i never thought i’d say this but 3+ scoops of chocolate nesquick powder may be to much chocolate in your chocolate milk

Kaledo Art

blake kathryn
KIROKAZE
Sade Olutola
Misplaced Lens Cap

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
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Monterey Bay Aquarium
todays bird
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Not today Justin

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i don't do bad sauce passes
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
will byers stan first human second
art blog(derogatory)
trying on a metaphor
NASA
Xuebing Du
hello vonnie
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@agaveave
i never thought i’d say this but 3+ scoops of chocolate nesquick powder may be to much chocolate in your chocolate milk
He wasn’t born with wings he created his flight. He would soar through the wind, breathe in the sea in a way no one knew but him, in the heat his created wings would burn mar and scar his back, but the pain was not in comparison to the beauty of his world, so he’d live with the agony. After exploring the sea and the trees, the clouds and the rain he longed for the sun, he knew he couldn’t, he had a limit, he had his beauty he couldn’t be greedy. His desire burned more than the consequences. So to quench the burn he died in flames, for those flames could never compare to the ones that burned in his soul. His wings wilted till they were finally ash and he fell in a fiery ball with a delighted smile on face because he finally saw the sun. It was beautiful as was his young death was so beautiful. How could he be sad when he died as the sun did, he admired the flames that surrounded the sun how it burned so bright destined for that to be the reason it dies, so how could he even be mad, he flew so close he became another star burning brightly to its inevitable death. He became the star he so admired and in so died like one to, bright, burning, happy.
love is as beautiful and strong as raw and ugly, it hurts it bleeds it screams, it blooms it blossoms and sings, love is pain in the best days and warmth on the worst, love tears the world apart whilst it simultaneously builds it back together love kills love creates, what is love, i’ve never known how to have it. I love like i do anything, to hard to much to overwhelmingly, i love in pain and only in pain. I love like i cry, i love in weeps of night. i dreamt of love, love sires my daydream yet love lives in my nightmare love is delicate and rough, love is uncertain.
me getting ready to sleep early for the first time ever and then also me getting writing inspiration only ever when i try and have a decent sleep schedule. This literally happens everytime and then i don’t sleep until 4 am everytime
My favorite things to read
1. complex characters!!!!! OH MY GOD. give me layers. jason todd is my tried and true for this I could writing a freaking dissertation on why his character is one of the most well written characters EVER also batman ngl and I have controversial opinions no one wants to hear about that but whatever ig. I want to see how twisted they are in themselves though how every action and reaction led to every aspect of their character. especially characters people love to assume things about but they are actually just complex individuals and it was never as simple as right and wrong. Honestly I love when characters can make me even question what I believe is right and wrong, make me question who I am PLEASE
2. Characters written into insanity. I eat this up every freaking time, seeing it progress so slowly you don’t even honestly notice until it’s too late and you have become just like the character. Well written spirals into insanity is something I think about and search for everyday. Like I want to question everything I read when I’m done like when did it truly become craziness when did the character lose themselves how did we get here and then show me how we got here.
3. Honestly goes along with 2 a lot but a good unreliable narrator. I don’t have much to say on it because i rarely find it done well but I LOVE when people can do this because it changes everything.
Being the youngest daughter born into a completed family is knowing that right now if you weren’t here they would never of noticed and maybe they still don’t.
Born with strings sprouting from my chest rooting to my heart like a tree in soil. Everyday every hour every minute people would pull, tug, and yank on them. Play with the puppet strings controlling my heart. They’d play them beautifully like an instrument, plucking them like a guitar my cry sounding the melody my tears beating the drums as they drop. One person would stroke the string with a false face, creating a distorted view of them till they would cut them. At night I am left to sew my heartstrings back together, but the string isn’t as sturdy, they snap quicker easier. Until one day they snapped at the faintest flick. People noticed the quick unsatisfying break that I became numb to so they began pulling like my heartstrings were weeds. From the root. It was stronger there but more sensitive to close to my heart. People would pull and pull trying to break and snap the cords of my heart. Then one day I met someone beautiful, absolutely mesmerizing, tempting like sin. He held that string so firmly in his hand a calming pressure always so constant. With his firm hold they began to heal just enough. His touch became to loosen till all at one he let go, with no shield they lay healed and exposed. When another man said he’d hold them forever. My heartstring wrapped around his soul nestled and warm finally finding a home, but just like the last the first and everyone in between he grew tired of my loud affection, boisterous self, and passionate mind. He grabbed down at the very root tugged tugged and tugged till my head roots pulls my heart out. It ripped tore and cracked my porcelain skin on my delicate chest. The skin lay open dyed a tainted crimson. My heart stolen and my cracked chest the only evidence it ever existed. Eventually with no more blood left to give my soul died heart gone my body an empty void, a cavity, meant for pain to eternally dwell in the cavern that used to hold her vivid love, her vivid emotions that she could feel in her very cells, all of that gone because someone was selfish. Somewhere in the world her heart lay forgotten, still bleeding, still yearning, wanting, mourning a love it never had, never even knew how to have.
this is me realizing i didn’t edit my poems that i posted for grammar and that’s embarrassing
The sun and the moon. The light from the sun casts so brightly it warms the moons surface but never close enough to let the suns radiance fully envelope them. They both chase after eachother unknowing in this disastrous cycle the other was always right behind them reaching out yet always having just a little to much distance to grasp their distant lover. Never knowing eachothers touch or voice only seeing eachother in fleeting moments of bursting beauty on opposite ends of the horizon chasing one another. By the time one reaches the other end of the world ready to be met by their everlasting love they see another day has arrived and they must say goodbye before they every even begun to say hello. The sun with the moon is every love story that never blossomed past a bud due to time or circumstance, every heart thats watched their lover from afar having only glimpses of moments glue them together hoping for another life where they can be more than just glances and smiles. Souls so deeply intertwined even the greatest distance of the world they still feel their heart beating next to eachother. Unable to linger more than a fraction of a moment they memorize the others every detail through small flashes in life cherishing their memory as the one memento they have of their great love.
Finally having the time and mental capacity to write and i have too much inspiration and too little words.
excuse me while i scream
To feel is to know.
To feel is a wonderful right, a truly unique experience.
It’s when colors dull or explode, it’s a spectrum, a pendulum.
It’s not stagnant. It swings wildly from vibrant reds to rich blues.
To feel is a privilege. A bright searing grant that pours through your entire body.
It ripples, pulls and tugs.
It is universal yet all at once completely personalized to each individual.
I Said to feel is to know.
I realized I know too much yet nothing at all.
I know things in too big, to loud, hearing color kinds of ways. And I know thing in muted black and white with nothing real there.
I don’t know yet I only know.
Maybe to feel is to know to much.