besties here's something to vibe with in a closet 🤭💪
DEAR READER

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Misplaced Lens Cap
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祝日 / Permanent Vacation

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Monterey Bay Aquarium

JVL
Keni

oozey mess

pixel skylines
trying on a metaphor
Jules of Nature
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Kaledo Art
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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@geekinaround
besties here's something to vibe with in a closet 🤭💪

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if you ask the shopkeeper for 8 mango bits, you get 1 mango byte
it's fucking hard to talk to parents sometimes. all they see is a brat, someone who is constantly acting out, someone who doesn't listen to anything they say, someone who back talks when she should know better. but they never try to understand the reason behind this behavior. as soon as you start explaining they tell you to grow up and stop being so sensitive and compare you to the other kids who are under the same pressure. "why are you breaking when they are not? why is your mental health getting affected when theirs is not?" are the questions they ask. how do you answer this? how do you explain that not everyone is the same. not everyone can take the same amount of pressure. not everyone is happy all the time. how?
this is in perfect iambic meter and sounds like the first line of a weird poem
Rule #2
Don’t ever hug a lobster when you see one on the street,
For decorum is essential when a lobster you must greet.
You may comment on the weather, compliment his choice of hat,
But crustaceans like their space if one should stop them for a chat.
Don’t ever hug a lobster when you’re strolling down the coast,
Simply nod and give a greeting, or a handshake at the most,
For a lobster’s first priority is formal social graces,
And one seemes over-familiar if a lobster one embraces.
Don’t ever hug a lobster when you meet one in the sea,
For a lobster’s spines and chitin make it difficult, you see,
And he might become self-conscious if you bring that fact to light,
So don’t ever hug a lobster, simply put, it’s impolite.
[ID: An image of two people shaking hands with the text “Rule #2: don’t ever hug a lobster when you see one on the street” above their hands. End ID]
“Be sure to shake it!” the bubble tea barista tells me but I don’t. I won’t. Why would I? “It mixes the sugar” maybe you want that. Maybe YOU do. To be drinking some homogenous concoction. Uniformly distributed. Each sip the same as the last. Just as sweet. Just as sweet. Just as sweet. All pointless flat indulgence. No personality. No humanity. A time-loop of your own devising, bereft of experience, sanitized of risk.
I want my first sip to be teeth-curdlingly sweet. I want the next to be horribly disappointing. I want to hunt. I want to jab my straw into pockets of substance like my ancestors stirring twigs into a bug colony. I want to raise the straw to different depths and feel something. The ocean is so far but I know what it means to rise from its syrupy dark depths into the still waters above.
I want all boba. I want no boba. I want to scoop the bubbles with my straw when the ice-rocks have been washed dry by the tide. “Be sure to shake it.” Never. I want to experience every human emotion in this cup of tea. I am not a coward. I am not a sheep. My tea is still enough for pond-skaters to glide. It will not shake. Live your repetitive nothing. Live in fear of the unknown. Live your fear of change. I am choking on a boba.
You. You understand this post.
That’s…….. just me.

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I can't help but wonder if I'm nothing but graffiti by the people I meet
because I still remember the stupid jokes some guys made behind my desk, worship the movies that the girl I like enjoys, cry over a playlist made by my bestfriend, watch a show just because the person I text likes it, think about my classmate's favorite book
maybe I'm just a tangram and I collect every little piece that you leave behind and treasure it with all my might
is it love when you fall for their favorite books and their comfort music and worship their every move and think about them when things get quiet but they don't even know you exist????
you loved me in your promises, but soon it was winter and they slipped away like fog in your breath
i wish i could
just die right now
behind my hair;
maybe then this
boiling self hatred
would stop;
i'm so sick
of cursing myself
so tired of
cranking music
to forget myself
when musicians throw their head back while playing.ok whore

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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it’s really fun!
girlie stop scrolling through tumblr you are one second away from crumbling under academic pressure
New tag game
Type in “I want” to reveal your greatest desire
I want to fall in love

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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things going so down your girl would be jealous
man number lines do be making a point