
JBB: An Artblog!
taylor price

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hello vonnie

ellievsbear

pixel skylines
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Discoholic šŖ©
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Misplaced Lens Cap
Keni

blake kathryn

shark vs the universe
I'd rather be in outer space šø

titsay
NASA
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Xuebing Du

⣠Chile in a Photography ā£

Product Placement
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@blk-achillean
melting
I reblogged one of these but this one is even better.
Hereās your reminder that the US doesnāt have an official language.
link to the 2014 original
Last month, I wrote about the fun and the pitfalls of viral maps, a feature that included 88 super-simple maps of my own creation. As a foll
And a link to more recent data from 2024, though itās raw numbers not a graphic
Explore Census Data
Love when animals just
i think love is revolutionary because when done right, it allows for accountability, for growth, for healing, for laughter, for joy, for connection, for touch, for coming home.Ā maybe it is foolish of me, even a little stupid to think of it as such but when done right, when honoured, when fulfilled, when prepared and boiled and served well, it truly does magic, it truly changes lives, it nourishes, it feeds, it gives hope, hope, so much of it.
Man and Trees, Florida by John Singer Sargent (1856-1925).
Ship me,
ride me,
take your toll, love.
Lead me down a windy street,
ruffle up my feathers,
unwrap me slowlyā
let your hands linger
where I ache for you most.
And Iāll still
capture your ugly and your pretty,
and Iāll still
see your deceit and your dreams,
and Iāll still
navigate the heat of you,
the chaos that pulls me deeper.
So guide my hands,
let them trace the belly of the beast,
let them stir the fire you buried.
Keep your hair reachable,
for fingers desperate to pull you closer,
as your back slips under meā
as I slip inside you,
into the place where we are weightless,
where your body sings for mine.
Hold your breath.
Let me carry you to the edge,
where your skin burns for me,
where your cries cut through the silenceā
then breathe,
and let me drown in the sound of you.
Dance with me in the rain,
let it soak through us,
let it cling to your skin
the way my lips will.
Be reckless with meā
press your body into mine,
fall.
And Iāll still
capture you by the waistline,
steady you when you shiver,
teetering between surrender and demand.
And Iāll still
pilot you through an abyss of purpose,
knowing my purpose is the taste of you.
Heartbreak and loyaltyā
I carry them both,
and Iāll still
dream of you from afar,
of an us that leaves marks too deep to heal.
Take your toll, love,
again and again.
Make me yours,
make me stay.
And Iāll still
love you,
hard and whole,
in every gasp,
in every touch,
in every way.
paint me croissants and coffee on a slow morning to miss you
once i was afraid of missing you-
i dipped my toes in the ocean,
the sand had wrapped its permanence between my crevices,
i found gravity afar,
sunken, lifted, sunken, lifted,
i remember a painting you once gave me as your poet,
it was a paint that captured your woes in rhyme,
told me your dreams in song,
gave me your hopes in a lullaby,
and tied me into a ribbon to be your shoulderās friend.
i wonāt guide you through this lifeās roads,
but a happy small detour of time well spent,
even if this dries up and withers,
weāll remember the smell of love off canvas,
like croissants and coffee on a slow morning.
though, youāre no longer here.
This mantra feels strange this season,
a year of mourning wrapped in pine-scented hope,
lifeās consequences stung, but stillā
the air brims with something softer.
I see the first flicker of Christmas lights,
their glow bleeding into dusk.
The cheer hums faintly,
a pumpkin-spiced universe unfurls,
thanks, Starbucks.
At the mall today,
trees of pine wore crimson bells,
Santa held little humans close,
their wishes whispered like sacred secrets.
āHappy holidays,ā I said,
but it was only to myself.
Your reply came in a snore through Facetime,
a strong, melanated roar of maybe.
Maybe life is a fight best fought with love at your side.
Maybe forgiveness comes with a thread of forgetfulness.
Maybe today can be holy,
if we let it.
Will you forgive me?
I want to hear your snore forever,
feel your laughter echo where silence once stood.
And when weāre ghosts,
will you haunt Christmas with me?
Letās linger by the lights,
their warmth melting away
what hurt weāve carried too long.
Letās dance into the night,
hands full of love,
hearts brimming with companionship.
Letās throw the happiest of holidays
this seasonāplease.
Because maybe love doesnāt wait for tomorrow to be holy.
Maybe itās already here,
if we choose to see it.
write your lifeās story in poetry
let it flow in and then out.
āIcarusā by Francois Rosseau