One Nice Bug Per Day
almost home
todays bird
Peter Solarz
@theartofmadeline
Origami Around
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
JVL
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Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
RMH
Stranger Things
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izzy's playlists!
Claire Keane
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@originalferal
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why do we go quiet about the things we think the most about?
every once in a while i try to find love. a very desperate attempt always. a begging of sorts. love me, love me. that is all.
When I could have confessed, I pretended not to love you. Now that you're gone, it's my punishment to keep on pretending.
Just once in my life I want to cry without restraint, allow the ancient animalistic roar to leave my throat. Just once, I want to lift this sorrow off my chest and breathe.
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I still write about you after all these years.
More people stay in my memories than in my life.
I am a very needy lover.
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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Tonight, like many nights, I am lonely and forcing myself not to think of you.
How can I lie to myself, know I'm lying, yet continue to lie?
i sometimes wonder what broke me more- what happened or what never did.
I'm afraid if I let myself free, if I let my mask down, if I let myself be me, I will do terrible things to myself, I will scream for hours, and my mind will never stop, and I will never be contained again.
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.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I've never wanted to be a poet but a poem. I wanted to be a muse, somebody these poets write about. I wanted that magic in me that only poets see, that entraps them. It was all I dreamt of while I sat with my own pen running through the pages.
And now, years later, I'm sitting here with a hollowed chest, a shivering body, and eyes that are refusing to dry; I realise that it's not easy to be a poem. Oh, how I wish I remained a poet.
How are your lips not shivering with everything you're not allowing them to speak? How are your eyes not filled with tears when they're not allowed to express? How is your heart still beating with all the burden that has been weighing on it?