if we pull out all these causes to fight for

when do we stop fighting?

where do we draw the line?

how do we not lose our minds?

i’ve been thinking– about the way we obssess

over squares on a grid on a screen in our hands

and reshares and likes and opinions

that are worthy of attention but not of this division

like how can we save the children

when you spend your time fighting

over which ones first need saving?

the kid at apartment 128

and the kid being forced to work too late

are still trying to survive as you argue and wait

how can you ethically expect all babies to be born

without suffering in this toxic atmosphere; what was your arguing for?

it goes so much deeper than your 280 word caption

it’s not just an instagram story calling people to action

it’s the person behind the words

it’s the community trying to stop the hurt

it’s a movement crying for a moment of silence

it’s saying that we deserve to have peace and quiet

without fearing for our lives

without wondering if our kids will make it home in the night

is that a problem you worry about as well

that you’ll be grabbed out of your car

and pushed down with your hands

tied behind your back,

pleading for someone to understand

but do you?

can you?

should you?

we are not the same, our problems are unique

yet our pushing against them should make us united, not weak

over trying to fight an online comment

over generalizing a whole group of people

because they aren’t what you thought of

when you hear the word “justice”

when you see the word “lives”

they are seeking the same thing you are

only they have realized

that it is better to be a warrior in a garden

than a gardener in a war

we have lost too much already

we do not need more blood

please think about what makes you feel justified

what you support and what you deny

at the end of the day, we shouldn’t be in this rut

these issues shouldn’t have to

be divided into “me” and “you”

when it can be “us”.

to dance

group of people dancing

is to revolt.

to dance

is to be aware of the people staring

and choosing not to care.

moreso, to shift your care into the wave of your hands

the jump in your feet

the toss of your hair

the freedom that runs through your soul

and bursts from your skin.

to dance

is to listen to a beat that you can hear

loud and clear

even if it goes unheard by anyone else.

to dance

is to smile at frowning people

staying still on the ground

whose eyes roam over your body

and attempt to make it still itself

and to move on, anyway.

to dance

is to refuse to be weaponized

by a system that demands rigor mortis

by the fear that has always controlled us

to raise your head and laugh.

to dance

is being willing to go it alone

to trust another person

to join a group

united in individual movement.

to dance

is a love letter

encased in melanin

and tendons

and stretch marks

and beauty.

to dance

is a fist extended into open palms

knowing directed force

has more power when applied to certain points.

to dance

is freeing, joyous,

when you can learn to dance for yourself

that’s where it starts.

to dance

is to let go

of the positions you have known

afraid of moving on

but ready to do so at all costs.

to dance

is a protest

is a performance

is perfect

in its own way.

to dance

in whatever shape or form

whoever your feet move for

may in every little way

you find your dance

today.

i

two persons playing hockey on ice field

i

“i can’t keep TRACK of all of you,” the skate guard laughs as a bunch of little kids push them around the ice, tiny handmedown skates running against the cold to push this giant human around, for, you know, practice.

it is the second to last week of the skating season, and you wait for your friend to finish wrapping her scarf around her head as you have a small conversation about skating.

“i like it, i just wish i had lessons,” she sighs, staring over at some other girl on the ice whose teacher cheers her on as she does a cool one-legged spinny trick and doesn’t fall over. on the other side, the little kids have all fallen into a heap and their adult takes turns picking one up and dragging across the ice, giggling as they feel the sensation of floating on cold air.

“me too,” you agree. you take off your coat and step onto the ice, carefully pushing yourself off. you skate for a while, it feels like forever.

“hey, hey kid!” the skateguard comes up to you and the other children on the ice. “this is how you make a stop the hockey style, okay?”

without question everyone stands still and watches as they dart across the ice, sharply leaning on one side and letting a spray of ice fly across the rim. someone applauds. they come back proud.

“now you try it and see how it goes.”
“in figure skates?” you protest.

they throw their hands up in the air. “they’re all skates, aren’t they?”

all lives, blue skin

people gathering on street during daytime

i see you.

i see you, all of you, splattering bright blue paint against the blazing yellow words that cover the same streets that have been washed of its blood red stains.

i see you, white and black and rainbow, walk the streets triumphantly insisting that all lives matter, all lives matter, all lives matter, NO, ALL LIVES MATTER. ALL OF THEM.

you yell this in the face of the very lives you have literally just declared matter. you shake your fist at children who are declaring themselves to be proud of their skin, who are raising their fists and demanding that justice be served. you rip banners, you scream, you shout, you applaud the “protectors, the good guys”, you cry for general importance and to make america normal.

can you not see yourself?

can you not see the anger and fear and hate that passes through the masks you don’t wear, the very visible disease that accompanies the invisible virus we have already lost lives to. apparently your insistence to be heard trumps the need to not be sick.

one of the more passionate of you did. not. stop. yelling.

