Things That Make Me Who I Am
1. Who I Am Not
2. Where I Have Been
3. What I Have Seen
4. Who I Have been
5. Where I am Now
6. Where I Will Go Later
7. What I Have Left Behind
8. What I Am Looking For
9. What I Hope To Keep
10. Who I Wish To Be
Sade Olutola

Andulka


shark vs the universe
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

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@ducks-on-venus
Things That Make Me Who I Am
1. Who I Am Not
2. Where I Have Been
3. What I Have Seen
4. Who I Have been
5. Where I am Now
6. Where I Will Go Later
7. What I Have Left Behind
8. What I Am Looking For
9. What I Hope To Keep
10. Who I Wish To Be

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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βIf you knew how hard it was, and how long it took, to rebuild my little universe of peace and happiness then you would understand why Iβm so picky about who I allow in my life.β
β Weird People
just read βto be loved is to be worth the inconvenienceβ it blew my mind away
Poem I wrote
The Angel And The Dreamer (a poem about Kris Dreemurr)
The angel watches
But it does not wait for you to decide
Your choices are undermined
Its actions speak louder than yours
Its hands wrap around your red soul
Or maybe it's always been the soul of the angel
Seeing universes you could never dream up, dreemurr
Blue or gold, dark or light
The conditions do not matter
Your choices do not matter
For the prophecy will speak louder
Than both you or the angel
Whether you fight its hand
Or follow it unwaveringly
Destiny calls for you
And a vessel you will be

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The universe doesn't watch you
Doesn't pity you
Doesn't love you
Or hate you
Or any other personification you try to place upon it
The universe *is* you
The stardust is forever interlinked
Your atoms started in the same place
As everyone else's
Everything else's
Everywhere else's
Your will and soul
And everything you've ever done
Is all one big cloud of particles
And they all stick close together
Because you are them
And they are you
And together
You are loved
And you are love itself
Greed corrupts and yet
I do nothing but
Want you to return
Hands in my hair
Kisses on my lips
Shared whispers over the
Phone calls no one
Else got to hear
Pick me up
Or leave me here
Don't make me
Wait another year
I see you sometimes
You've changed so much
There's blood on the egdes
And it's covered in rust
Wanting only hurts
Bleeds me dry
And yet I can't stop
Waiting for your hands
To wipe my eyes
And pull me back
Down into the depths
Because we were warm
Even if we were
Lost in the snow storm
Metaphors aren't going to cut it
I miss you. I always will
I try to sugar coat it
And bubble wrap it up
In imagery of sunsets
And mountains
And forests
Nature and symbolism
To make me seem less guilty
Of the crime of nostalgia
But rivers have always been my favorite to look at
They always will be
No matter how much time passes,
How much the weather changes
When I live in a cabin in the woods
With flowers around me
And orange evening sun
Falling onto my shoulders
And kissing my face
Even though the rivers sevre me no longer
Give me nothing of gain
Supply nothing but soggy socks
And mosquito bites
My most cherished smiles
Will always be the ones
Made while stepping into the waters
And watching the currents flow
I still have the old river rocks
And the photos i took
Of new england leaves
Floating atop your waters
You carried me far
And even though I've long departed
Rivers will always be my favorite
βare you okay?β
no i am a hopeless romantic poet

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The fox circles around me
Paws pitter-pattering on the ground
Eyes tracing around the form of my body
Such a small, harmless being
As it's mouth waters, and it inches forever closer
It's just a fox, it could never harm you
I extend my hand, and rub it's head
And it let's out a decisive purr
Why would you trust it?
And it crawls into my lap
It feels like my friend, it is my friend
Do you forget its a wild animal?
A feeling of idiotic safety
A sense of calm until the calamity sets in
Until it's teeth sink in to my flesh
If it is a fox, you are a rabbit
Blood trickles down onto the floor
As it scratches at me
Until another, better prey catches it's eyes, and it turns away from me
Why wouldn't you run?
Why don't you know you're place on the food chain?
I sit with my blood dripping
Most bunnies try to run away, why did you just sit there?
Do you feel it?
The slip of time,
Clawing away at you
From the inside out?
Every second that you waste,
Staring into space,
Waiting for someone to pull you out
Of this foolish spiral you dug yourself into.
I am a weak man
I would kiss your lips all over again, just one more time
If you gave me the chance
I'd run my hands through your hair
And ask where it all went wrong
And then I'd curse myself for returning to you
If even just for a moment
Because all the warmth and glitter
Will never undo how horrible those four months made me feel.
I saw you on the bus today, and for once I hoped you couldn't call me
I reached for you, and you turned away
And every want for you left my body all at once
Because it forced me to remember who you have become
This is never somebody I would love,
I only loved the corpse of your current personality
But that's been burried in the ground since we were thirteen years old
So now I'm watching you walk away
Without a single tear in my eyes
One day I will stop looking in the night sky
Searching for the sparkle in your eyes
That you had when you held me
Tightly in your arms, as you told me
You would never ever let me go
False promises pouring from your
Light pink lips, the same ones
That kissed my tears away
As I cried to you, begging you to stay
One of these days I'll stop searching
For some reason as to why
Your eyes suddenly turned away from me

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I don't write poetry because I'm a poet, I'm a poet because the poetry makes me write. I feel like words are pouring out of me on a constant basis. I have nowhere to process my thoughts if not the outside world. How is anyone meant to feel and think and thrive if they don't get to spill it all out with ink and pens and typewriters and keyboards and words and words and words everywhere. People keep telling me I'm good with words, I have interesting thoughts, and I wish I could show them everything running through my head. Every thought and picture and sound 'until I run dry of thoughts' I would say, but I never will. I know I never will because even know as my fingers hit the keys hundreds of new thoughts come rushing in to fill the space of the ones I just put down on the paper. I don't write because I'm a poet, I'm a poet because I write, and I write because I think about everything all at once, at every moment in time.