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I can feel the screams under my skin

Loud and powerful as the ocean in a storm

They stretch my skin as I fight to hide

i can’t help but let them slip

They’re in my too loud laughter

In my quick to blaze anger

Sometimes they grow too large for me to hide

I have to release the pressure before it ruins me

So I let tears stream down my face while I scream to the car radio

I let the car door slam

I let my boots stomp in the mud

I walk to the edge of the cliff overlooking the water

Waves lap at the shore

My fists curl and I let out a scream that shreds my throat and cracks my ribs

It pushes the waters back so the wave grows and grows until I’m out of breath

I drop to my knees in the mud and inhale sharply

The tension is released and the water surges

I look to the lighthouse that stands tall and steady on the rocks

There’s a silhouette at the top that disappears the next time the light swings around

The water calms and I walk back to the car with muddy legs

Pulling onto the road with the radio silent I wonder

Is anyone listening?

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Sometimes I feel like I’m trapped alone in a cell. I’m allowed to do what ever I want in this cell, and sometimes I write stories on the walls of the cell. But, because I am in a cell, no one sees my writing. I know there are people outside the cell but they refuse to look in, or maybe they are looking but they won’t tell me they are. Either way it feels like no one notices the work I put out.

Please, if you enjoy any of my original writing, leave a like, reblog it, talk to me about it. If you hated it, tell me why.

I put my writing up for people to enjoy it, but I can’t know if I’m accomplishing that if all I get back is radio silence.

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I don’t feel alive some days

Days where my ribcage is broke open

Days where you can see the vines tethering me to the earth

Hyacinths and Lillies growing out of my skull

A sapling in my stomach and Moss on my spine

If I try to speak the only thing that comes out is dirt

My hands are wooden with birds perched on my fingers

My legs are covered in mushrooms

I don’t have thoughts on those days

Nothing but the sound of water lapping at the shore

Nothing but birdsong as they nest in my hair

Or is it wild grass now

There’s days I feel like bones being returned to the earth

Sun-bleached and brittle

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do you guys remember anything about how the Kopern government from TSM is structured? Like how it’s super convoluted; there are all these branches but the branches are all mixed together and some people are elected and some are appointed and some are just always there, and there are lots of random precedents and exceptions? (I don’t know if I ever made a proper post on it, i will if anyone’s curious about it at all, but i know i’ve talked about it at least in ask answers and stuff)

ANYWAY not important, but i’m watching an econ lecture and the instructor is explaining how the federal reserve system in the US is set up, and it’s Also super weird and convoluted and everything about it reminded me of the TSM government lol 

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Cold seeps into my bones as the stars dim

My clothes soak in the dewy grass where I lay

Bare feet push against the dirt

Hands grab at the ground

Dirt and grass in my grasp

The night is too loud with thoughts

Dawn brings me a moment of peace

With quiet in my head I’m grounded

The sun peeks over the horizon

I sit up, frozen toes and fingers

The sun smiles on my face

I stand and stretch with a sigh

The sky brightens to a pale blue

I move inside to shower and start the day

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In my Creative Writing class, I wrote a scene where the protagonist is being dropped off at an orphanage. The orphanage I set up was ugly and dark, and the head mistress was a mean, horrible lady. One of my peers that reviewed it warned that this is a cliche. Is that true? I don't mind changing it, but the thing is my orphan boy will be adopted by a wonderful man and finally have a home he truly belongs to. How can I create a need to belong without being trite or cliche? Am I better off

anon continued: making the orphanage a good place? I want to build up to the fact this boy will finally find a loving family and home.

My answer: You should change your setting, but it’s very possible for you to maintain that it’s an unpleasant experience that sets a strong contrast for the eventual loving family.

I recommend switching the setting to a group home. Group homes function similarly to the way orphanages did in the past.

Group homes are facilities attached to child protective services that are designed to house a large number of children in the foster care system at one time.