“YEAH! WELL I HAVE A HUSBAND! WHAT DO YOU HAVE?”
“EHH! WELL I HAVE A HUSBAND! WELL I HAVE A HUSBAND!”

you wave your phone, puff your chest with the words “gays for trump” printed across it, shape your face to personify total derision of the person behind the screen that is recording you, begging you to state your thoughts in peace.

sir, i ask you of all people, is it possible that despite who you are partnered with, that you do not understand what it is to love?

the whole lot of you walk away with blue hands, saluting the blue shirts, just now attributing yourself to colors. you walk in shooting view of the photographers who come to these displays of human confusion to capture it for history, and in this moment that will last for the ages,

you smirk.

when you are noticed, you smirk because you know that you will be seen.

when we’re noticed, we just make sure we are the best representation of who we are and where we come from in case that’s the last time anyone ever sees us.

can you not see?

you worship the ones who will not hesitate to pound people to the ground, to spray tear gas into kids who just happen to be there, who, if suddenly told by the powers that be that their next victims were the all lives matter people, would not hesitate to treat you with the same cruelty that you gleefully advocate for against the people who are trying to put it all to an end.

you choose to get your hands smeared in blue paint. you are not born in an unalterable dark pigment from head to toe, you do not walk out of the door knowing that you will forever be seen not for your mind or your heart, but how much or how little melanin is in your body. you can wash the paint off, you can take the uniform that is stained with the sweat and blood of another soul away to be cleaned. skin is not so easily maintained.

you put on the blue, you put on the power, you choose that, and in doing so, you let your humanness hide under your colors. we are laid raw and bare and brokenly human in ours.

i feel sorry for you.

i am sorry that i have to use words like “us” and “them, “you” and “we”, because it is undeniably certain that you do not want to seek justice, love mercy, or walk humbly with God, with your fellow humans, or even with yourself. and i pity that very much.

let me correct your sign for you.

you are currently saying that all lives matter. what you want to say is “I MATTER! I MATTER! I MATTER!”

that’s the root of it, isn’t it my dude? you are terrified of the idea of anyone else mattering except yourself.

how sad.
how pathetic.
of course you do.

but not solely you.

here is what all lives matter looks like:

arresting the cops that killed breonna taylor. addressing the very obvious inequalities in every aspect of our society. acknowledging the same heart problems that are in you are in me too. dancing in the streets with no fear of being pulled over or being shot at. holding hands with friends and unmaking enemies. no fear. no shouting. peace. joy. a coffee shop that won’t be vandalized or run out of business where people can learn to connect and thrive. smiles on people’s faces. growing bipoc businesses. to walk into a church and not be treated based on the corners of eyes or the color of skin. to know the same love and call to healing from Above is meant for us all.

can you see the possibilities? can’t you see it?

of course not. you can’t even see me. you don’t want to. you want yourself. what you know.

you chant for blue and blindly watch as black dissolves to red.

did you forget that last color runs through your veins too?

~everyone’s pushing, everyone’s fighting, jo~

yearning

low-angle photography of man standing on stone with arms wide-open statue

“i just want to be *Held”

“can you imagine *human touch*”

“i would kill for a *hug*”

the following was taken from the nsfw channel of a chaotic server i mod, which was created for discussing how to write murder and other dark topics but instantly veered from gory character motives to spoilering the desire to be able to interact with humans for comedic effect.

it’s been rough lately.

most of us haven’t gone out in months, myself included. most of us aren’t in the best of situations physically, mentally, or spiritually. most of us are anxious, and sad, and creating messy characters and plots and stupid jokes is how we cope. most of us are vibing. all of us are alone.

someone (who absolutely shredded me to pieces with a connected series THE PAIN) said it best.

“everyone’s baking and protesting, and we’re stuck here yearning.”

11 people instantly reacted with the f emoji.
to, you know, pay respects.

i mean, are they wrong?

i think about that, today, after waking up and showering and getting my favorite shirt and get a meal of crackers and salmon lox cream cheese. yearning. hhhhhh imagine that.

i’m listening to rend collective’s latest album and my chest (as foreign and dysphoric as it feels) is throbbing with… with relating. with singing. with truth. with desire and fear and so much yearing.

i haven’t talked much about faith as much as i have the world in which faith is so desperately needed, not because i don’t believe it’s not important, but it’s been so, so long since i’ve had any kind of community or sense of belonging– and not just with, like, faith, with every single intricate dang part of myself.

