Daphne Lena

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Michelle Ogundehin
“In an era when Fear of Missing Out has its own universally understood acronym, recuperative rest and relaxation are not always regarded as the intensely worthwhile pursuits that they are. Instead, we are harrassed into believing that we must be constantly available to be of value, that peak productivity and performance are directly related to presenteeism, and that to snooze is to lose. This couldn't be more wrong.”
Michelle Ogundehin, Happy Inside: How to harness the power of home for health and happiness

“Skiddy Cottontail—that was his name—and he defended LGBT equality. He was a flamboyant, colorful striped rabbit, with a headdress of a rainbow crown on his forehead. The radiance of his energy was violet, scarlet, and turquoise; as it represented his love for everyone.

In the infancy years of his existence, he was abandoned—alone—unwanted—unloved; rejected by a world that disdains him. His father wished him deceased, his family exiled him from the warren, he was physically mistreated and preyed on by homophobic mobs in the surrounding community by Elephants—Hyenas—rats.

They splashed spit at his face, advising him that God condemns homosexuality—as Christ did not. They would slam him on the pavement with their Bibles, strike him in the stomach with their feet, throw boulders of stone at his body: imploring—abusing—condemning him to a tyrannical sentence.

Skiddy Cottontail thought that his existence would end with this case of cruelty—violence—assault that was perpetrated against him. He wanted to cease to exist— he wanted to commit the ultimate murder on himself—he no more desired to go on living— he realized hope is already deceased.

He yearned to have the courage to emerge, to discover his bravery that would sever this spiral of sensations of oppression. Being a victim made him a slave to his opponent—as his adversaries have full leverage against him. Life has become a thread of light, which he longed to be liberated from its shackles. His demon—a voice that keeps blaming him for his crimes in the back of his mind—a glass that continually cracks in his heart—will keep breaking him if he does not devise a way out of this crisis.

He was conscious by his innermost conviction that there was candlelight with a key that had the potential to illuminate a new chapter that will erase this trail of obscurity behind him. He sees a new horizon with greater comprehension, a journey that can give him the roses of affection than a handful of dead birds that his adversaries handed him along the way. The stunning blossoming trees did have a forest—beautiful greenery that was colorful like the rainbow in the Heavens. This home will embrace him with a warm embrace of open arms, where cruelty is forbidden; where adoration can forever abound.

Dawn will know him when he arrives. No more hurricanes or strife will be here—no crying of a sad humanity are here—only a gift of harmony and devotion, beyond all explanation, will abide in the heart of Skiddy Cottontail—when he finds his way out from this opponent world for a beautiful existence that is called liberation. Skiddy Cottontail has found a happiness that can only bring him contentment like nothing in this hurtful world can. Find your own sense of balance like him, Skiddy Cottontail, and you will experience serenity as much as him.”
Be Daring like Skiddy Cottontail by D.L. Lewis

“Hello? Testing? My name is Jonathan Collins. I am seventeen years old. Today is... some day in July 1993. And I am okay. Scratch that, I am more than okay. I am...
I am...
I AM.”
James Brandon, Ziggy, Stardust and Me

“Unlike heterosexuals, LGBTQ+ youths who usually grow up without relatable role models in their own homes, are at much greater risk of mental health problems, and are several times more likely to be made homeless, a process that often damages their sense of identity.”
Franko Figueiredo-Stow, Out On An Island

Charlotte Brontë
“I was for a while troubled with the haunting fear that if I handled the flower freely its bloom would fade—the sweet charm of freshness would leave it. I did not know then that it was no transitory blossom, but rather the radiant resemblance of one, cut in an indestructible gem.”
Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

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