it's always on the way home alone that i wish to fall in love the most
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@yaoyuandaydream
it's always on the way home alone that i wish to fall in love the most

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 not your fault."
i want to say it to you
i want you to say it back.
you'd kiss my bruises but you can't make yourself stay until morning
i can keep your secrets, but i can't keep you
i want birthday dinners with your socks on blinds open as twilight winks and the city can bear witness to the flush on your cheeks when you look at me and i'm looking right back
i want sleepy afternoons curled around your back the bed is our safe harbour even though we really should have done the laundry yesterday but that's for tomorrow to think about because you're reaching over with your phone in hand and i'll laugh at the joke because it's you who showed me
i want rainy mornings rushing out the door the world is so much but we're both still in it a kiss on the cheek and the promise of coming home to you
you exist like a bruise under my skin something tender i can't help but skim my shaky fingertips across, pressing softly like a kiss just to feel a hint of pain i've managed to convince myself tastes sweet the way red wine does when i'm dressed pretty and sitting just out of reach from you

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will you still love me when i'm no longer holy?
also a poem from the new, unreleased collection. very possibly my own all-time favourite.
i want to crack my heart open hear my loneliness rattle in the hollow within maybe itâll fall out so easily like these words i drop so mindlessly onto these pages and maybe youâll stop haunting me
sometimes, i see you, framed in summer evenings in the window seat
the sun's reluctant to set, clinging to the curl of your laughter
i can still feel the clink of the ice cubes in my pink little fizzy drink
i've never liked how they made my stomach tingle, but i liked the way you'd fit your lips
around the same glass, just a sip to taste, eyes electric over the rim
sometimes, i take the long way home, pretending the sunset-stained reflection
is you
a tragedy of my own making: i said see you later, when what you really meant was goodbye

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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your teeth, scraping the knobs of my spine the drop in temperature from your fingertips to mine whisper dirty to me in a language i don't quite grasp but make me gasp against the quivering skin outside your ribcage i want the soft prey parts that they couldn't beat out of you i can't promise no more bruises but i'll let you taste my tears if you let me kiss your scars
i don't know how to hold onto things except for these words that linger on my tongue the bitter tang of regret and a sour tinge of cowardice
i keep thinking, next time, i'll find a way next time but the frequencies of earthquakes have increased the tide has been rising since before i learned how to swim
we're not growing any younger sometimes i think it's better to give up at the start than watch myself turn into a stranger, poisoned by desperation
this world isn't kind, but i want to still believe that we are. or that we can be.
gods, i want to be, so badly
i want so badly a gentle future for us
i think a lot about that line by siken, "If you love me, Henry, you don't love me in a way I understand."
i think i am my father's daughter because passive aggressive silence is how i protect myself and i'm much too smart to choose conflict when i can hide
i am my father's eldest daughter i never learned how to ask for help only how to second guess myself and lately i've been trying to unlearn this sorry excuse for filial piety i've swallowed and choked
we are our father's children and i understand now, their love language is a full fridge, dinner waiting on the table, and refusing to eat before everyone is seated i never liked hot and sour soup but my ma does. but my gran does. so i should be grateful to be given a seat at the table so it doesn't matter i don't matter
i am my father's daughter because he knows i know how to bow my head and ĺé but i don't think my father knows his daughter
i am only my father's daughter not sweet enough to dote on like his wife not kind enough to spoil like his mother
i am only my father's daughter and he loves me, but he doesn't love me in a way i understand
i romanticized you like the moon because you glowed so prettily as if reflecting all my lonely thoughts, waxing poetic but i forget that no one survives on cold hard rock and every year you are drifting farther and farther away

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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one day these poems i write will be about someone real
twenty years across the sea