(oh hah guess what i’m writing about that talk about projecting babyy!)

and it’s like how can i claim to talk about truth and God and uhm, being a light when i’m literally in the darkness, you feel? but i’m sure you do. it’s july 2020, and we are all tired, and governments are not doing their jobs, and people are broken, and my goodness, how alone we must all be right now.

creation groans, and so we are literally crying for something more, for something real, for something true, to look into someone’s eyes face to face with no threat of disease stopping us, for justice to be served.

there are names and names and names of people who are gone and it’s not right and it seems like everyone is finally waking up and realizing how broken and wrong the world is and we’re yearning, crying, for anything right, and man, i have clue what to make of that. like, i have to take tutoring for algebra, i’m not mentally equipped for answers. i don’t think any of us are.

but we yearn to do something good anyway. but there are people right now chanting and learning and educating and fighting for right and they’re doing amazing and there are a bunch of people signing up to teach me and a bunch of other lost, nerdy kids how to sing, how to dance, how to dream this summer, there’s stars and there’s sun and there’s a spotify playlist that is streaming truth and beauty and goodness and how, how can anyone look at this world and not realize what it could be, what it was meant to be?

my God really made some amazing things, and yes, they’re so messed up now, but even with their serious flaws they’re beautiful. that is wild. that is so wild. can you not feel that?

if the hate that fueled all these horrible people (read: all of us) to do what we’ve been doing for centuries was replaced with hearts, with love, with holy sacred rightness, what would the world look like?

idk man, but it must be… beautiful.

so i’m here now, filled with a violent urge to create. and sing. and write and fight and scream and care. and to be cared about.

it must be only heaven where one can be at peace and to be among peace.

but if, through what i do and who i am and the amazing people i know, just a tiny bit of heaven can be brought to earth, well, it won’t take away the desire or the yearning.. but maybe rather, remind us that we’re not hoping for nothing. there’s something, there always was Something. and that’s faith fren.

i wish i could knock on the door of every person in the server, in my chats, in my neighborhood and tell them that. i only know how much i would die to hear those words said to me.

oh, and also *hug*. that’s very important.

~we are the strong, we are the brave, we are the dreamers, jo~

color outside every line

assorted-color Crayola crayons

i finished outlining today.

hhhhhhh! i did something today!

Starkid Rachael Soglin GIF - Starkid RachaelSoglin ICanFinallyLayDown GIFs

and you know what

it’s… not good.

there’s so many plot holes. i don’t have any of the characters fully fleshed out, the ending is somewhat anticlimatic, it’s messy and it’s me and it may never see the light of day.

and i think that’s like, that’s something that tends to run through every artist’s mind, you know? like instagram ruins our pictures, we miss a few dozen layers on a project, we hear a wobble in a cover of a song, and we sigh because it’s not good, it’s not right, it’s not perfect and it’s just pathetic and sad and us, which somehow makes it worse.

isn’t that sad? to be disappointed in the thing that makes us us?

i guess.

back to the outline. i don’t even know how much of it i’m actually gonna follow, you know? and like, i was battling a pesky mosquito that was attacking my feet while trying to decide the future of an imaginary person in an imaginary, broken world, and–

that’s not good. but it’s not bad either.

creation, as a concept and as a reality, as a process and a finished work, has always been messy. i think the only person who ever properly nailed a piece of art on the first try was God and like, look what happened to that. we just… messed it up. free will and what not.

and so, we’re left with this yearning for beauty and for substance, for validation and for acceptance, we put pen to paper and brush to paint and fingers to frets and we try and try and try and it’s just a little bit off, and somehow i suppose we feel a pang of disappointment that just pushes us to do better.

what if… the slightly off… is… enough…?

i don’t know what i was trying to say after that,

but it was gonna tie in to me looking over what little of a story i have and being like “hey, that’s actually kinda interesting.”

but catch me being coherent, right? ha. no.

can anything be truly perfect? no. people are mean. life is hard. the world is messy. there’s a literal virus spreading around. how can we demand perfection from ourselves when the whole of humanity has been trying and failing for like, at least a thousand years. maybe two thousand.

