bliss lane
Jules of Nature
taylor price
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Sade Olutola
todays bird
hello vonnie
#extradirty
Noah Kahan
titsay
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
untitled
Love Begins
cherry valley forever
@theartofmadeline
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
YOU ARE THE REASON
d e v o n
𓃗
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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@aloignon-blog
Kiss me.
Oh, just kiss me.
Kiss me so my neck is straining back
And my whole body is on fire
Kiss me so I moan when you pull away
Kiss me like you’re branding your lips onto mine
So everyone will see
SHE HAS BEEN KISSED
WITH LIPS THAT HAVE
CLAIMED HER
FOR THEIR OWN
I like you best when your lips taste of amaretto.
I like you best when your hands sweep all up and down my back and when you
Lay them flat on my shoulderblades and gently pull me into you.
I like you best when I can feel your smile on top of my own.
I like you best when you run your fingertips down my sides and
I tip my head back and close my eyes and s i g h
I like you best when you suck words out of my mouth
Or seal it closed, blocking it with your tongue.
This is right, you know,
This is what we should be doing.
We are entitled to walk down the hill, complaining, smoking.
To buy too much food and eat it too quickly and then,
As soon as the next day begins,
Whine about how we hate our bodies.
It's correct that I'm here, tired and achy, with a magazine by my feet
Waiting for your call,
Thinking about clothes and shoes and music.
It makes sense that I change my mind every second about what I want to do
With my life, you know?
And it's right that I should never really know what I think or what I want
Or sometimes even what I need
Because who am I to know those things?
I'm young.
One day none of this will matter and I'll have moved on.
But right now it is important. And these days will change our lives.
This morning's breakfast was a lipstick rimmed Marlboro and a Madeleine.
I felt beautiful, in that certain way -
My grey bag hanging on my elbow, my nails long and black,
Painted to look like crocodile skin.
Hair all scooped back, lashes all thick, eye lids low,
My earrings clinking against my jaw and getting tangled in my headphones,
Which played hard music softly in the background.
I think that if you hold someone, and are held back
For long enough
And tight enough
It starts to knit you back together.
I imagined feeling my skin fuse wherever it touched yours,
Which was
Mostly everywhere
And I buried my face into the nook between your jaw and collar
So my mind would repair too.
"I have nothing new to say."
The sky today was the colour of your eyes.
"I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow!"
And having your hands on the back of my neck and wrapping my arms around you
"I guess it's worth missing to talk to you..."
The way you say hello always makes me smile.
"I'm going to go..."
I'm genuinely afraid you're realising how dull I am but
Not seeing how much I am trying to say without words.
"Cat's eyes on the road" Red blurs spidering through raindrops
Murky water splashing up on the windows,
Loud engine with louder music.
I'll be there when the lights come in, man
I'll be there when it's dark and everything's humming
I'll pull up underneath your window and throw pebbles at it
And grin up at you because it's late and we shouldn't be doing this
And you'll lean in through the driver's side window and stun me.
We'll rocket down those dark country lanes
We'll have no idea where we're going
We'll pull over on the top of a hill and make love on the back seat
And we'll sit on the bonnet in the gathering mist and dew
Watch the stars, or the clouds, breathing as one broad shouldered being.
We'll head back with our eyes thick
And steam on the windows
And you'll suck on my lips in way of au revoir
Goodnight, beautiful.
There's this one song.
I'm on the edge of the world, I'm thinking about a girl.
I know you're staring at the sun.
When I first heard it I thought only of you,
I would listen to it the whole month I didn't see you,
On a loop, daydreaming.
I would listen to it while we were skirting around our affections,
Texting at ten past two on Boxing Day morning.
I would listen to it as I drove to your house that first night
As the twilight gathered overhead and I could barely move for butterflies.
We would listen to it as we lay in the early hours of that morning
Waiting for everyone else to fall asleep so we could finally
"Talk."
We would listen to it, months later, curled into one another,
With cold noses and lips and fingertips reaching for each other.
