In Measure - A queer short story about devotion, the rhythm of battle, and the music in our actions

 In Measure

The waltz echoed in my ears, a conversation between brass and strings. A dialogue of comfort, of knowing, each measure deliberate and trusting. A call that would always be responded to. I look into her eyes, filled with fury and heartbreak. I have to look away, it hurts far too strongly. Instead I look at her hands, holding the sword I gave her so long ago, on her 21st birthday. It looks just as it did that day. It has not seen battle. It never had to. It was my sword that had blocked her from danger for so long. I stand, with weak knees, in the shaded grove of trees I knew so well, just past the meadow that surrounds the castle where Elora should be now. But she is not in the castle. Instead she is here in our grove, the light reflecting off the pristine silver of her sword as she lowers the blade at me.

Crescendo.

She steps in measure, the delicate strings in my mind becoming dominated by the fast fury of cellos. She stands in for a slightly flawed Posta longa, an offensive guard. She has stepped into measure. It’s a call that I must respond to, or risk my death. I know she could kill me, not because she’s a better swordsman, she’s never had to be. She could kill me because it's her. I respond by stepping into Dente di zenghiaro, the boar's tooth. A defensive guard, far different from my usual offensive style of battle. 

As the tender countermelody in my mind comes to the forefront, I thought about how different things were now, how the trees in the grove were beginning to lose their leaves to autumn gusts, how I had abandoned my lifelong commitment to the princess not even 24 hours ago, and how Elora was facing me, rage and tears in her eyes. I thought about how she used to look at me and I felt my stomach drop. I’d give anything for her to look at me like that again,  eyes full of trust and laughter and friendship. Elora swings her sword at me, clearly having lost any of the basic sword skills I had taught her to her unquenched anguish. I easily deflected the blade and stepped back. The waltz was back to the melody, dominated by fast, furious strings. 

“I’m sorry—” my voice caught in my throat “I’m sorry I ran from you, Elora” The sound of strings swelled in my mind again as Elora surged forward, seemingly incensed by my apologies. I deflected again, this time stepping into Posta frontale ditta corona, the crown guard, as I pushed forward. I couldn’t hurt her, and even seeing her startle as I pushed her back, balancing the strings and horns that played their waltz in my ears. 

Vivace.

“That’s the part you’re sorry about?” Elora yelled, her throat raw. I let my guard fall a bit, unintentionally, as I recalled back to the night I left. Had I forgotten something I had done, my mind frazzled by love and loss? I played back the steps rapid-fire in my mind as I heard the horns of the waltz play chunks of the countermelody. I remembered how it felt to look at Elora, and how it felt to look at him. The realization replayed in my mind, the sting of realizing I could be Elora’s protector no longer because I was selfish and upset and all i could think about was her soft lips against mine and her raven black hair falling through my rough hands. I thought back to how, after this realization, I had carefully walked Elora up the grand staircase, her body heavy with exhaustion. I tried not to think about the feeling of her warm breath on my neck as she leaned on me. In the present, Elora surged toward me again, bringing back the melody of the battle as she forced her way into a closer measure. I tried not to look at her face, red with anger, wet with tears. Elora wasn’t having it though, as she slammed her sword against mine, more as a warning or a threat than an actual attempt to harm me. 

“You can’t even fucking look at me anymore? Must be hard not getting what you wanted” she spat. I looked at her, confused. How did she know what I had wanted? I had kept it so secret for so long, how had she found out once I was gone? My sudden shock gave her the advantage she needed, and the sounds of the brass were suddenly silenced as she brought her sword to my throat, digging in against my gorget. I felt my face flush as she stepped closer to me. She was a mess, her hair roughly tied up, dirt smeared on her face and hands. Elora had been undone, apparently freed from the constraints of nobility, and she looked good. 

“You did this,” she shouted at me, pulling down part of her collar as I felt my heart drop, the waltz stopped momentarily by the deep sound of a timpani. Under her collar, stretching from her jawline to somewhere obscured by her gorget, was the angry red line of a newly healed wound. A wound that looked a few days old. Its healing progress allowed me to estimate when she had been hurt, and it aligned perfectly with when I had departed, probably within a few hours of her wedding. 

Sforzando.

