Online writing home of Rebecca Brown, friendly monster and future hermit. She also publishes under the pen name Julia Illich.


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idk why i always describe love
as falling asleep on someone else’s
couch but maybe it’s because
last time i was at dan’s i sat
back ramrod stiff, elbows
at nintey degrees barely
making eye contact; maybe
it’s because you weren’t there.

have we felt so much all this time that we can never feel anything together?

For queerness can never define an identity; it can only ever disturb one.

— Lee Edelman, No Future: Queer Theory and the Death Drive (via globeandmale)

real bored at work. ask or send me things that would be great.

  • #hi
  • incredibly gorgeous i almost say

    i forget i am not allowed to love you
    any more.

    a year later you see the devil
    and she has bags under her eyes.

    she is imperceptibly more tired.
    you could blame it on the year
    but she is sadder. you can feel it.

    she will scream at you later.
    she will tell you you have no right.

    you just want to hold her hand.

    somewhere in this year her tan has faded,
    her roots are showing.

    her face is sharper
    and softer.

    she is in the refining fire.

    you wonder if you will recognize her
    on another day, in another year
    (you think you always will)

    you wonder if she will still remember
    in another year, if she still remembers
    now.

    you do. dark nights, her father’s car.

    you wonder if she is sorry.

    you wonder if she is the same.

    you walk away.

    radfem anarchist who can’t get out of bed

    I’m glad you never loved me in the summer

    This summer I became someone new. This summer I dug deep into the earth - half buried - no one remarked about the way I let the sun scorch my skin. No one commented on the way sand brushed off my fingertips. This summer I began to live again, even if it was in the dirt. I left a trail of soil behind me. In the winter if you return you’ll find me the same as I was. Deprived from the sun I will fade. My edges will solidify. I’m glad you never loved me in the summer. At least I have sometime to still be alive.

    i’m sorry i can’t love the way
    you burn everything you touch.