There's this one song.
It's got my side of this story woven right through it.
When everything is liquid.
Under my skin, across my belly, swirling just below
Up into my skull, lights
Flickering beneath the bone
Reaching into everything and bringing it to the surface.
White horses roll down each vertebrae
One by
One by
One.
As I close my eyes
And everything else opens up.
I'm here but I'm miles away.
In a cramped, dark room that probably smells a little off-putting. My plants are wilting from the lack of natural light, and when I lie in bed I can hear cars and sirens and voices through the thin curtains. Every morning I drag myself out from under my sheets and stand under the shower until I'm close to clean. I put on my make up and I get dressed and I step out in the world and I get swept up in the swirls of people on the pavement. And a faceless person hands me coffee and we strut self-importantly through the streets. I'm clutching folders and immaculate notebooks and a tiny little phone and my heels or boots or Mary Janes or whatever click or slap or thud against the stone. And I know exactly where I'm going, and I'm confident and smiling and I see people that I recognise and people that I don't. I have scripts and sheet music in my bag, and my name is pinned onto a costume rail somewhere far from where I am. When it's dark I jump into a taxi and I can afford the fare, and I have two, three jobs so I always feel a little frazzled. And when it all starts to get to me, I go back to your apartment instead of mine, and you stroke my hair and give me a glass of wine while I yell and cry against your strong chest. I have good taste in wine and in music and I wear nice clothes that I can afford. I pay my bills on time, I move out of the tiny room and into a tiny apartment, that's beautifully decorated and clean and mine, for the time being. And I waste my money on further education but I love it and I love my life.
I was on the floor, my arms crossed over my stomach and
My wrists falling on bloody spots.
I reached for your hand and I was in your arms and I felt
Like I could collapse there, against you.
It didn't matter that my hair was frizzy and greasy
Or that you came straight from sport without showering but
It mattered that you ran to me and I knew that from the heaving
Of your chest against mine
/
It's like a glow, sometimes,
A physical link that dims and brightens so when you
Brush my skin with your fingertips we are intrinsically linked by the same blurred outline
Or you beam at me across the room and it registers somewhere
In the centre of my chest.
/
I am paper in your hands, wafer thin, tremoring at your breath
I am the knot in the wires you absently pull apart
I am the girl in the music box, I spin and I spin and I spin until you should shut the lid
And the music stops, and I become one with the rosewood.
I am the words written carelessly, loosely, weaving themselves out of the ink
And a big blue line goes through the mistakes, of which I am one.
I am the keys you caress The same keys you slam your fists on
I am the plane of glass between the little red hammer and the alarm.
Poor fucking privileged girl
Getting upset because of a fight with her friend
For once, she is the one being discriminated against,
And it's upsetting her.
Bless. It's almost like she knows what real trouble feels like.
Almost.
Poor fucking cis/het girl.
Shaking and sweating and crying and wanting to bleed,
Because she hates being known by her gender and her sexuality,
And she hates conflict.
Poor fucking white, middle class girl.
She wants to be sick, she wants to wash this all off her skin,
Out of her throat,
Out of her head and heart and mind.
But whatever. She'll forget by tomorrow,
As she goes to school and sees her boyfriend and is accepted.
52 Yellow Dhal Curry or 14 Lamb Chow Mein
So. I don’t know if 52 comes with pilau or saffron or is too spicy: It only has one little chili by the name but those can be deceiving. I haven’t made up my mind about the lack of meat Going veggie might be cool, but then surely the sauce would lack substance? (I’ve never had 52, maybe the vegetables fully make up for the missing beef.) Lamb Chow Mein, however, old faithful 14. Siren of Saturday nights, greasy and warm and slimy and chewy and delicious. I like that you can’t tell the noodles apart from the bean sprouts, (Although, that becomes more bland once you’ve finished the beef And you stop finding amusement in guessing mouthfuls after a while.) In the end, though, it is one meal, And, providing it agrees with me, I will forget what I had for dinner on Saturday night By Sunday morning.