
#extradirty
Peter Solarz
Sade Olutola

blake kathryn
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
i don't do bad sauce passes

Andulka
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Origami Around
đȘŒ
we're not kids anymore.
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Product Placement
art blog(derogatory)
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

Kaledo Art

⣠Chile in a Photography âŁ
will byers stan first human second

Kiana Khansmith

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@1ittlepeach
i wonder if there is a parallel universe where i don't hate my body and my mind isn't rotten and i am an active functioning member of society but in the meantime quick shout out to the spacehog song 'in the meantime' that you all have forgotten about or never heard of i am that forgotten song i am that 90s alternative rock anthem that people say 'hey i know this' in a loud gross bar but they never think about it unless they have to but you have to please i'm here and i'm screaming quietly because i never wish to cause anyone harm i got off track because i have ingested poison that makes my brain hazy and fuzzy and warm it's all fake and chemical and wrong but it's right for right now which is how i decide to live i don't trust anyone without an internet presence sometimes i think i only exist on the internet i am pixels for your entertainment take my pain and sadness and turn it into retweets and validation because i need it i crave it the only thing keeping me on this earth is maintaining my social media and how pathetic is that that is actually the saddest sentence i have ever written and now that i've written it hopefully i will be okay
don't fuck with me, 2016
here are two things i made during insomnia last night with cool free apps on my cool not free phone: 1. quartz cluster girl hangs out in a cemetery because she can and wants to and because it's where she can be a ghost still in a body 2. very tired and angry alien business thing on vacation who is unable to enjoy the experience because of expense reports and marital problems
a yawn is just a yawn it's not poetry it means ur tired
kiss number one
you lived across the street from my grandmother who is and was basically my mother and we played together all summer, getting bug bites and melted ice cream and scrapes from never being able to slow down. one day you took my small pale hand in your slightly larger one and pulled me through the backyard to the dead tree we thought was home to ghosts. why you chose this spot i couldn't figure out, since there was obviously a portal to the other side buried in the rotting wood, but now i realize it was the only place in the backyard we couldn't be seen by my grandmother at the kitchen window. you pushed me up against the tree and its fragile bark crumbled behind my back. you told me 'this is how you show someone you love them' and stuck your wet tongue in my mouth. it tasted like the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches my grandmother made for us earlier that day. later that night my mother picked me up and brought me home and i tried to stick my tongue in her mouth, which she immediately stopped before i could even start. she asked 'why did you do that?' and i said 'because that's how you show someone you love them'
me on paper seems ok and tired which is better than me irl which is not ok and extremely sleep deprived, 2016
some photos from today and other days: quartz cluster teeth looking down looking up stained fingers
there is mold floating in the pepsi next to your bed that you left sit for six months in a watermelon glass you rinse out the dark liquid and stubborn fuzz lines the sink it's pale and beautiful but rotten you find it hard to remember that you wipe it away and condemn the sponge unloveable unusable the same thing you consider throwing the cup in the trash you consider throwing the cup out of the window a cat is in the way so you place it in the cabinet instead 'out of sight out of mind' is what they say you trust 'they' even though you don't know who 'they' are two months later you are dying of thirst coughing and half swallowing anxious and hot you've become a desert full of cotton over the course of minutes or hours or days it's become easy to lose track walking to the kitchen feels like it deserves applause you reach for a cup to fill with water that feels holy the minute it hits every shriveled tastebud on your tongue your fingertips leave their mark in curved lines on the slightly chipped watermelon decoration you smile because you are full of water and still alive despite the mold
Ur hot lets bang in 2k16 bb
i'm actually rly cold my lips and nails are blue freezing to death 2k15
Three Poems by Kristie Shoemaker
kristie shoemaker is a twenty four year old writer living in baltimore, maryland. she tries to pretend she is emotionally mature but is failing. her work has been published in such places as gesture, fruita pulp, voicemail poems and most importantly, your heart. you can read more of her writing at twitter.com/1ittlepeach or 1ittlepeach.tumblr.com.
i have never seen the movie âwater worldâ but i have heard bad things
i am made of water and memories i would like to forget
this water forms clouds that take the shapes of these memories
of first kisses and scrapped knees
of fear and isolation
of words afraid to be spoken
these clouds turn gray with molecules filled with a sense of urgency
a desperation to purge
these clouds want to rain
my mouth opens
water pours out
it fills a hole dug with fingers that have grown steady and strong since birth
rain water pours into the hole at my bare feet
and i donât drown
but i float
and i float
and i float away
princess and the pea two thousand fifteen
i fell asleep on top of my copy of 'the first bad manâ
felt like some fucked up version of the princess and the pea
except there wasnât any produce
only dreamy expectations
the kind people write about in poems like this
thereâs a five dollar vodka cloud swirling in the air
hanging precociously over our heads
about to crush us at any moment
i wish that it would
youâre slurring
iâm slurring
it doesnât matter
i want you to touch me but you wonât
iâm sending you telepathic messages
watered down by alcohol and nerves
i doubt they will reach you but i will continue to try
my heart is beating against the mattress
shaking everything like a earthquake thatâs too shy to register
i hope that you get the message
that itâs okay
you can love me
and i will only love you back
just as much, if not more
but i will never admit to that
you breathe heavy when you sleep
each sigh and moan gives me comfort youâre alive
and if i can hear these noises i guess that means iâm alive too
i can hear a woman coughing to the point of puking outside of my window
i wonder how i can be self aware
when iâm more worried about strangers bodily fluids than myself
i should probably sleep
sometimes i think my hair is talking to me
my hair is sentient
it is knotted and angry and dirty
it is growing out and up
inhaling the world and staking itâs claim
it has a vendetta against humanity
it is slowly devouring my body
donât get too close
or it will entangle you in itâs moss green tentacles
it is the snake and you a small mouse
you never had a chance
it is filling this room
dead cells desperately in denial
refusing to be ignored
my hair has daddy issues
my hair has a strong online presence
my hair has more twitter followers than you
does that make you jealous
itâs bursting through the windows now
itâs tearing down power lines and small animals are calling it home
birds are starting families and regurgitating worms between the strands
rats are nesting, diseased and sleeping between dead ends
my hair wraps itself around the earth ten times
and you will see it from space