strangerdarkerbetter:

i-am-a-fish:

If you say you’re trans, that’s all you have to do!

[image description: a series of images of the trans flag with text over the flag.

In blue, “you don’t have to go through surgery to be trans.”

In pink, “you don’t have to do hormone therapy to be trans.”

In blue, “You don’t have to wear makeup to be trans.”

In pink, “You don’t have to change your hair to be trans.”

In blue, “You don’t have to wear a binder to be trans.”

In pink, “you don’t have to clear out your wardrobe to be trans.”

In blue, “you don’t have to date a person of a specific gender to be trans.”

In pink, “you don’t have to alter your voice to be trans.”]

margiepm:

itsladykit:

theangriestlittleunicorn:

the-real-seebs:

the-rain-monster:

shrineart:

vampireapologist:

Honestly something that bothers me more than most things is having my compassion mistaken for naivety.

I know that another fish might eat this bullfrog right after I spend months rehabilitating it.

I know that turning a beetle back onto its legs won’t save it from falling over again when I walk away.

I know that there is no cosmic reward waiting for my soul based on how many worms I pick off a hot sidewalk to put into the mud, or how many times I’ve helped a a raccoon climb out of a too-deep trashcan. 

I know things suffer, and things struggle, and things die uselessly all day long. I’m young and idealistic, but I’m not literally a child. I would never judge another person for walking by an injured bird, for ignoring a worm, or for not really caring about the fate of a frog in a pond full of, y’know, plenty of other frogs.

There is nothing wrong with that.

But I cannot cannot cannot look at something struggling and ignore it if I may have the power to help.

There is so much bad stuff in this world so far beyond my control, that I take comfort in the smallest, most thankless tasks. It’s a relief to say “I can help you in this moment,” even though they don’t understand.

I don’t need a devil’s advocate to tell me another fish probably ate that frog when I let it go, or that the raccoon probably ended up trapped in another dumpster the next night.

I know!!!! I know!!!!!!! But today I had the power to help! So I did! And it made me happy!

So just leave me alone alright thank u!!!!

THIS.

I heard a story about this, a parable I guess.

There was a big storm and a ton of starfish were washed onto the beach, stranded much further up than they could get back and beginning to bake in the post-storm sunshine. A little girl was walking down the beach, picking up starfish and throwing them back into the sea. Some guy comes up and asks her what she’s doing. “Saving the starfish,” she says.

He looks around at the huge beach and the hundreds of starfish, and says “You can’t possibly save them all. I’m afraid you’re not gonna make much of a difference.”

She throws another starfish back into the ocean, and replies “It made a difference to that one.”

Yeah, I mean, we know we can’t change all the things. But have you ever noticed how much better life is when you’re around people who change things when they can?

Kindness is a choice. Even if it’s small, it’s worth it.

This is what I’m talking about, when I say that kindness and compassion do not equate with ignorance, stupidity, or naivety. Being cynical does not make someone more intelligent or more worldly. 

Kindness is not weakness.

Kindness is brave. Especially when you also know that your kindness might not be returned, may even be met with anger or cruelty. It’s reaching out with an open hand, knowing that it’s just as likely to be bitten as it is to be held. 

Kindness is hard. If you can’t find it in yourself to be kind, then fine. But don’t make it more difficult for those that can.

Reminds me so much of mini-prinz and his tales of picking up snails off the sidewalk 😊

captain-snark:

scandinavianindian:

fifty-shadesofgay:

giwatafiya:

dominawritesthings:

thewellofastarael:

mexica-boricua:

skywritingg:

myvaginaisanuclearreactor:

howmanymoredays:

kropotkitten:

Fun History Fact: The overwhelming majority of cowboys in the U.S. were Indigenous, Black, and/or Mexican persons. The omnipresent white cowboy is a Hollywood studio concoction meant to uphold the mythology of white masculinity.

Thank you.

I will always re-blog this

I think it was high school when i overheard some white girl put on her best semi-disgusted and confused voice and go “why do so many Mexicans dress up like cowboys?” and I had to be the person to tell her.

Why do you think the whites say buckero? Cause they couldn’t say vaquero.

I dunno if I reblogged this before but fuck it, y’all gon learn today.

Teach the children.

also, cowboy culture was hella gay. like, write-poems-about-your-cowboy-partner gay.

IF people acknowledge it, they play the necessity card– there weren’t any women out on the range, so they had to “resort to men.” this claim completely erases 1) the romantic (not just sexual) writings of actual cowboys, 2) the acknowledgement of cowboys’ potential homosexual activity by writers at the time, and 3) the possibility that some men would deliberately become cowboys with the intent to seek out homosexual encounters.

no one wants to admit it, but cowboy culture was just. so inherently gay.

Im here for the gay POC cowboys

straights: there were NO women they HAD to be gay

cowboys: There are NO women I love being GAY