“You did this and now you won’t even look at me? If you’re going to kill me, fucking do it. Stop toying with me, you’re a better swordsman than this and we both know it!” I felt like my heart was breaking again. How could she think I would ever do that to her? Why did she believe I had the desire to harm her, much less to kill her?

“You got hurt.” I softly stated the obvious, guilt flooding my heart. “You got hurt, and I wasn’t there to protect you.”

Tenuto.

 Elora paused and the countermelody surged to the forefront, thrusting me back into memory. I had taken Elora upstairs, after the party, helped her into bed, and ran my fingers through her hair as she fell asleep. It was definitely unnecessarily sentinel, but I needed her to know that I cared for her before she woke up and I was long gone. I got lost in my thoughts, thinking about the man she had spent all night with, the way she shot glances over to me to let me know what she was feeling. I thought about how lucky he was, and how he didn’t even know it.

“Harpe?” she had whispered, breaking me from my thoughts. 

“Yes, my lady?” I said, partway teasing, but also realizing tonight was the last night Elora would be my lady. She had giggled sleepily, before putting her hand on mine. 

“I love you.” Her words were slurred with sleep, and probably a bit too much wine, but I felt my heart stop nonetheless. 

“I love you too, Elora.” I had replied, my voice hollow, knowing that she could never love me the way I loved her.

The words were heavy in my mouth, because I did love Elora, I had loved her for so long I had forgotten what it was like to feel anything else. How was I supposed to watch her get married to that fucking prince without my heart breaking? There was no answer to that question, because I couldn’t.

 Elora’s voice in the present pulled me back from the memory. 

“Of course you weren’t there! I know you sent the assassins to my wedding! Why else would you have left me to him?” She was still speaking with power and anger, but this time her words were laced with doubt and uncertainty, and Elora’s voice cracked as she mentioned her political fiance. Seemingly to shake off this doubt, Elora clashed her sword against mine again as she drew her sword back. I could tell she meant it as an act of aggression, but it highlighted her insecurity even further. Why would take her sword away from my neck? She wanted to fight me, so she could get angry, so she would be hurting her attacker instead of her friend. I decided to entertain this taste for battle. I liked watching her fight. She wasn’t good, by any means, but I had missed watching the way she moved, the way she furrowed her brow when she was focused, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed heavily, tiring quickly from the combat. 

“I didn’t call any assassins, Elora please believe me!”

“Why did you leave me, Harpe? Why did you leave me all alone,” she said, her voice cracking.

Coda.

My heart, which I had thought couldn’t feel any worse, dropped again. Elora pulled herself into a nearly perfect Posta breve, a short guard, and despite the fact it was certainly not an effective counter to my ribbon cut, it made me falter as I remembered when I had taught her it. It was an uneventful afternoon in autumn, about two years ago. I was watching Elora sketch various flora and fauna in the garden, my hand resting comfortably on the hilt of my sword. She had come up to me after giving a frustrated huff and throwing her sketchpad and charcoal on the bench she was sitting on. 

“Harpe, I’m bored,” Elora groaned, wrapping her arms around my neck. I tried to keep a straight face, both literally and metaphorically, as she sighed up at me. “What do you do when you’re bored?” Think about you, I thought, as I explained that I frequently did solo sword work when I had nothing else to do. Her doe-like eyes had lit up, sparkling with excitement. “Can you teach me some?’ Oh hell. I definitely wasn’t supposed to do that, not only because I was the only sword she would ever need, but because swords are dangerous, and fighting is not something nobility is permitted to do. It was above them. But to Elora, I was weak. “Pleaseee? I promise I’ll keep it super secret.” I sighed, letting my emotions win out over logic. 

“Fine. We’ll just need a secret place to pr—” The end of my sentence was cut off as she grabbed my wrist, dragging me away. She had taken me to a small shaded area of the meadow, obscured from onlookers by a smattering of trees.. I unsheathed my sword, feeling the familiar weight in my hands. Elora gasped, and I looked over to see her cheeks colored a soft pink. 

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to— I mean— I think your sword is really cool!” she stuttered, and I laughed, making her blush even harder. “Harpe! Don’t laugh at me!” 

