u/BeeExtinctionohno

my local shop is a happy place for me. Outside, the world moves with its usual push but inside i flick my little brush and there is a quiet, contained ecosystem of nerds, we laugh together. i like it.

I play Slaanesh the staff, they are kind, they offer me seats, they are all under about 17, with a few flickers of guys in their 30s and older men. They ask about my blending techniques. They are respectful. We commiserate about the rising cost the hobby paint. Of course, there is the occasional awkwardness, staring, comments on my body. But it is no more frequent or worse than what i might get on the bus or anywhere else in public. It is part of the ambient noise of being a woman. Two of my friends have even invited me to private tournaments at their home, i trust them.

few days ago i joined an online server. It leaned into the grimdark, which i love, ive been writing fanfic about the weird place Navigators hold as acceptable psykers, kind of hated and needed, im writing about one who is both captive and beloved by her ship master. I shared photos of my models. Then, I shared a photo of myself pointing at them

man A: "Are you a woman?"

man B: "Prove that this is you"

I sent another photo, of me holding a copy of TTRPG apocolypse world.

man C sends an anime gif of a girl doing something innapropriate

man D: sends a hentai image of slaanesh

man A: kick her (@'s the admin)

And i was kicked from the server!

I wonder about the mechanics of it.

I thought that with age comes a kind of shaking off of caring about these things, but perhaps it brings a desperate need to guard the hobby. Or perhaps it is just anonymity and the internet than i flew into like a bug on a windshield.

I feel sad.

I didn’t choose to love you quite this much,

It happened like the morning light.

I’m caught within your incarnation

knowing you are always in my orbit

We’ll talk of chickens, scratching in the dirt,

Their funny, frantic ways and golden eggs

A little peace to heal a sudden hurt,

And life that moves on sturdy, feathered legs.

The domestic forecast shows the men we’ve known,

The ones who stayed, the ones who left a mess;

We’ve faced the rain and weathered it alone,

With tea and talk and quiet steadfastness.

Then there is your mother, drifting to a distant shore,

As memory fades like mist upon the pane.

She isn't quite the woman from before,

Yet in our hearts, her truest parts remain.

The chickens in the garden cause a scene,

The loudest, fluffiest crowd there’s ever been.

And when you laugh, or set your smile just so,

It means more than you could know.

I’m glad for everything, the loud and small,

But mostly glad that you’re with me in it all.

Through every high and every crushing low,

You are the constant, everywhere I go.

It’s overwhelming, how it fills the room,

This love that’s far too big for any shelf.

It’s in the tea, the garden, and the gloom

It’s simply that I’ve found my peace in you.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/XYmIq3pLTh

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/gcvFQ3nAvQ

Poem for my husband on our anniversary

The confetti is gone and the dress is packed down,

We’ve been to the party and we’ve been out of town.

We didn’t spend every moment in bliss,

Or seal every sentence we spoke with a kiss.

We mostly sat on sofas and had a good chat

We ate lots of biscuits and got a bit fat

I’ve learned that you cant stack the cuboard quite right,

You’ve learned that I steal all the covers at night.

But love isn't all fireworks and earth shaking

It’s you, and the promises that we keep making.

It’s boring and lovely;

it’s patience and art,

And I’m awfully glad that you live in my heart.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/ipspMoMv1V

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/zlEx2cUeAY

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/0GmvsxAeQN

poem for Brandon about Spring

In an endless waiting room,

where the bad news hums like a broken refrigerator,

Stalking the hallway of your home,

I watch you from Tehran,

A strange fog rolling in from distant shores,

and sharp glass underfoot.

but here, it's Ēostre, Brandon.

I know the sadness sits in your marrow lately,

a heavy thing,

the Earth does not mind the weight;

she is cradling you like the soil cradles the stubborn seed

before it thanklessly breaks toward the sun.

Look to the tiny, whisker-thin joys:

the way the cats reclaim the sunlight on the rug,

their rhythmic breathing, a small, soft engine of peace

that asks for nothing but to exist beside you.

Their small heart beats for you.

May Ēostre fertilize a new idea,

let it take root in your tired mind,

the sudden growth of healing,

the blossoming of laughter, a friendship that thickens and strengthens like new ivy.

These are the births that matter when the soil is salted.

I love you, through the tremors and the stillness.

Let the old earth carry your sorrow for a while.

The world is cold and full of darkness,

Spring is only a reminder that life is very, very persistent.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/Rc3s06JCuJ

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/0GmvsxAeQN