🤐
AnasAbdin
styofa doing anything
Keni
taylor price
we're not kids anymore.

titsay
No title available

if i look back, i am lost
Peter Solarz
Mike Driver
will byers stan first human second
Misplaced Lens Cap
dirt enthusiast

oozey mess
🪼
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
RMH
One Nice Bug Per Day
almost home
art blog(derogatory)
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
seen from Canada
seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from China

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
@alexithymiaaaaa
🤐
IT'S OKAY TO FEEL UNSTABLE. IT'S OKAY TO DISASSOCIATE. IT'S OKAY TO HIDE FROM THE WORLD. IT'S OKAY TO NEED HELP. IT'S OKAY NOT TO BE OKAY.
me thinking about shakespeare normally: mercutio was gay
me thinking about shakespeare at 3 am: romeo and juliet is underrated as a story. why? because everyone treats it as a love story when they should be treating it as a commentary on how children are too afraid to come to their parents with a problem or even voice their opinions on things without fear of facing repercussions. juliet didn’t want to marry paris, some old guy she didn’t know. so OF COURSE she was going to choose romeo, some hot young thing that talked nice and looked nicer and probably made her feel special. she had had at least a conversation with the guy. but no. she can’t tell her father that she doesn’t want to marry and would rather try to get to know that nice montague boy that was chatting her up while crashing her party. but of course she can’t. both of because societal expectations and because of the whole blood feud. and then there’s romeo. we all call him an emo fuck but the fact remains that it is highly hinted that he had depression and while finding someone “to love” doesn’t automatically fix that in a person, him “loving” juliet definitely did seem to improve his mood while his parents just brushed him off. and in the end of the story, they’d both rather kill themselves then tell their parents that they’re going to be disappointing them by telling them who they “love” and that’s just fucked up. these were teenagers. and while this may have not been old billy shakes’ original message, it stands that this interpretation could benefit being taught to a lot of students and even some parents.
me thinking about shakespeare at 3:30 am: also know what was fucked up? mercutio and tybalt died without even knowing what they were dying for. they literally say in the beginning of the play that no one remembers why the blood feud started. and mercutio wasn’t even an capulet or montague. this wasn’t his fight. but he died anyways, under romeo’s arm, by tybalt’s hand. sure, they were fighting because tybalt was pissed about romeo seeing juliet and shit, but mercutio didn’t know that. he thought tybalt was just starting shit just to start shit. he didn’t know what he was dying for. “a plague on both your houses” indeed. and then tybalt. fucking firey tybalt. like i said before, no one knows why the blood feud started. he essentially just died because his family hates another guy’s family probably over something like the 13th century equivalent of a sports rivalry. that’s so fucked up. while i don’t remember what their exact ages were, i’m pretty sure they were teenagers too. what the fuck.
me thinking about shakespeare at 3:35 am: and then benevolio. oh god benevolio. what even happened to him??? first, he watches this guy who was always a jackass to him but he’s probably known all his life get killed, then his (boy)friend dies all because of something his cousin does, and then his cousin is exiled/flees before he’s exiled. he’s then all alone for like the rest of the play, until he assuredly walks into the mausoleum at the end of the play and sees his cousin dead on the ground with some girl he’s maybe seen twice in his life dead on top of him. what the fuck. what the actual fuck. poor benevolio just lost his two best friends and now he’s all alone. and you know they never even say if he’s in the play for the rest of the thing. you just assume he is. for all we know he could’ve skipped town, or killed himself as well, or died in a duel, or anything. i always headcanoned him as the youngest of the group. and like, that just makes it worse. poor benevolio, the guy that was left all alone at the end of the play with all his friends and acquaintances dead. “for never was a story of more woe / than that of juliet and her romeo”???? bullshit. for never was a story of more woe than that of our poor fucking benevolio.
me thinking about shakespeare at 3:50 am: mercutio was gay
@alexithymiaaaaa DUDE
Holy shit
ありふれた日々こそ
the very ordinary days
2020.09
like a moth or a dove?
I give hope to others like boxes of chocolate
Like on valentines Day in second grade
Like the birthday card I made awhile ago
I cut up my favorite purple dress,
Filled a teacup with my tears
Plucked a leaf from a plant I grew myself
And brought a teaspoon of
Red orange and yellow flames
Threw them all on a piece of paper
And lined it with my eye lashes
That I saved for wishing
And gave it to her as a gift,
And I did it over and over and over again
For every birthday, anniversary and funeral