“Your wish is my command, my lady” I teased, stifling my laughter. I beckoned her over, “do you want to see what it's like to hold a sword or not?” She took the sword from me, trying a few times to swing it. “Woah, woah, Lady Elora, be careful!” I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her wild swinging. “Do you want to see what it's like to hold a sword like a real swordsman?” Elora nodded excitedly, and I wrapped my arms around her, holding her right hand with mine, near the guard and our left hands on the pommel. I felt her soft hair brush my cheek, and I felt realization hit. I was in love with Elora. I’d been explaining away my feelings for months now, rationalizing my desire to spend all my time with her as part of my duty  as her sworn sword, the blushing as shyness, and the staring as… Well, I hadn’t really rationalized that one. I just liked to look at her. It was all excuses. I loved Elora, and I couldn’t fool myself any longer. The memory flashed before my eyes as my brain went on autopilot, disarming Elora and pressing her further back, until she started to fall backwards, having tripped over a log. 

Ritardando.

I instinctively reached my hand out to her, and she clasped her hand on my wrist. With her other hand, I realized she had pulled out a dagger that was now pressed to my chest. 

Tension swirled thickly in the air between us, as I spoke softly, honest and scared and tender, “Elora.” 

“Harpe.”

Fin.

Music With Meaning

Next week, on Monday, the UWyo Symphonic Band will be hosting a concert. During this concert, we will be playing pieces with meaning. All of the pieces we will be playing have strong societal relevance and meaning. Our pieces will include The Nine (excerpt of our practice playthrough below), City Trees, A Mother of a Revolution!, and Haven's Conviction. 

The Nine is "written in honor of the Little Rock Central Nine and the 60th anniversary of the integration of the Little Rock school system" (JW Pepper). 

City Trees was "commissioned by the Lesbian and Gay Band Association in 2012 to commemorate 30 years of music, visibility, and pride" (JW Pepper).

A Mother of a Revolution! is "a celebration of the bravery of trans women, and in particular, Marsha "Pay It No Mind" Johnson. Marsha is credited with being one of the instigators of the famous Stonewall uprising of June 28, 1969 - a pivotal event in the gay rights movement of the 20th century" (JW Pepper).

Haven's Conviction was "written during the Covid-19 pandemic [and] is inspired by the perseverance of students facing overwhelming obstacles" (Ted Brown Music).

If you can make it, this concert is sure to spark emotions in your heart. We have worked tirelessly over the last 8 weeks to give the best possible performance. The concert starts at 7:30 PM, and I hope to see you there!

Exclusive insight into our practice of The Nine

Representations

     I would hear about queer representation in a show and immediately want to watch it. craving for a version of myself relayed on screen. I would delve into the character and the back story as much as I could, scrolling through forums and online chat rooms full of people that made up their own stories of them. I would pick apart the characters bit by bit to have a mirror, a form of self-reflection that the rest of my straight friends and family would have, for just a taste of that equality, even if it wasn't entirely accurate. I will sit through the heterosexual people around me as they complain. "Do not shove it down our throats," they would say. "It is gross for a man to kiss a man. They may like it, but I don't," they would ramble. And to save my own skin, I would nod silently when all I would want to do is scream "How do you think I have felt?!" We had laws passed that television and movies and music were not allowed to speak explicitly about a queer couple. We had tropes where those who were gay or lesbian were either evil or killed or both. There were decades of movies showing that being openly queer ruined our lives in one way or another while straight, heterosexual couples were given the happy endings and the love interest and the freedom. We could not even be seen kissing someone of the same sex on the lips while in that same breath, queer people had to watch heterosexual couples kiss and get naked and have sex. We are slowly moving to a more open-minded society, but producers and directors are still quick to change things if there's too much backlash. "We will lose too much money" or "We can't throw it out there too quickly," are the excuses we hear. The Hays Code ran supreme in television for 38 years (1930 - 1968), when television and films were groundbreaking and making huge strides. Then, when there could be queer people shown on TV, we were the butt end of the joke. We were bullied. We were judged. We were killed off, cheated on, and broken-hearted people. We have had 55 years since the Hays Code, and we are just now being allowed to happily exist on the screen. How has this been too fast? How is this shoving our love down people's throats while we have been expected to just take the heterosexual love life in the most explicit of details? How is this too much when there are museum pieces of art and sculptures that are of lovers and they get described as 'friends'? (Refer to "Khnumhotep and Niankhkhnum" below). The fight for representation has been long and hard, and it has not ended. Having a couple of gay characters appear on a television show is not enough. We still have bisexual people being painted as cheaters on television. I watched this get shown on Shameless. One of the main characters said that someone cannot like both, only one or the other, so anyone who claimed to be bi or pan was lying to hide their infidelity. Celebrities who come out as queer are asked why they are queer. We do not go around asking why people are straight. They just are. When are we allowed to have representation without the backlash? Because everyone knows that with every single accurate queer representation in popular culture, there are at least two dozen people staring at that screen in raptured awe, thinking "Yes. Finally. Someone gets it." 

