brother love
@revmillerjen.bsky.social
miller hoffman is so fucking tired of racism and transphobia; do better
watching states line up to help patrol streets, abduct neighbors, fix the election.
wish i could just ride in peace
wish i could just ride in peace
August 23, 2025 at 4:06 PM
watching states line up to help patrol streets, abduct neighbors, fix the election.
wish i could just ride in peace
wish i could just ride in peace
Then you come,
And you are quiet like the garden,
And white like the alyssum flowers,
And beautiful as the silent sparks of the fireflies.
Ah, Beloved, do you see those orange lilies?
They knew my mother,
But who belonging to me will they know
When I am gone.
--Amy Lowell
And you are quiet like the garden,
And white like the alyssum flowers,
And beautiful as the silent sparks of the fireflies.
Ah, Beloved, do you see those orange lilies?
They knew my mother,
But who belonging to me will they know
When I am gone.
--Amy Lowell
February 12, 2025 at 3:10 AM
Then you come,
And you are quiet like the garden,
And white like the alyssum flowers,
And beautiful as the silent sparks of the fireflies.
Ah, Beloved, do you see those orange lilies?
They knew my mother,
But who belonging to me will they know
When I am gone.
--Amy Lowell
And you are quiet like the garden,
And white like the alyssum flowers,
And beautiful as the silent sparks of the fireflies.
Ah, Beloved, do you see those orange lilies?
They knew my mother,
But who belonging to me will they know
When I am gone.
--Amy Lowell
living my best stressed transy life starting the new year in my favorite city
(gently, but increasingly bothered, lgb are not currently in sights of anyone but idaho; prove me wrong or quit using the full acronym for the fuckery. this gay-too shit feels as bad as fake-t)
(gently, but increasingly bothered, lgb are not currently in sights of anyone but idaho; prove me wrong or quit using the full acronym for the fuckery. this gay-too shit feels as bad as fake-t)
February 1, 2025 at 9:18 PM
living my best stressed transy life starting the new year in my favorite city
(gently, but increasingly bothered, lgb are not currently in sights of anyone but idaho; prove me wrong or quit using the full acronym for the fuckery. this gay-too shit feels as bad as fake-t)
(gently, but increasingly bothered, lgb are not currently in sights of anyone but idaho; prove me wrong or quit using the full acronym for the fuckery. this gay-too shit feels as bad as fake-t)
Shoulders
Naomi Shihab Nye
A man crosses the street in rain,
stepping gently, looking two times north and south,
because his son is asleep on his shoulder.
No car must splash him.
No car drive too near to his shadow.
Naomi Shihab Nye
A man crosses the street in rain,
stepping gently, looking two times north and south,
because his son is asleep on his shoulder.
No car must splash him.
No car drive too near to his shadow.
January 28, 2025 at 4:50 AM
Shoulders
Naomi Shihab Nye
A man crosses the street in rain,
stepping gently, looking two times north and south,
because his son is asleep on his shoulder.
No car must splash him.
No car drive too near to his shadow.
Naomi Shihab Nye
A man crosses the street in rain,
stepping gently, looking two times north and south,
because his son is asleep on his shoulder.
No car must splash him.
No car drive too near to his shadow.
wrestling is dangerous
January 26, 2025 at 10:38 PM
wrestling is dangerous
No Ruined Stone
BY SHARA MCCALLUM
When the dead return
they will come to you in dream
and in waking, will be the bird
knocking, knocking against glass, seeking
a way in, will masquerade
as the wind, its voice made audible
by the tongues of leaves, greedily
lapping, as the waves’ self-made fugue
BY SHARA MCCALLUM
When the dead return
they will come to you in dream
and in waking, will be the bird
knocking, knocking against glass, seeking
a way in, will masquerade
as the wind, its voice made audible
by the tongues of leaves, greedily
lapping, as the waves’ self-made fugue
January 25, 2025 at 7:04 PM
No Ruined Stone
BY SHARA MCCALLUM
When the dead return
they will come to you in dream
and in waking, will be the bird
knocking, knocking against glass, seeking
a way in, will masquerade
as the wind, its voice made audible
by the tongues of leaves, greedily
lapping, as the waves’ self-made fugue
BY SHARA MCCALLUM
When the dead return
they will come to you in dream
and in waking, will be the bird
knocking, knocking against glass, seeking
a way in, will masquerade
as the wind, its voice made audible
by the tongues of leaves, greedily
lapping, as the waves’ self-made fugue