but yet we still stare at the moon through an atmosphere with a hole in one of its layers, and it’s like “oh, what a pretty moon” even if it’s the same one that’s been around since 2001. and we eat ice cream from walmart and still call it delicious, and who knows how much artificial food coloring is in that? and we look at a kid’s messy wax crayon drawing and we go “masterpiece! this is going on the fridge for at least a week!”

so i’m just thinking, perfection is not the source or the equivalent of good.

even broken humans need grace, right?

but that kinda makes it easier, to create art that is flawed and songs are maybe a little offkey. stories that maybe have problems but also bring a whole lot of comfort.

and i just think that’s so cool

that i can find someone’s hastily written work apologizing profusely for how messy and unedited it is and i’ll read it and i’ll be laughing and crying and saying “HEY COME BACK! YOU DID GOOD WITH THIS I LOVE IT!” and then it’s not just a messy work, it’s a messy, good work, and that makes all the difference.

i wonder if that’s a thing God did, before it all went south. to instill a sense of Good that isn’t swayed by brokenness? yes? no?

maybe?

so, anyway. i finished my outline. and i have loads of expired chocolate and a computer that is dying every second it’s being used, in a world that cries for the thing that i’m now choosing to accept.

good.

it’s kinda cool, really.

~i’m serious, let’s make a list, jo~

favorite discographies

it’s the month of writing. and death. and summer.

and music.

and thus, here we are.

(no i would never be able to take any of the following photos, creds to their site or to imdb)


Rob Simonsen Picture

rob simosen is cool. like, really cool. like life of pi and stargirl and love, simon and captive state cool. i first heard his work in gifted last year and it’s been a beautiful symphony of music since.

favorite recent listen: butterfly 1 (chu and blossom)

ryan o’neal, or as you all may know, sleeping at last, has been the composer of my childhood background music, summers, trauma, most of my life really. the work he’s done over the years is just really inspiring and mindblowing (a bunch of shows, films, and ads, atlas, the sleeping at last podcast, to name a few) and his covers and singles are just… hhh. amazing. i’ve been playing many beautiful things and atlas ii on repeat lately, it’s been great.

track that peeks into your soul: two

you should know who alexandre desplat is, he scored a few magical wizard kid films, and also little women. if you don’t, that’s okay, you’re probably familiar with a lot of his work through just classic cinema and maybe the academy awards. i find that interesting about certain artists; you learn to love their art before you even know who the artist is. it’s really fascinating.

best album to burn midnight hours to: probably little women, that’s a whole trip and a half.

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Never look back…📸 @officialmvidesphotos

A post shared by Pinar Toprak (@pinartoprakcomposer) on

pinar toprak is a breathing genius, and i find it really sad that the film industry and its eager audience sleep on her work and the work of so many other female film composers. we pay a lot of due attention to john williams and hans zimmer, but toprak scored captain marvel, purl, stargirl, krypton, and a ton of other tracks that’s not being recognized nearly as much as it should, which seems off. anyway i just think she’s neat please check her out and go make hollywood actually try for once ty

track that will knock you into finishing that project: i’m all fired up, captain marvel

 Braille Focus / LeBrun S. Jackson Digital Artistry

tamar-kali has a really cool vibe with her work that i stumbled on listening to the spotify mixes at like, four am one time and it’s really entrancing and invigorating and just. ahh. really great get lost in your head music.

something vaguely different yet familiar: mudbound. like. all of it.

terence blanchard‘s sound in blackkklansmen was so chillingly fun, and harriet equaled if not beat that standard of musicality. i could easily get lost in those sounds for hours. a tale of God’s will and flow are some of my favorites. at this point i’m just geeking out about all of this but then i suppose i have good reason to.

the track that Will force you to stop and go “wow”: goodbye song, harriet

The Peanut Butter Falcon

this one was a collab and i don’t remember everyone by name, but this one is just,, so– idk what the world is, euphoria inducing? clara shared it a while ago and it’s quickly become one of my favorites and then i want to go watch the movie which leads to another rant nobody asked for so i’ll stop right there, but if you ever feel like wandering and being home at the same time, give this a listen.

the “i want” song you’d hear on the radio going to the lake and never being able to forget: running for so long (house a home)

is this a nerd thing to do? perhaps. but i can’t think of a new month or a new season or anything new and exciting without music, and well, these artists make amazing music. so. that’s that.

anyway okay that’s it byee

~time moves fast now, like tires on the road/but i don’t mind it, i always dreamed to go/the long nights over, and i’m starting to believe/i’m not as broken as some made me out to be, jo~

if you fidget long enough the hours literally fly by

i woke up around lunch time. the fact that i fell asleep around 5 am should evoke sympathy.