To do that, there will be a staff of child caregivers to manage the children. The caregivers work in shifts, so there will be a day shift, evening shift, and night shift. Meaning they work 8-9 hours a shift (the extra hour might be related to catching up the next shift on any new developments, such as a new child arrival).

There might also be a care worker or two specific to managing that group home who works with each child’s case worker. They would have day shifts, a normal 9-5 type consistency. 

There will also be a manager for the group home who accounts for funding, financial decisions, staffing and schedules.

These facilities work with CPS and by extension the government. They get government funding and must meet state government established standards for quality of care, child-safety, and facility management/wellbeing.

Group homes usually stick to a specific demographic of children. Example: boys or girls group homes, only accepting children within specific age ranges (0-4, 5-8, 9-12, 13-18) or group homes that are specific to children with special needs. And they have a set capacity, a number of beds they can fill at max. Set capacity varies on state laws. According to the Children’s Bureau (a part of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, average capacity is 4-12 children (source

They are by far more humane than the media-presented image of an orphanage.

But that said, they can still be unpleasant.

For one, a group home isn’t a replacement for the love and care you get from an emotionally healthy family. The child is competing with several other children for attention and resources. Your character may develop an attachment to one or two of the caregivers, but the caregiver is not there all the time and their attention is stretched between multiple children.

There’s always a sense of temporariness. Children get placed with new families and new children take up the beds the same day. That’s not an exaggeration. The foster care system is overwhelmed by cases of children being removed from the home, so there is a high demand for foster families and group homes with open beds. As soon as there’s an opening, case workers are jumping to get one of their kids placed there.

It should be noted that CPS works hard to make sure that removing the child from the home is the last resort. To do this, they try to offer services to children in need, like helping parents apply for welfare if the issue is the child isn’t getting fed. Loving family, but parents who are struggling financially. Or helping connect families with finding therapy for special needs children. 

The other children aren’t in a happy situation either. They’ve come from abusive or neglectful homes or have lost their loving parents. They’re living with unknown traumas and high emotions that are difficult to process. It can lead to acting out: temper tantrums, anger, trying to hurt themselves, all of which are stressful for the caregivers trying to calm the child and the children watching from the side lines. It can lead to bullying, hoarding of food or toys.

And in the defense of children who act out this way, because villainizing the bully is a cliche as well, those children aren’t acting out of some evil desire to hurt. They’re just in pain and they don’t know how to express their emotions fully, which leads them to the form of expression they’re most familiar with: what their parents did, or what they did in the past that has worked before.

Those children are the protagonists of their own story in a sense, they don’t fully understand that everyone around them has emotions they’re dealing with inside, or how their actions make others feel. The younger they are, the harder it is to understand the feelings of others and the consequences of their actions.

Which is why bullies apologize years later, when they’re old enough to understand that what they did and said hurt someone else, another person with their own complex emotions and experiences, realizing that they became someone else’s nightmares when they were too young to understand.

So, so far (recapping for my ADHD self, because tangents are a thing I struggle with) 

Group homes can be painful experiences because: 1. Not enough love 2. Lack of stability 3. Other children acting out and being visibly distressed is a distressing thing to watch.

4. Group homes (and the foster care system in general) get a very limited amount of funding. I can’t speak for other countries and their social welfare programs, but America has a habit of cutting social welfare funding in favor of just about anything else.

So sometimes group homes have a few hidden, run down parts. Things that have fallen through the cracks because funding can’t take care of everything and they have to meet the bare minimum first.

Children are fed and clothed and the facility is clean, has running water, electricity and is heated. That’s the bare minimum. Smaller things slip through the cracks- like furniture is old and creaks and on the verge of breaking, there are rips in couch cushions, little holes dug in the wall or tiny graffiti hidden in corners and behind furniture where bored children tried to find something interesting to do. The bathroom pipe leaks so the floor is always wet. One of the bedrooms doesn’t get warm air, so there are extra blankets for that room.

They don’t make the place awful, it’s not the worst thing about living there, and for children who had hoarder or neglectful parents it’s a good deal better, but those are details that are pretty common.

