I Could Easily Show You What Ive Written.. Or I Could Just Read It To You As I Pet Your Hair And Tell

We got everything

so can we start hunting down white liberals now or what

A year tomorrow, isnt it? Or was it today? I've lost track, at this point. Im sure it's tomorrow, though. I've done nothing but miss you for an entire year. Isnt that something? How we all yearn for someone? You're not coming back to me. I can't imagine a world where I get to run to you again. All I can do is miss you. Im not too sure why you unblocked me though. You're so odd

Maybe if he was a little less fuckable we wouldn’t be in this mess

if you have not drank any water yet today, this is your daily reminder that you are so cute. You're so pretty. Don't let anyone let you think you aren't beautiful. keep sparkling on, superstar

Youth is happy because it has the ability to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.

Franz Kafka

[Jambound] The Wolf & The Lamb

°•○•°

"Lamb, tell me a story.

There was once a pale man with dark hair who was very lonely.[...] He took an axe and split himself in two. Right. Down. The middle.

So he would always have a friend?

So he would always have a friend."

—Kindred, League of Legends

I was talking with my sister last night and it occurred to me that I write a lot of poetry during liminal and intermundane moments. Late at night before I go to sleep. A moment of mental stress. Immediately after awaking from unconsciousness. Feeling trapped between the past and the future. Longing for the beauty of the unattainable past. Stuck in traffic. Out walking at sunset, almost dying from the freezing cold temperature. Meditation on our childhood in the earth. Outside in a thunder storm. Imagining I was out in the woods. Something eerily like demonic possession. Dancing in the rain. Listening to the night sounds at midnight dejection. Melancholy contemplation in an unlit room. A late night obsession. Out, meditating, on a walk. The shock of a murder. Reading apocalyptic literature.

Humans are intermundane beings; thus it only makes sense that our poetry would be the same.