#tdawg

yoooo. i’m terrance (or andrés, if you’d like.. bats eyelashes wink wink..) and uhh, that’s kind of it. absolutely NO terry or dre, unless we’re close.

heads up, the posts with really long titles in a small font are poetry, feeling-rants, or small vents (tagged as 💽 ; he’s repeating things again. ), in case you were confused. i like to write pieces/share writing a lot, check it out.

he/him, demiro, a very negative and moody asshole. a nihilistic realist, if you will, i’m not sure. i talk, think, and write about my manly angry and depressive teenage boy feelings. a lot. i vent or shitvaguepost, el oh el. my blog, my rules, fuckers.

i like zd, ptv, p!atd, sws, HIM, shoegaze, true crime, mikey way, ut/dr, rats, poetry, debating, talking about my feelings, answering questions, my friends, violence, blasting my music at full volume, shitty eyeliner, no fringe gaps, and other things i don’t remember. oh and pete wentz 🤤 <3.

i am very dry at first. i’m bad at talking to people, a little shy, and very much a hermit. don’t take it personally if i don’t respond and leave you waiting el oh el, i just can’t keep a conversation up for long. i’m not at all sensitive and i honestly prefer people who make offensive jokes el em ay oh.

no dni, i’m chill ‘n swaggy like that. kind of.

buh bye now.

no one.

both poems are about wanting to be remembered and having an impact.

all of the bridges i’ve burned, i want them to affect you. who is you? everyone. all of the bridges. but how can i expect that when the things connecting us are gone? when i’ve cut you off or in the process already?

maybe if i could retrace my steps in your head. so you’d remember. but how could you when i’m so forgettable? when i’m lost and kicked myself out of the home of your heart that i desperately want to be back inside of, but not really. when i’m the only one that remembers even though i did it.

these poems aren’t about someone. they’re about my life and my experiences. they’re about how I feel. how selfish yet humble i am. distant, yet clingy. contradictory, a mystery. i make art of the ashes of the bridges burned from both sides to replicate the warmth that used to make me feel intimate when they were still up.