[I’ll give you all my hope, please just ask]
I still have a lot of hope left, I need to give more
I inked a dove tattoo on my thigh for whom I love
for every one who has given me hope and yet
I feel my doves dying
But their birds soar like
A ballad made like honey and candlelight
The hot honey and wax did not sting but
stuck and candied my thighs with blemishes
Did you know that when tattoos die completely
They turn into gaping black holes
With no twinkle of hope
mine never died completely like other stories
They are stuck at the brink of death
On a ship with half an anchor
[Why am I so hopeless? Why do I know it all?]
I hated it so much before, I assumed that
It hung on because death is the most painful but
don’t they know?
That surviving
Cancel that
Being at the brink before the fall hurts more
Than autumn ever will?
It’s like the question I asked my old self
While writing the loneliest poem for a friend
who I try to make anything but lonely
“Would it hurt more to leave your love
On the first night or the last?”
She told me to stop looking for the indescribable
Because it loses meaning with a definition
[I need to hope, and what’s a search with
An unanswerable question?]
Said friend told me about a boy and
His love for moths and I wondered if he also
Would run to the lights like his friends or
Would he let fireflies feed on his heart
render himself heartless for
The feeling of receiving hope,
Knowing that he is worth keeping around
I once drank stars but now I prefer water
Oil and water don’t mix but we wash with soap
I love bubbles but I hate the mess
Maybe I don’t want to know the meaning behind
every mystery, a careless uncalculated story
I don’t need a lot of hope to live as unlike cars
I can use a little bit of fuel and drive to Jupiter
[All knowing and no hoping isn’t everything,
The boy and his moths certainly agree]
All I do is sacrifice and wonder, today it ends
I’ll chase Jupiter but not for its hope
I’ll chase with no definition; I’ll hopelessly hope
The pattern of this poem is left incomplete
I’ll take a pinch of hope and I’ll travel galaxies
Living without definition; it’s indescribable enough
to not need a meaning, and best of all
I’ll hopelessly hope with the little I have left
Look at the stars and find no constellation
Cut my thigh open and let the doves free
Hopelessly hope because, mark my word dear
There is no tomorrow in such a world
We survive, learn without learning and
Hopelessly hope with the world unsolved
[Let’s take a road trip to Jupiter tonight,
Would you like to soar like a moth or a dove?]
.
.
.
aureatemoonshine
Soooooooo
I painted my wall...
U could say that quarantine made me a bit bored 😛🍣
Sirius: why I would fuck a demon? simple: the status. Imagine you and your friends arriving at the gates of hell, they’re all crying, scared to death and you just walk into the arms of your sugar demon. Legendary
Remus: it’s 3am!?
James: no, no. he’s got a point
I want a sugar demon ✌🏼😘
I want one s'il vous plaît 🖤
Sorry for not posting for soooooo long
I missed sketching 😭😭
🎃 Dramione Autumn 🎃 Hello to fall and happy birthday Tom Felton
Harry, to dormmates: I’m going to play you guys a song, it’s called “my life so far”
Harry: *deep breath, bangs the cymbal*
Harry: [high pitched] AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
n0icE
If people are colored white, black, brown, yellow, and red, then people need to be thinking less about how different we are, and more about how we were clearly meant to be the next team of Power Rangers! (source)
Pixel Art by Julian Gariba
アドビ様のパートナークリエイターとしてFrescoで作品を制作しました。
Cyber Hong Kong
※Haunted※
.
.
I hear bottles cracking and muffled cries
A man is angry and I don’t know why
.
The flames of September bite like the harsh rain
On my scarred skin;
Roses grow through my dry hands
The fire aches more but the thorns leave scars
.
my bedroom feels like a prison I fell in love with, stockholm syndrome, if you will
I find myself willing to get hurt because
My feelings left the shackles I am trapped in
A long long time ago
.
I feel as if my lungs are slowly drinking
the grayness of the monsoon sky. I want to,
crawl back into my newspaper coffin. I hoped,
that someone does mourn my loss; no one did
My heart grew a layer of dust and with that grime
I lost another piece of myself; I’m numb to it all
.
I am shutting myself in, My lover is sick of me too
And my bed is tired of holding my hunched back
I’m only ever really tired,
I haven’t genuinely laughed in a long time
The chains loosen a little only to tighten again
.
My hands hold no signs of a kindling
But I do feel flowers growing around my thighs
I like to believe that; I want to believe that,
Lingering pain doesn’t hurt as much as scars
.
The ghost still lingers in my house, I can hear him
Somehow, I can smell the vodka shots of regret
He can’t lull himself to sleep, so he croaks pitifully
.
.
{//I will pray over my wilting thighs and the dark soil under my fingernails// over the ashes of my old rusty heart//for a moment of heartfelt heartache//I want to feel for the ghost more than myself//Is the voice I hear an epiphany or a hallucination?//}
.
.
-aureatemoonshine