ogrhulkjarehngiu what do i put next


oh, i got to wear my favorite shirt today. it’s grey and it’s supposed to be xl and i stole it from my uncle’s clean laundry stash and it’s my favorite and has cool words and i like how it feels and looks and don’t tell my uncle because he won’t stop teasing me for being a midget and i am *not* a midget, i’m just really good at picking out everyone’s best items and then taking them


“there’s only the Vibe” a friend once typed in our group chat after i sent in some workings for an oc that will never see the light of day. my character is both a stereotype and breaks all of them, and i was thinking her ambiguousness would be fun to portray, the way that pinning “background character of your favorite show” to your shirt (the grey one, with green accents) automatically makes you very cool. maybe i’ll talk about my oc sometime. maybe i won’t. ambiguousness, you know?

and that’s that on doing everything and nothing all at once.


i don’t know. that’s what i do know.

i don’t know why my mind is firing off in the distance. i don’t know why i enjoy walking around singing ben platt songs at three am to an empty house, i don’t know why marvel makes disappointing filipino superheroes, and i don’t know why rice noodles and spaghetti don’t work well together. maybe because spaghetti is more wheatier. who knows.


and then i think about the concept of borrowing. how everything that makes me me was taken from someone or someplace i don’t remember, long ago.

i live on borrowed land, i’ve grown up on borrowed culture, i dress in thrift store clothes and things saved from ending up in the trash, i wear bracelets passed from person to person, the shoes i wear were carefully stored as its previous owner moved on to better things (better feet? no) and i write these words knowing that its abstract wildness didn’t stem from me, and i wonder, what can i truly call my own that i came into?

nothing. perhaps that’s the beauty of it.


it’s not like people seem to keen on saving their little mannerisms, their stories, their things. it all goes to the trash. and that seems very sad. little objects and tools and knicknacks are little and tiny and should be saved at all costs. why just chuck them away?

there’s a reason i grew up interested in dumpsters. there’s others. i’ve told a few people why. idk, i like the idea of being the catchall for everything unwanted. it’s cool.


like, you know, here? in the islands? trash is like… treasure. depending on where you are and what time is it and can the aguirres’ tattletale lola watch you lug one of the hotel’s discarded speakers away, or is she busy chasing the newest dogs off her chickens? important stuff. and plastic and spare things like that are all kinda important. i was out on the beach yesterday and there were so many plastic bottles. like the little ones. they seemed so lonely.

and there were no dumpsters for them to go to.

sigh.

but here i am, spewing nonsense like the water from the sink on tuesdays. nobody here cares about trash. but then, what do you care about? sunsets, mugs with coffee, fries and onion rings, friendship bracelets, polaroids, stories, people?

they all go one place in the end. trash just happened to get there first.


and maybe that’s okay.

like weeds are only weeds if you see them that way. it could be an happy little flower, like bob ross and his happy little trees that technically don’t need to be there but they certainly don’t hurt anything by existing. and that’s all they need to do. exist. it must be terribly difficult to assign roles and purposes for every single organism on earth to feel like everything is there for the greater good.


maybe this is the greater good. to stare at the wall above the stove after yeeting a gecko out of my bedroom (little son of a tax collector made a mess out of my shirts. not nice, mr. gecko, beGONE) and see stars appear out of nowhere. to slide into the kitchen with a piece of cloth that we’ll pretend is a cape, holding a mug in one hand and singing ben rector songs. to dress up as heroes and actively save the world in my mind. imagine. a hero. can you imagine that, wall? heroes.

i wonder what the wall’s favorite shirt is. bet you lunch it probably has green accents and is softer than my roommate’s blankets.

~i wanna eat pancakes for dinner, jo~

you had a name

dark pathway lit with small light fixture

“I can’t breathe.”

the house is quaking with thunder, and i feel numb inside.

“I was just going home.”

you could’ve gone so many places. you could’ve been going for a walk, or to a party, or to your friend’s house, or on a mini adventure, or travelling across the world, and now… well. you’ve gone.

and you just wanted to go home.

“I’m an introvert.”

hey, me too man. you know what, sometimes i sneak out of the house just to wander down the street and watch the waves for an hour. or on top of the roof to stare at the stars. because then there’s no people, and people are scary, and sometimes people pass dangerous things, like sickness and disease and hate. you get that. you got that.

