Dec 31, 2016
thank you
i will continue to use this tumblr as a source of communication and inspiration, however this will be my last entry. head on over to www.realitycheat.com to see what i’m upto post 2016. xoxo
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thank you
i will continue to use this tumblr as a source of communication and inspiration, however this will be my last entry. head on over to www.realitycheat.com to see what i’m upto post 2016. xoxo
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
an undecided homecoming heartbreak is a white devil. there will be hell and there will be heaven; your home is between the two.
white sands of lombok, grey skies of july. a germ, a blush, a nail in our back. wind on my wristwatch, a blooded mess by your eye. breakfast by clear blue, purple rain on your parade.
tell me, are you happy now? i was shaping you stars when you started searching for space at least tell me you are happy now.
cut your hair. don't call me later. dark wombs and darkrooms; your home is between the two. tell me, do they kiss you warm? do they kiss you when it's cold? will she be there in the morning like i would?
this piece began in august, and now we’re in october. you know i live for the stranger things, i never anticipated it ever meaning us. and baby, i'm the realist.
i woke from my sleep, and thought of you again. 12 long weeks like twisted fingers in my spine that remind me of you, and us.
do you wanna get off? does it sting a lottle? let me see your neck. you keep drinking from bottles.
dirty hippie, you will always be the boy with the orange in his pocket, and i will always be. home is between the two.
Headline: Local News. Newsflash: It’s You. What’s on your TV screen tonight? Who’s telling the story? What’s on your plate tonight? Who’s feeding the story?
Stand up, look at yourself. Veins, coffee-stains, and star-dust. You made it. Stand up, look at yourself. Veins, coffee-stains, and star-dust. You’re making it. Little pieces of magic, and you’re holding the rabbit. You’re working the lights tonight, and the curtain. You are hero, and anti-hero. You are David, and Goliath. You are id, and ego. But you, are Hero. What’s on your TV screen tonight? Local News. Who’s telling the story? Newsflash: It’s You. 6am: still here. 6pm: still here. Be your’s. Be their’s. Take care of your soul. With your soft hands, and your warm heart. With your bright eyes, dressed the part. Be your’s. Be their’s. Take care of your soul. With your patience, and your pen. With your laughter, and your friends. Be your’s. Be their’s. Take care of your soul. With your sweet smile, and your poetry. Be your’s. Be their’s. Take care of your soul. Be your’s. Be their’s. Hero. Hero. Veins, coffee-stains, and star-dust. You made it. You’re making it. You hold the pen. You turn the key. Who’s telling the story?
Headline: Local News. Newsflash: It’s You.
journals // 07121101 // 201516.
journals // 0911 // 2015.
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
YDA. you're separating salt from water every time you throw me hands, and then pull back.
my blood is singing because of you.
don't ask me when i close the windows, because i get cold too, sometimes. even when i am burning blue, i get cold too, sometimes.
you don't mean this. you don't mean this. you're in searching, but you are blind.
i have a song that smells like you.
are you still scratching at your chest? did i scar you?
i have 72 songs that smell like you. and some others i forget the names of. do you remember them all? don't answer.
you don't answer.
i spat in my drink and thought of you, left it by my bedside and thought of you.
you used to be so warm, and now you're sitting in the sun with a skin of ice that refuses to melt.
don't tempt me.
you are on the other side of choking on dust. use your thumb as a stump and block the sound of my screaming. it is easier for you.
run back. run back, to what i left on your paper. you write good words but actions speak louder, and silence is the loudest. killer.
i want to tell you i hate you, but we only say “i hate you” to the people we love and i am so tired of telling you things that your lostness cannot hear.
save yourself. you will hurt too, sometimes.
don't tempt me. the female phoenix is my role model and i will set you alight if you let me, and i will set you alight if you don't.
i wrote a(n almost rap) poem about you and it made me feel hardcore for a solid minute.
late night, studying, papers i got, i’m stuttering, on you, i’m fumbling. this signal- unreliable, these wires- are down under your intentions, they’re there, but your hands, they’re not, so when i think about us,  i don’t know what we’ve got. cos you tell me you love me, i know you mean what you say, but my words are too shaky, i could never ask you to stay. so now i’m picking memories and moments and you’re picking fruits, and some people pick games,  but i don’t- i mean, i won’t- do that to you. so tell me how you really feel,  i mean, really, really feel, tell me if your mind plays over moments  like a broken tv reel, tell me if your dreams cash in on us,  a fucking record deal, tell me if your heart spins on hope, that, what’s it called, wheel? of fortune- miss fortune,  workin on the “mrs” though. only been 4 u, been about you since you walked in the door. from the jump,  director’s cut,  kept it 100,  you know that’s love. you know what’s up. that 90’s rnb shit,  frankie and benny’s,  then ben and jerry’s  and some sweet kick. see, you got me reminiscing,  and i get so sentimental, protective of my heart,  i don’t give this thing like rental. so i’m sitting over here,  can of red bull to my left, hit 5am, and my bed still bereft. stayin up, thinkin bout you, now i’m just being frank  ocean in my room, got these tears to thank. hope you appreciate that. been tryna stay lowkey bout highkey feelings  and it’s whack. you’re still young,  but a caveman with technology, bout to google this  new internet slang,  then something bout girls who study poetry and psychology. yeah, bryson tiller got me in my drake type feelings, and it’s whack, been a minute since this hotline bling’d so we’re due a chat. what would i say?  man, where would i start? “screw you” or “screw this” russian roulette with my heart. or “screw me some more”  it’s good for my art. you’re a bad paint-job,  a dog-toothed edge, forget about eton,  you’re a london mess. my favourite headache,  sunshine on a plate. now you’re living in yellow,  i’m living in blue, i need some  andre 3000  green light tune. and i’ll admit it,  sometimes i keep talking, and i don’t know when to quit it, but i’m talking for the both of us, to god looking over us. so tell me, what would you say?  where would you start? you said you’ve been writing, now give me your part.
We are God’s Spoken Word. For: twin. chummy. silly pug.     brother. friend. jhadder.     you are the most. God speaks to you through people, He puts a light in their eyes. Rich in soul, full exposure, but behind translucent windows. These are the people you meet in heaven. These people bring you lessons, these people bring you love, these people bring you both. These people are like poetry, heavy breathing hearts, beating rhythms of life. These are the people you want to share your after with- after love, after heartbreak, after dinner, after eight, after party, afterwards, after life, ever after. These people remind you, you are human, and that is enough. Make you feel more than human, in sync with God’s touch. We, are the similes, the metaphors, the alliteration, abbreviation, punctuation, capitalisation, of God’s spoken word. We collide, and touch fingers, open our curtains every morning. Some nights we never really draw them in. We are, speech bubbles, monologues, sometimes silent movies. We, are art, when we let it be. We, are meat masses, meat matters, floating through space. We, are sound waves, from the first floor of heaven, to the centre of the Earth. We, are extraordinary beings, with a tendency to forget. We are the laughter at 4am that strings stars in the sky, We are the tears of every mother and father given their first miracle, We are the pen-marks on the left hand of every writer, We are the second chance telling you to love again, We are the doing, being, breathing, beating, happening. We make war with our monsters and talk at our reflections, We write love-notes inside our eyelids and speak prayers in our sighs, We, are the similes, the metaphors, the alliteration, abbreviation, punctuation, capitalisation of God's spoken word. When we find each other, we know. We know. To hold on, to be true, to be present. Nothing is effort. Souls from heaven. We know, everything we ever need is already inside of us. We know, we just have to be willing to open the book. We are God's spoken word.