Why Do I Care What Sexuality is Natural?

  My freshman year of college was both great and terrifying. A key part of that was because it was the year I came out as Bi. I was lucky to be met with a ton of acceptance and love from my family and friends both at home and at UW. However, it still wasn’t easy. In the period shortly before and after I came out, I was left with an uneasiness about my sexuality. I went through cycles where I felt I wasn’t gay enough to come out, that I was making it all up for attention or that I didn’t deserve to identify with the LGBT community. That same year though I found comfort in an odd source, a recorded university lecture. The lecture was a talk about the biology of sex and gender. It discussed many things like intersex conditions, and studies on gender expression in very young children. But what stood out most to me was a rather short section about sheep, where the professor said around 8% of sheep exhibit homosexual behavior. In very unscientific sensational terms: 8% of sheep are gay! This fact amazed and fascinated me and I immediately proceeded (as the nerdy person I am) to do more research on this. I found that not only were sheep gay, but so were dolphins, apes, geese, and so many other species. I had always known I wanted to do research studying animals after college, but these facts pointed me to my true passion. I wanted to study this behavior, and more broadly I wanted to examine sex and gender In the animal kingdom.  

            It is not lost on me that my coming out and desired field of research are connected. A big part of my desire to do that research was the desire to prove that my own sexuality is not the unnatural abomination some claim. How could it be when it existed in several different species across the natural world? If I do this research I thought I could quiet those negative voices in my head, that say I am not gay enough, because I would prove that my sexuality is “correct,” that it’s the natural biological sexuality. But why does that matter? Why does it matter whether my sexuality is natural or not? Why does my legitimacy as a person who identifies as bisexual rely on that? I did not think to ask these questions until I began to study queer theory. This motivation for research is essentially a motivation to prove bisexuality is the “real normal.” A motivation which queer theory challenges. 

            Michel Foucault would argue that I am faced with this motivation for research because I live in a society that has a normal sexuality. There is an existing narrative in our society that says, there is a correct and normal sexuality. This narrative of their being a normal sexuality is so prevalent, that even when I found myself outside of it I couldn’t remove myself from the concept that there was a normal to begin with. Queer theory rather doing what I was and changing the idea of normal to be more inclusive, tries to erase the concept of normal all together. There is no normal sexuality or gender. We all construct both of these things everyday based on so many factors of our lives, culture, and time we live in.   

            Studying queer theory hasn’t made me change my mind about what I want to study. I am still fascinated by and what to do research about queerness in the animal kingdom. However, it did make me rethink why I wanted to do this. It brought to my attention that I wasn’t in this for a good reason. I can’t rely on science or anything else to validate my identity, that can only be done by me. I still think this research will be beneficial as it shows how diverse sexuality exists and is important to all life. 

Paris is (Still) Burning

 

It's Givin Ballroom - 04/13/23

    As a drag-centric performer, I always wanted to get more in touch with the Ballroom aspects of the culture. I only knew lipsyncing, costumes, and reading. But vogueing? Never even knew how to approach learning it. Thankfully, I finally got my chance! The photo above is me at the It's Givin Ballroom event held by the multicultural resource center. I can proudly announce that I know how to vogue, and can even do a dip (death drop, for those fans of RuPaul out there) I'm incredibly lucky to be able to be a part of this community, and hope I can start implementing vogueing into my normal performances.

 What does Queering the norm mean to me?

Queer used to be a bad word used to describe people who didn’t fit in to the box that society put us all in. The box is labeled Normal. If you don’t do things the way society thinks you, should you be placed outside of the box and labeled Queer.  The thing that I am finding out is that Queer is not just people in the LGBTIQ community but for others that may see themselves as heterosexual but do not fit into societies box. I am a heterosexual person that hates sex.  My husband used to think I must be cheating on him because that would be the only reason that I didn’t want sex.  That’s what people do to connect to each other on a deeper level. I don’t want to connect that way. So, I would say that I am queer in a way as well. In fact, if we were to take a deep look at people in society and find out things about others, most would in some way not fit the “norm” description. More people would be queer which I look at as just being different than what is normal in the eyes of society. Maybe being queer is the new normal. We are all strange or have our own troubles ad isn’t that what queer really means?