“I’m just different. That’s all.”

you were a musician. you played violin for the cats at the pet shop. you worked as a massage therapist. you liked music and people and cats and you had a story, you were different and you were beautiful.

and you were black.

that’s the only different thing anyone saw.

“I’m so sorry. I have no gun. I don’t do that stuff. I don’t do any fighting. Why are you attacking me?

why did you apologize? you didn’t do anything wrong. and even if you did have a gun, why would that brand you as someone deserving of the treatment you received, when the very country you were living in has made such a big deal of its rights to tote around weapons? that shouldn’t have convicted you, none of this should’ve happened. they weren’t supposed to attack.

they. weren’t. supposed. to. attack.

Forgive me. All I was trying to do was become better. I will do it. I will do anything. Sacrifice my identity, I’ll do it. 

i don’t understand. i don’t understand why you said that, i don’t understand why anyone has to say that, and why nobody listens to them. i don’t know why this hurts so much, and the not knowing hurts even more.

i’ve said the same words and suffered for years for it. i’ve tried to suppress and hide so many messy, dangerous, human aspects of myself to be accepted, but to beg for my life? nobody should have to do that. nobody.

You all are phenomenal. You are beautiful and I love you.

they forced you on the ground.
they were choking you to death.
they let their cameras slip.
they were not listening.
somehow, you gave grace that they would never have even considered for yourself.
that’s astounding, in every way that hurts.

“”Try to forgive me. I’m a mood Gemini. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Ow, that really hurt.

what was done to be forgiven or punished for? walking? wearing a mask? being black? what was right in this situation that let it go unnoticed for months, that it only got brought back up after yet another person’s death? i mean, what happened to “innocent until proven guilty”? what happened to kindness? why did you say such soft words?

You are all very strong. Teamwork makes the dream work.

teamwork is for goals and dreams and futures, and collectively driving toward good. for sports and games and restaurants and the small gentle things of life. for nerf wars and water balloon fights, for games of tag and hide and seek and going places. teamwork shouldn’t be to attack a defenseless person for simply existing differently from you.

because what kind of twisted dream is it to hurt other people?

“Oh, I’m sorry I wasn’t trying to do that. I just can’t breathe correctly.”

every person that has ever existed was born crying for air. to apologize for that… to apologize for one of the first things that… that make us human?

i am so sorry.

i’m so sorry that it took ten months. ten. months. let your name be heard, for justice to be demanded. the world is a horrible place to exist sometimes, even when it knows.

they snuffed out a light, and now they’re mad because everyone’s trying to strike matches for a fire.

your name was elijah mcclain. i’m sorry we forgot.

and… and may the light you left with be picked up. soon.

because it feels so horribly dark.

~the dark comes crashing through, jo~

UPDATE: i forgot to leave sources so you can find out for yourself, and i think that’s especially important right now, so here you go:

petition

sources

let me tell you now

It is the calm water
In the middle of an anxious sea
Where heavy clouds part and the sunrise starts
A fire in the deepest part of me
So I let go and in this moment I can breathe


Out of the woods, out of the dark
I’m well aware of the shadows in my heart
I want to feel tectonic shifts
I want to be, I want to be astonished
I want to be astonished
So I propose a toast
To fists unraveling, to glass unshattering
To breaking all the rules, to breaking bread again
We’re swallowing light, we’re swallowing our pride
We’re raising our glass, ’til we’re fixed from the inside
‘Til we’re fixed from the inside


In case you don’t live forever, let me tell you now
I love you more than you’ll ever wrap your head around
In case you don’t live forever, let me tell you the truth
I’m everything that I am because of you


Don’t be scared, it’s alright
It’s a weight you are not meant to shoulder
But you bear so much light
And it’s brighter each day we get older
And I know that you’re broken too
But you are a sacrament
God has spoken through
He’s spoken through you


Go on, leave your worries, too
Not a bit of good they do
There’s a word that’s coming through
Go on, leave your worry, too
So I call your name in the middle of the night
I wanna know can you hear my cries?
June heat and moonlight
I wanna follow you
Said I wanna follow you


Can’t you see older brother
A life spent learning to walk
Finally starting to run
You have been vindicated
You had the answer all along
I can see it now
Your journey will inspire many other
Sisters and brothers
Hold on
Vincent
You’ve carried me more than you’ll ever know


i compiled this for my sister, but since this month is supposed to have father’s day or whenever that is, i thought i’d leave this here for everyone whose father figure isn’t stereotypical, or even has one.

~i can see it, a new horizon, jo~