a teeny tiny note
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all original posts under the name freeversewords/caedee (unless credited to others) are mine
ty :)
xoxo, caedee
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a teeny tiny note
please remember to credit me if you reblog me
all original posts under the name freeversewords/caedee (unless credited to others) are mine
ty :)
xoxo, caedee

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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i do feel somewhat ruined forever. but it’s okay we stay silly
a study i did of “first braids to leave orbit (unconfirmed)” ft. Christina Koch and all of us🌎✨
I crave love in ways you can’t imagine

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– r.a.b. // 03-22-2023
❤️
i just want someone to hold me
transcript under the cut
Keep reading
sleep.
Falling asleep is hardÂ
Because thoughts start to flyÂ
My hearts sits here scarredÂ
And all I can do is cry
Weeping with my mouth jarredÂ
I feel like I’m going to dieÂ
I never knew silence could be so loud
But here I am drowning in it
Listening to words in my head being read aloudÂ
Falling deeper into this pit
The sky’s covered with clouds
And my head is going to split
Here it comes again
I can’t breatheÂ
So I count back from ten
Forcing air to escape through my teeth
So maybe tonight I won’t end
And hands won’t drag me beneathÂ
You see, my thoughts go to places
They scatter like they aren’t mineÂ
And so I see these faces
And memories that I want to leave behindÂ
So painful I slide into one of those phases Â
Where for days I’m left confinedÂ
Mama says count sheep
One two three four five
But then my thoughts creep in like the deep
Once again I’m dragged into a dive
I really can’t seem to keep
Myself in charge of the driveÂ
I can only hope to wear myself out
That the thoughts I don’t want retreats back
So maybe I don’t have to shout
The tightness in my chest that makes me crack
I can most definitely live withoutÂ
And please, just one less panic attack
Falling is asleep is hard
-caedee
i just want someone to hold me.

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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Now that girls gone
She’s broken inside
Still holding her breathe
Trying to piece back
What was once her
caedee
The storm is but a gentle breeze
Your harsh words are but a lullaby to my ears
I’ve found warmth in your empty embrace
Trauma are just memories
The dark is no longer scary
It hugs me
tight
As lighting strikes like clockwork outside my room
It is still too bright
With the lights turned off
caedee
Why do we not kill ourselves?
Why do we keep living?
Because we love the happy moments more than we despise the terrible moments. Because out of the 10 times we were desperate, 6 times we were saved.
War
I fight an endless war with myself
One without knives or guns
But the thoughts in my head and the life at hand
Trying to make the next move before fate does
And before the dark of me takes over my body
It is trying to be in control
Its parody lies
In that I hurt myself to save myself
And in saving myself I hurt myself
And where parody lies
A truth lies
In perhaps a war that never existed
Or was never meant to be won
It was all my head
That’s it
But any war
This war
Is hard
Its exhausting
And im drained
And it could mean life or death
caedee
here i name you innocence and i know you will not last long cherish this softness while you can because i tell you now others will not here you are soft and here you are vulnerable it will tear you apart, child it will ruin you maybe it already has
here i name you innocence— though perhaps ignorance would fit better— because you do not yet know the world and (thank God) the world does not yet know you
here i name you desperation alone inside your childhood home with grasping hands and burning eyes tear tracks on your cheeks like your own little prayer though you have never known the name of God and there is something sharp in your blood shredding your veins and you call it friend because you don’t know any better
here i name you desperation because what other name could I give to the boy who wants so little and has so much less?
and here i name you hunger in the shadowed back alley of a bar there is flesh between your teeth and liquor on your tongue but it isn’t enough it will never be enough this boy tastes like vodka and bad decisions and he smells a lot like the last one like cigarettes and escape and i tell you now, though i know you wont listen this cannot fix you his lips don’t hold the apologies your mother never gave and the alcohol cant bring your father back the blood in your mouth cant wash the scars off your skin and the smoke cant fill the negative space between your ribs this will not fix you
here i name you hunger because what other name could i give you? you, the emptiness pressed clumsily into the shape of a boy you have never known what it is to have so you became close friends with want instead
here i name you hunger and I hope it does not kill you but then again maybe it already has
– r.a.b.
could say this has been the best piece ive read so far
thank you, truly

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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we are a beautifully broken generation full of poets and painters and writers and photographers. we’re falling apart and capturing our own destruction in our art we have a thousand poets with beautiful words and even more beautiful ideas whose stanzas flow, slow and sweet, like rivers of golden honey but only after a bit of liquid courage to set the pen in motion our painters are hard at work splashing their hearts across canvases creating murals and portraits and landscapes and their hearts are so stunning, so colorful so what does it matter if, every now and then, they mix a little of their own blood with their acrylics to get that perfect hue? our photographers have the greatest ability to find beauty in even the most damaged things, except themselves. with just the right angle, lens, and lighting, they can make cracked concrete look tragic and wonderful instead of mundane they’re all grasping at straws, trying to trap moments in film, trying to stop time. their tears mingle with chemicals in their dark rooms while they develop photo after photo, refusing to move on from their few good moments our writers are brilliant they have so much to say they’re the ones left up at two, three, four in the morning scribbling down every thought and story idea they’ve ever had, making some part of themselves immortal, leaving a few pieces behind, just in case they don’t make it to sunrise, for a writer’s brain is the most dangerous place of all we’re burning. the poets are drunk, the painters are bleeding, the photographers are desperate, the writers are dying, and we. are. burning. we’re dying, and isn’t it stunning? –r.a.b.
dying.
a quiet reflection
I peel back the curtain inside the car
Slowly, so no one sees
Lights blur past as people become streaks
The stars are looking down at me tonight
But amidst everything else,
I’m looking at you
I see you through the painted reflection on my window
My face so close to the glass, but too far from you
Perhaps that is all I will ever get
A reflection,
Cast on a car window
Perhaps everyone else thought I was staring into the night sky and contemplated why the sky and I never touched
And perhaps you were too fixed to your phone
But frankly,
You were my view
caedee
submitted this a while ago, but smittenbypoetry game march edition is still on!