Existence of Normalcy

    Normalcy is spoken about as gospel in contemporary America. It is the most expected and accepted form of living. Anything outside that normalcy is painted with a black brush, camouflaged into the shadows. After reading Trouble with Normal by Michael Warner, it furthered my belief that those not on one side of the extreme or the other get drowned out. The psychological factors of this tend to be related to the cognitive decision-making processes a person goes through. There are two main factors in decision-making. The first is a person's emotions while the other is society. Emotional factors can be related to a person's internal dialogue and impulses. A minor example would be feeling sad and deciding to have some ice cream to help you feel better. A minor example of a societal factor would be feeling sad and being told to not cry because it looks bad. 

    The relation here is the 'stigmaphile' vs 'stigmaphobe' discussion from the book. Both of these groups experience the influence of these factors in different ways. Warner quotes Erving Goffman to describe these two groups. A stigmaphile is one who joins with others who experience stigma and try to fight against it. A stigmaphobe is someone who conforms to normalcy (the best they can) out of fear of the stigma itself (Warner, p. 43).  Those in the stigmaphile group will most likely be influenced by their emotional factors. They go against society very blatantly. They will be the 'most radical' in their arguments against normalcy. A stigmaphobe is generally more affected by society. They feel pressured to look and act a certain way. The fear they have is more based on the retaliation they may get from the society around them. Both of these views overlap. It is an ever-changing wave between the two. Neither group is inherently wrong. They are both just trying to survive in a world that preaches 'normal', but what even is normal?

    Normalcy looks different to everyone. Warner explains in further depth that normal is not a truly meaningful term. Normal to Jane Doe may not be normal for John Buck. The closest thing to normal would be considered a dynamic family unit, who is white, with two kids, living in an upper-middle-class home. The majority of America is no longer that. A person could use the 'majority' definition of normal, but would it be based solely on one attribute? Normalcy, in essence, doesn't truly exist. Queer people should be able to have risque magazines and informational newspapers existing in the same realms as everything else. Instead of the two extremes fighting against each other, they need to find a common middle ground. This will help create a higher political and social impact in the future. 

Warner, M. (2003). Chapter Two: What's Wrong With Normal. In The trouble with normal: Sex, politics, and the ethics of Queer Life (pp. 41–80). essay, Harvard University Press.

 What is Normal?

Sheri Paulson

The dictionary describes normal as

conforming to the standard or the common type; usual; not abnormal; regular; natural.

serving to establish a standard.

Psychology.

1. approximately average in any psychological trait, as intelligence, personality, or emotional adjustment.
2. free from any mental disorder; sane.

 

 

Who decides what normal is?

 Deciding what is normal is usually based on statistics. A large group of people are tested, and normal is the result 95% of those people show. The number of people that are tested and who these people are will affect the results, so careful consideration needs to be given to these issues. (Who decides what is normal? — Science Learning Hub)

This doesn’t seem right. Where does this large group of people come from?

 

Normal is what society wants us to be, because a large group of people got together, and their set of values placed on a bell curve said that this is what is normal.  What this large group of people fail to capture is the variation in all of us.  Our bodies are all different. What is normal tall and skinny, with blonde hair and blue eyes?  Is it because that is what they truly believe that our bodies should look like or what they want us to look like? How about the way we behave? Is being quiet and shy normal or being outgoing? How about loud and obnoxious? What behavior is normal, and is that normal for every situation you’re in?  Normal changes with the situation, don’t it? Do we show others our true normal side?  I don’t unless I trust you. The thing is, we all put on the “face of normal” because, truth be told that I think that being “abnormal is normal,” diversity is normal, not fitting into the box is normal, and being yourself is normal.  The picture of normality that society places on us is not how most people are.  It’s like we are playing a part in a play, puppets on a string, playing the role that a large group of people told us we must play.  We are conforming to a standard that society has placed on us. We have no say in what role we want to play. For us to be happy and be ourselves, we need to break the mold that they have put on us, break out of the box, and show the large group of people and society that being normal is being a diverse people with differences in bodies, minds, and perceptions and that being normal is being who we are with nothing holding us to the standards that society has placed on us. Dare to step out of the box and be abnormal, and you will find that there is a larger group that are abnormal too.

