My Tattoo Artist Told Me His Teenage Son Came Out To Him As Trans By Giving Him A Bunch Of Blue Cupcakes

Mom called my dog brittish I will not accept this slander of my baby girl

someone fetch peepaw his robe!!! run him a bath!!!! cook him dinner!!!

Just wanted to share some shockingly good news in these difficult times. The full article is really worth reading. [Find it here]

Happy father's day to them and them alone

In regards to the previous post:

♾️ =42^½ -2+1

Doof babygirl I love you but that's not correct

Don't worry honey you're doing great tho

"Alive but Forgotten"

We live today in a world of silence, a heavy silence that is slowly killing us. I see my younger siblings, their ages ranging from 3 to 7 years old, passing by with innocent eyes filled with questions I cannot answer. They hide behind me when they see a stranger, afraid of the unknown. My mother, who suffers from chronic illnesses, cannot even stand without help. She has not found anyone to extend a hand, and each time her condition worsens, I feel helpless.

My father, who was once a symbol of strength, is now a shadow of a man, broken and unable to bear the burdens after losing everything. He worked his whole life to provide us with a decent life, but today, we have nothing but rubble and the camps we move between, with memories that grow darker each day.

What I ask for is not money, nor material help, but something simpler. I just want someone to feel our existence, to remember us with even a word, a small gesture that revives hope in us that we are still a part of this world. Our messages are met with silence, as if we no longer exist, as if we are no longer part of life.

Every day, we live in the shadow of devastation, inside a room in a school that has turned into a shelter, its walls insufficient to provide privacy and fresh air to breathe life into us. We now share this space with other families, each carrying their own pain and worries. As for the children, they do not know what it means to have a home, nor do they understand what loss is. Whenever they look at my mother, they run to her, asking her to tell them a story about the future, not realizing that all my mother has left to tell them is sorrow.

Friends, our pain is not in the loss of things, but in the loss of existence, in becoming unheard. Sometimes, I stop to wonder: Are we still alive? Are we still part of this world? Our messages are met with silence, and our dreams have faded along with the ruins of the homes that no longer exist.

I no longer ask for anything except for someone to feel our presence, to ask about us, to remember us, even with a word. If our words touch your hearts, all we need is for you to share with us, to show the world that we are still here.

We ask for nothing except for you to raise our voices, to bring hope back to us, and to be a part of our story that we are trying to write with our trembling hands and souls still holding on to a thread of hope.

Sharing this story could be the difference between life and death for us.

If you help spread our story, you will be giving us hope to survive, hope for life amidst all this destruction. We’re not asking for more than to be remembered, to be reminded that we’re still here.

[Donation link here]

Thank you for your attention, and for being the hope that could bring us back to life.

My campaign is legitimate and fully documented. You can verify this through the following links:

🔹 Shab Hussein

🔹 90 Goest

🔹 Gazavetters My number is 5 on the list.

Every support or share makes a big difference and restores hope in our lives.

Thank you for your care and support, which gives us the strength to continue.

why the fuck does she need a wisk for spaghetti

They are cooking alright