Neurodivergent Artist - Blog Posts

Bouta post one of my shitass characters

Might make a ref sheet at some point

Chompers! Chain chomp Mario oc

Untitled (warning: gore, war)

Metallic petrichor grows into my lungs

As reverse-aged wine flows into a blood sea.

Trauma stains the Earth,

Unresolved cruelty bleeding

Into the forest floor.

The moss cannot process fast enough,

Becoming a crimson-dyed carpet,

Sponging out vermillion blood.

“Eclipse,” acrylic & oil on stretched canvas, 2024

Full post on my Instagram @ yvepaints

“Basket of Flowers,” watercolor on paper, 2025

Full post on my Instagram @ yvepaints

digital collage, 2024 ft. acrylic & glitter on stretched canvas, 2018

acrylic on stretched canvas, 2023

Full post on my Instagram @ yvepaints

Eclipse: a DIY punk TTRPG by @yvepaints

Welcome to Eclipse’s game dev blog!

Eclipse is in extremely early phases. It is not available for purchase anywhere. This pinned post will be updated periodically with the current phase of development.

Current phase: initial design & writing

“Prairie Winds,” acrylic & glitter on stretched canvas, 2023

Full post on my Instagram @ yvepaints

acrylic on vegetable, 2024

Full post on my Instagram @ yvepaints

Reblogging my art with folk songs I feel are fitting part 3

18 (warning: suicidal thoughts)

Blow out the candles, darling.

You might make it to 18.

After all the nights crying

Through gritted teeth.

After the day you thought

That if you killed yourself

Their lives would be more pleasing.

Congratulations, darling.

You’re almost 18.

acrylic & glitter on stretched canvas, 2018

Full post on my Instagram @ yvepaints

after “The Song of Achilles” by Madeline Miller (warning: violence)

Heliotropic soul who smells of spring.

Sunshine hair with gold-leafed summer irises,

Bright, shining from alabaster flesh.

Chiseled hands over carved wood,

Sinew-plucked strings.

They would never draw blood.

Winter is a minimalist,

Warmed by our roseate love,

Thawed anew.

Untitled (warning: violence against marginalized & minority populations)

Sitting on the ground reading Emily Dickinson

Just me, God, and the ants

One on my ankle, one on my shoe

I’m sure I’m getting eat up

Oh well

There are worse things that bite

Fix (warning: substances, abuse, enslavement, self harm, suicidal ideation)

Pile up my substances

I want control

Obey my captors

The same old, same old

Countless masters I serve

Superficial reality

Rinse and repeat

Lies I tell myself to fall asleep

Cut up my willpower

And sell it to a fallacy

I want my life back

Tell me it’s not too late

Don’t want to say goodbye

Sick of paying for mistakes

I Spy Shadow Box, art camp 2024

Full post on my Instagram @ yvepaints

Hallway (warning: horror, death, blood, gore, violence)

The PA system boomed

“They’ve made it into the school.

Lock and barricade your current room.”

I was in the hallway.

A stampede of bodies arose,

Living turning to dead to decompose.

Frightened and running through pools,

Slipping on blood in the hallway.

Beings crammed behind doors,

Quasi train cars as hopeful shields from doom.

Fearful faces cowered from windows,

Hiding from monsters in the hallway.

The growls approached.

The claws made their presence known.

Limbs and organs covered the floor.

The monsters were hungry for more than those in the hallway.

Blood-Singed II (warning: addiction, body horror)

Burnt red wine

Slinking down to slender fingertips

As sweet blood

With bite.

Wholly tremoring

With a fragile gaze

And blurred existence.

Lovers

Velvet blood coursing through intertwining paths

Supported by ebony pillars of bone

Supporting us in dance.

Your tender flesh, your cradling warmth

Clasped around my waist

Like it was made for your hands to rest on.

My limbs hung over your shoulders, around your neck

Like a garland made to grace your collar,

Pull you closer,

Hold us together, lovers.

It Is (warning: depression, self sabotage, trauma)

Behind as dirt, numb as snow,

Handcuffed rage by my own red-handed self.

The monster’s back, isn’t it?

Monochrome duality of emotions

Like drama masks that fit briefly,

Then slip off.

Little horrors behind the eyes of a jolted girl.

It’s chronic, isn’t it?

Night Choir

Night choir,

Songstresses of the dark,

Serenade with your warm melodies.

Soothing screech,

Piercing hum,

Smooth vibrato,

Harmonize with the lights—

Twinkle, fade.

acrylic on stretched canvas, 2024

Full post on my Instagram @ yvepaints

Untitled (warning: death, trauma response)

Dead horse, what have you done?

Traumatized into complacency,

Sat down,

Allowed to continue the charade.

Bloated carcass,

Needing to decompose

To nurture something—someone—anew.

I’m painting my nails to Queen and thinking about queer history (warning: hate crimes, violence, homophobia, transphobia)

I’m painting my nails to Queen

And thinking about queer history,

Bloodied,

Beautiful,

Weather-worn.

The artists that allow

My type in men to sparkle,

Gorgeous,

Pretty,

Free.

Don’t talk,

Save me.

Fights over love renewing

With people’s being

Free perceived

Threatening.

I want to break free.

Pink Kitchen Table (warning: illness)

The Advent wreath is erect but cockeyed; it wasn’t lit during the recent season. The pink kitchen table is littered with masks, bottles, medical notes; doctorly linguistics beside Latin religiousness. Sundays smell like medicines instead of makko-powdered ether, rosaries in the windowsill with therapy aids. Images of Christ surround a rented bed, a vessel for healing holding a vessel, weakened.

Advent wreath lit,

Pink kitchen table littered,

Latin Sundays smell like makko.

Rosaries with images of Christ surround,

A vessel for healing.

Advent wreath lit pink

Kitchen table like Sundays—

Vessel for healing.

18 (warning: suicidal thoughts)

Blow out the candles, darling.

You might make it to 18.

After all the nights crying

Through gritted teeth.

After the day you thought

That if you killed yourself

Their lives would be more pleasing.

Congratulations, darling.

You’re almost 18.

“Palestine,” acrylic, watercolor, & paper collage on paper, 2024

A visual commentary on the U. S. government’s involvement in the genocide of Palestinians 🍉

Love

Touch me.

Caress me.

Shiver the dust from my bones

And patch the rusted holes of my organs.

Quell the drought of my valleys,

Ushering in the wildflowers and honeybees.

Breathe life back into this old clay

And make me whole again.

Lover

Melt your fingertips into my skin,

Honey dripping between limbs.

Ebony hands gripping porcelain hips,

Obsidian and howlite,

Evening and starlight,

Melt me with your tender kiss.

Oh, lover,

Sweet embrace among silken cloth,

Hovering like a moth

To your flame, under our covers.