The day that death came

  The day death came 

***an ode to who we were 

The air was calm and still a cool

The day death came 

The machines in the next room sang a song and it came true,

The day that death came 

We said our goodbyes with hate in our voices 

The day that death came 

Our disdain for each other got the best of our choices

The day that death came 

We honored you the best we could

The day that death came 

We led you to the angels like we should 

The day that death came 

The graveyards were already full

The day that death came 

With all the bodies of who we used to be

The day that death came 

I stepped into heaven on butterflies bloodied ashes,

The day that death came

My feet were cleansed by all the tears shed

The day that death came 

By all the people I used to be

The day that death came 

On Being Queer

I'm a nineteen-year-old gender-non-conforming queer drag queen. 

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What a mouthful.

 

Can you believe it all started with drag? I think that the moment I put on my first wig and extravagant makeup was the first time I realized how much of show femininity was for me. 

My mind was always torn, I only knew the binaries, never the in-between.

And when I found that in between? Lord, I rejected it so fast.

I wanted to be normal, respected, and looked up to by people and I knew that the moment I started being myself it was all over. 

Wait, myself?

At that age, I didn't even know what that meant let alone who I was. I was a sentient mirror walking around practically begging others for validation in mimicking their plights.

I found myself, came to myself crying late one November evening only to be met with that awful realization once again that I was queer. 

It was such a hard pill to swallow, made harder by the looming eyes and chattering tongues of the community around me. 

Their mouths grew quiet when I left.

I found myself, found them on a stage. Found them in a wig and feminine getup, with the freedom to take it off at the end of the day. Found them in loving whoever they chose. Found them, in me.

I'm a nineteen-year-old gender-non-conforming queer drag queen. 

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And I love it.

Stained-Glass

 Hello everyone, the following photos are some of the stained-glass projects I’ve completed. I have created these as commissions, gifts, and as personal projects. If you want to know a little about me, I’m a junior at UW majoring in psychology and working towards two minors, painting and sociology. As for the stained-glass pieces, the first two are quite straightforward but the last one has a story connected to it.

Ally Flag: I created this ally flag as a commission in 2020.

 

LGBTQIA+ Flag: I made this one for myself and am currently making another one as a commission.

 

Unicorn:

I created this stained-glass unicorn during the lockdown in 2020, I was a senior in high school and decided to create gifts for some of the teachers who had supported me the most. This one in particular was a gift for the art teacher. For some context, the small town I grew up in is very conservative, anti-LGBTQIA+, racist, sexist, and so forth. Queer people in this town often struggled. A few people were kicked out of their homes once their family found out and/or were physically beaten. Of course, this wasn’t true for most people, but this happened to some of my friends and classmates.

There were subtle (and not so subtle) signs of welcome in safe places such as homes, classrooms, therapy offices, businesses, and more. I got the idea for this unicorn from my mother. She is a mental health therapist and has subtle rainbow decorations in her office to let people know she’s an ally to the LGBTQIA+ community. This has helped several of her clients. I made a unicorn because at the time unicorns were a running joke in the art classroom, so it blended in nicely. I added a rainbow horn so LGBTQIA+ students would know this was a safe place for them and that they could talk to the teacher if they had any issues with bullying, homelife, etc. I really hoped this would help students.

Unfortunately, after I graduated from high school, the art teacher wasn’t as supportive as he had been in previous years, especially to transgender students. Students started trashing other teachers ally symbols and flags, posters, etc. They were promoting “super straight” and bullying students who didn’t agree. Some teachers left, some tried to support LGBTQIA+ students, and some teachers didn’t do anything, and the art teacher was one of them. His classroom was no longer a safe place. I was really disappointed when I heard about this, it felt like a betrayal.

Part of me wanted to remove the last paragraph because it doesn’t end on a happy note. But unfortunately, it’s the truth. Luckily, he doesn’t have the unicorn hanging in his classroom anymore, so at least students looking for a safe space won’t seek help in his classroom.

If anyone is interested in more of my artworks or would like a commission (coming soon) then visit my Instagram page @artsy_hannahwyos. Thank you for reading 😊.