oh did you know people were staring at you? But I always sought of brushed it off because I never saw the level of disgust that some people look at me. They stare at me as I tic as if I’m something dangerous that needs to be locked up, looking at me from their table as if I’m a child making a scene, offended that I would dare show my face in public. Whispers as I walk past, laughing and taunting me, taunting and taunting knowing I cannot reply. It doesn’t help that I dress the way I do, trad goth and just generally weird. People always tell me about how I’ll love all the artsy modern places and how everything will be so much better when I find someplace where people are more like me. But I don’t think I should have to go on some expedition just to find people who don’t treat me like vermin. Perhaps I am being a bit ridiculous, but I suppose it feels shattering to be looked at the way I am.

Tis the making of my brain I cannot control. Tis like being a bird within a cage heated over a flame, iron bars trapping it in somehow cold and unwavering.

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