Anonymous asked: I think you're beautiful.

I think you’re very kind. Thank you.

I live with a constant urge to make art. To be part of art. But I lack both the motivation and the inspiration. 

five—a—day:

I wish I was more bones, not because I have a desire to be thin, though I do, but because I have a deeper desire to be delicate. I want people to know when they look at me that I am easily broken. I want them to talk to me in goose feathers and cotton. I want them to treat my body like it’s a mason jar preserving all my vital organs. There is nothing in this world I like less than myself, though I love myself tenderly all the while. I want to be brittle. I want knocks by strangers on crowded streets to dissipate my structure. I want rain to melt away my shoulder blades. I want to crumble under direct eye contact. I want these things because I am these things and no one is careful enough.