Last year I discovered this beautiful game that calms my anxiety
It's called Stardew valley
Farming
Fishing
Foraging
Mining
Fighting that doesn't make me anxious
Talking to NPC's
Finding love
Making in game money

It's great

I sliced through my ring finger
Stopping at the nerve in seventh
Seeing you is kinda like that sometimes
A not so good tingly nerve pain echoes through that hand
Going to that insignificant part that still cares
You were my first love how can I not
In faerie you've got to make due with what you have
I looked into iceberg blue eyes
Deep sea blue
From electrified gray
But only when there would be a storm a brew
Just my own tears I knew there wouldn't be any gentle voice
Laced with concern knew so well that there would just be an annoyed look
But now
I wake up to a deep forest green and a voice that's drowned in concern
Like tea steeped too long coating my worries into stardew for the sun to melt
Lulling me back to sleep a molten silver when you ask how my day was
A soft blue liquidized with worry when you heard me crying last night
It blended into a glowing cobalt after I told you it was stupid
I know that if you were here you would've tilted my chin up
And told me that nothing I could ever say would be stupid to you
And when I told you
You just told me that it was the sweetest thing ever
To know that I had a soft and caring heart
It shouldn't be
With years of crusted plaster over it
You seem to be taking a hammer and ice pick
Slowly cracking through those layers
Tender sunset kissed flesh beneath
A healthy heart
That isn't entirely shattered
I tried to keep it safe for as long as I could
I think
That it worked
Because the blood is still rushing
And I wake up to you
Asking me how I slept
And my heart speeds up
So I guess I did something right
In ending up on this twisted road to you

She's lounging on the futon playing Stardew Valley. We both get a kick out of it. Mainstream gaming can **** a *****. Exceptions occur, of course. I look into the bathroom mirror through a splatter of mouthwash and toothpaste and groom my hair, my face like I think highly of myself. I don't. I shave and I pluck, admire the edges, pretend I'm of feminine energy, pretend according to the faces and voices that matter. We have to look out for ourselves somehow, but in whole what the world can see of us makes them think we're outsiders trying to climb into an exclusive box. I want to find myself beautiful, and I know you must be happy with yourself, but there's no pleasure in false positives. Where is the touch of appreciation? To struggle visually means that windows are better caked. Not cis, nor have I ever been. In the end, I'm content enough choking in the wasteland.