"What's wrong?" Everything. Everything is wrong.

blake kathryn
i don't do bad sauce passes
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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DEAR READER
Cosmic Funnies
One Nice Bug Per Day
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Kiana Khansmith
AnasAbdin
we're not kids anymore.
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
d e v o n
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

@theartofmadeline
Keni

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@preludetomydeath
"What's wrong?" Everything. Everything is wrong.

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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me when i lowk realize there isnt a healing stage, there isnt a recovery, and that this is it and that this feeling will be with me forever, just lingering in my head and there is nothing i can do about it
i can’t wait to kms
Love is the person you want when you’re upset; their presence alone is enough
“There is a terrible emptiness in me, an indifference that hurts.”
- Albert Camus

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“The Hall of Faces”
I dreamed of a hall where the shadows grew,
Filled with faces I once knew.
Crushes, friends, and fleeting ties,
Their eyes held questions, but no replies.
They stood in silence, a quiet crowd,
No words exchanged, no voices loud.
Just echoes of moments long since passed,
A mirror of time that couldn’t last.
Why did they come, these ghosts of mine?
To show me the cracks in the march of time?
Or to remind me of paths I chose,
The doors I opened, the ones I closed?
Maybe it’s me, holding too tight,
To fragments of love that slipped from sight.
Or perhaps it’s a sign to let them fade,
To free my heart from the past it made.
When morning came, their faces blurred,
Their silent voices left unheard.
But still I wondered, soft and true,
Do they dream of me, as I of them too?
-DK
So… I’ve finished my poem! The one I explained in this post: (if anyone wants to give it a go)
Poems and such Today I saw a video about how society keeps standards of beauty despite the fight to end the reduction of people to only tha
And here it is! I hope you enjoy the read, thanks! ;)
Unseen
Because I have a different style,
they glance and look away,
as if the surface they see
is all there is to me.
No one will know I’m a writer,
spinning through deep thoughts into fragile threads.
No one will know I want to fight,
not just for my place at the table
but for all my people’s places—
chairs carved from dreams denied.
No one will know my favorite color is red,
The shade of passion, rebellion,
and love unspoken.
No one will know I cry silently,
letting the darkness catch my tears
so my family doesn’t have to.
No one will know I am the therapist,
a steady for others’ storms,
because I’ve forgotten how
to let my own voice break free.
But maybe they don’t ask to know.
Maybe they don’t want to see.
And yet, I remain—
whole, hidden,
a universe behind my face.
"What is grief, but love that’s lost its object?"
-Kelly Barnhill, When Women Were Dragons
https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/695825/when-women-were-dragons-by-kelly-barnhill/
“It’s both a burden and a blessing to feel everything as deeply as I do.”
— Unknown
For You, I Would
For you, I would,
Cleave the stubborn skin of the pomegranate,
A bleeding heart, wild and pure,
Its beauty unruly, chaos beneath my hands.
Crimson stains bloom on my white dress,
A quiet surrender to love’s mark.
Still, I persist—
Delicately, I free each jewel,
Threading through tangled veins,
Rinsing away the pale bitterness.
I hold the harvest, trembling,
Offer it to you with reverence.
You devour it, thoughtless,
As if it were nothing.
But I feel each bite—
A seed torn from the marrow of my heart,
Love unspooled,
Spilling into the void of your hunger.
And yet, for you, I would.
Again and again,
Until the last shard of me
Is laid bare in your hands.

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Life has made me so quiet. I just want to listen, no more talking, no more arguing, no more explaining. Just silence.
You think attention is love and that’s why you suffer so deeply.
Made to love, but not to be loved; made to understand, but not to be understood; always the poet, never the poetry.
If you came back and told me you still loved me, I would return to you in a heartbeat.
“I think people would be happier if they admitted things more often. In a sense we are all prisoners of some memory, or fear, or disappointment—we are all defined by something we can’t change.”
— Simon Van Booy

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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if you start miss me, remember, i didn't walk away...you let me go.
you infuriate me, you know. you make me feel such rage of love mixed with anger and betrayal. your words do not make sense with the action and decision you have made.
tell me, why are we even here in the first place?