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It Gets Better (My Story)Hello, my name is Cas, and this is my story.
Growing up, I never heard or knew much of the LGBT community. I was a church-going girl, a strong Christian, and I was blindly taught by my family how things were and how to live life. I remember once asking a member of my family why two men or two women could not marry one another, and the answer that I was told was 'because gay people cannot stay in long-term relationships, and if they could get married then they would all just be getting divorced all the time'. At the time it did not sound right to me, but I did not question.
In the third grade, my parents had a horrible divorce. My father was sick of the stress that my mother's constant illnesses caused, and he was tired of dealing with her mood-swings which had lead to her attempting suicide three times while I was a child. I was taken from my home in the country and moved to a somewhat larger city with my mother and grandparents. During this time, my father got back into theater. He wo
Let me tell you a story about this election.In the beginning, Man created God.
From that point on, Man used God to defend Man's opinions.
Whenever Man made a claim, Man said God agreed.
But if another made a claim that Man did not like, God did not like it either.
And soon it came to pass that the other became the hated heretic, and all of Man's opinions were considered the epitome of godliness and morality.
And Man saw that it was good.
And then it came to pass that Man, disillusioned by his own pride in his creation, forgot that it was he who had created God in the first place.
And God told Man that it was His Will that only the righteous shall inherit the earth.
And God told Man that it was His Will that women honor and respect their husbands and masters.
And God told Man how to keep slaves, and to murder those whom God grew displeased with.
And God told Man to kill homosexuals, witches, unruly children, those who do not listen to priests, fortunetellers, adulterers, fornicators, followers of other religions, non
How deviantART Changed My LifeI've been on dA for eight months, and during that time, my life as I know it changed; nothing is the same.
How deviantART Changed My Life
I honestly did not think deviantART would effect my life.
When I joined deviantART, I had no intentions of using it any more than I would be using my email account. I only joined because my 14 year old brother, who is a regular user of the site, kept telling me to sign up and upload my art for others to see. And so I did. I joined on March 2012, creating my first deviantART account called "pinkblueBiblioFREAK". I emphasized "freak" because that's what I felt like, basically because of my gender identity which failed to match my body and appearance. I looked nothing like a female, yet identified as one. Being on that site and talking to people, I started making friends. Making friends always came naturally to me; the reason I stopped doing it in real life was because no one accepted who I
Perceptions of HomosexualityGay and Lesbian rights is a an issue that galvanizes people, particularly on the internet, and as I writer of male/male fiction or a Yaoi fangirl, as you may prefer, I would like to weigh in with my views on the matter.
Naturally I do completely support Gay rights and all this entails. For example I believe that adoption and marriage are just as valid options for Gay and Lesbian couples and should be permitted and protected by law. I also feel that individuals of any marginal sexual orientation or gender identity should be free from prejudice, harassment, or unequal treatment at work or in public. So on and so forth.
I think that this is the most common stance for liberal-minded individuals and is probably the one expected of me, given my interests. My interests in male/male works however are not what guarantees or suggests my support for Gay rights.
I think most Yaoi fans do support gay rights but, although their tastes may influence this opinion, this is mainly because they are thems
They Found Me In My Dressing GownThey found me in my dressing gown
About half a mile down the lane
Local youths are laughing at me
But yet still I feel no shame
Their stares are bouncing off me
Their words barely penetrate my ears
The cold weather, not my emotions
Is the reason for my tears
They found me in my dressing gown
I left my slippers by the front door
My bare feet have been torn to shreds
From broken bottles of the night before
New years eve celebrations
Chance for you all to begin again
I urge you to spend your time wisely
Love your family, love your friends
They found me in my dressing gown
A man in a white suit led me away
Asked me if I knew my address
Asked me if I knew my name
I did but I refused to tell him
I was a father, a husband, a son
But now I am nothing to no one
Now everyone has left me and gone
They found me in my dressing gown
Traced my footprints back to my front door
No signs of foul play were evident
Conspicuous was my homes candour
Everything was in its right place
Family photos on the man
Me and My True MaskI stay inside myself, only letting a mask of the true me out.
Only I'm allowed to see the real me, since anyone else would break it.
The mask I put out is the one everyone wants to see,
The one the world accepts.
They don't want the real me,
the one that looks battered and bruised from before.
No, they want the prestige image that's from everyone's dreams,
not the reality.
My mask is my only friend, though my mask has plenty of friends.
I will forever be with my mask, and my mask only,
Since my mask is the only one that accepts the true me.
But once I met someone, they didn't like my mask.
We asked them why and they said they could see past it,
and thought the mask I put up was worse.
That day I didn't understand, but that person wanted to take away my mask,
To let out the true me and speak with them face to face.
I ran, for my mask was too soft to this person, too transparent,
and that scared me.
My mask was my only friend, and it shall stay as my only friend,
While the world sees the
Breasts and NipplesBreasts being gender specific is a myth. Breasts are fat deposits and nothing more (or implants). What of women with very small breasts, or breast cancer survivors who have none, or women with artificial breasts, or men with implants, or women with prominent pectoral muscles, or men with oversized pecks, or obese men with full large pendulous breasts, or men with hormone irregularities, or transgendered individuals, or third gender individuals, or lactating male infants? At what age does the nipple become obscene? Puberty? 18? What if the breasts are covered but the fabric is see through? What if the body is painted? Maybe in latex? Why does a nipple pasty make a breast suddenly inoffensive? It is the nipple after all that we all share in common. Speaking of common, women have always outnumbered men on this planet, so why is the majority of the world's population taught that their bare torso is an obscenity?
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
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