5. Caregiver fatigue. Caregivers are wonderful people who put a lot of time and energy into caring for children, but it can wear down on their mental and emotional health. And they try their best to hide it, but children are sensitive to those things somehow, even if they don’t understand what it is they’re sensing.

It’s to be expected that you find a tired social worker who is late and harried from managing god-knows how many cases. Or caregivers who have a little less patience, but certainly aren’t cruel. There are so many sad cases they deal with every day and there’s never an end in sight, so they run the risk of caregiver fatigue or burn out.

They’re human, and they’re trying their best, but sometimes their job demands more than they have in that moment.

Also, it should be addressed that social workers are not paid enough, not anywhere near as much as they should be.


So it’s easy for a group home to be an unpleasant but not necessarily evil experience.

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a sudden remembering as
patterns reassemble, words greeting
one another in the

place of friends, though
we keep tending the
ties that bind – because

of course we do,
because we are all
dots on this round

whirling planet, each one
vital in our smallness,
with the same one

shared purpose: to
                           c o n n e c t
[x]

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image

ALEXANDER | 20 

curly brown hair | brown eyes | never clean shaven | 6’4

sexuality : gay 

aliases: ALEX, AL, LEX, XANDER, XAN, BIG MAN, TOUGH GUY, TEDDY 

“what was up her ass?” alex grumbled as they left the room. “you know, i really do hate monarchs, stupid rich people, i think we should eat the rich,”

he never really had somewhere to call home, he was on the streets most of his life, joining the rebellion at 14, and then at 20, leaving Termina behind, he finally found his family in three of the strangest girls he’d ever met and for some odd reason, he wouldn’t trade it for the world. Although, he’s hiding a big secret, one he hates himself for. He couldnt bear the thought of losing his new found family, but this might just be the thing that tears them apart. 

he would most likely be described as grumpy, although Elora claims it’s all a front and he’s secretly a big soft teddy on the inside (hence where the nickname came from), Alex would deny that to his dying breath. How dare someone accuse he has emotions?

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✒ INTRO | Here!

✒ EXCERPT FROM | Ch. 0 - “A WAR OF WILLS”

In which a humble commoner, having just witnessed an unrivaled act of sorcery, mulls on her king’s magical prowess, equal parts in awe and concern - only to be interrupted, pushed into a world she has no business seeing.

Also in which a character I always thought was rod-straight is actually, canonically, suggested to be, bisexual? Stars bless. Can’t wait to watch this disaster (Maire) figure himself out.

 ✒ Author’s Note | What? I finally decided to share my writing with you guys? Wild. It’s a hefty excerpt, but right now this is only ½ of the prologue/introduction. Still playing around with where to put chapter & part breaks. Enjoy! And I’m romanticizing this thing called a tag list, so let me know if you’d like me to add you to one?

-H

Keep reading

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From fire to water

Ashes fall on the broken, the weak

This world once green, o full of light

Is now speckled black and white


Shadows cover collapsing walls

Run before the sky breaks

Because even the stars hide

No longer able to bring peace

From what each day brings


This rainbow world is no longer bright

Finally washed out in white

Twisted, tied, broken until black

Not able to hold on as its backbone cracks

-KK13

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What I really want to say is, I was never not enough. The first time i saw you I was blinded with your sweetness and all that fluff, But as days flew by and seasons turned around, getting your attention, oh wasn’t it tough! I wanted to leave but I felt paralized, I could see you put my hands in cuffs. You didn’t love me, for loving could never feel so rough. What I really want to say is, I was never too much. You knew I was always there, you knew I was vulnerable to your touch. Wasn’t that why you tore me apart? It cost me dusks, dawns and a mourning heart to break free from your clutch. My sin was loving you, but your sins are far from redemption at a church. For i can’t forgive you breaking my heart, because what I really want to say is… I was never not enough and never too much.

What I really want to say // ig: @How.ItFeels

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