
No title available
d e v o n
tumblr dot com
AnasAbdin
Keni

@theartofmadeline
hello vonnie
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

#extradirty

titsay

JVL
Today's Document
styofa doing anything
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
noise dept.
DEAR READER
🪼
Stranger Things
almost home
KIROKAZE
seen from France
seen from Algeria

seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from Türkiye

seen from Germany
seen from France

seen from United Arab Emirates

seen from United States
seen from Chile
seen from Uzbekistan

seen from Spain

seen from France

seen from Germany
seen from India

seen from Bangladesh
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@javonanthytheepoet
happy pride month
I thought I was afraid of the crowd.
Turns out
I was afraid of myself.
The version of me
that doesn’t ask permission.
The version of me
that doesn’t need a plan.
The version of me
that hears the bass
and chooses movement
over understanding.
For a moment,
I disappeared.
Not in a sad way.
Not in a lost way.
In the way a wave disappears
when it remembers
it was always the ocean.
Bodies collided.
The music roared.
The ground shook beneath us.
And somehow,
in the middle of all that chaos,
I felt more still
than I had in years.
No future.
No past.
No grief.
No expectations.
Just heartbeat.
Just sweat.
Just sound.
Just now.
I entered the pit carrying
every version of myself
that was too scared to jump.
I left carrying none of them.
Only momentum.
Only freedom.
Only the strange realization
that being alive
was never supposed to be observed.
It was supposed to be lived.
Becoming
Drake was playing
in the background
of a lot of us becoming.
Not on some obsessive fan shit.
I mean real life.
Discussion boards due at 11:59.
Cold walks back to dorm rooms.
Microwave noodles.
Fake confidence.
Group projects with people you knew
wouldn’t help until the last minute.
And somehow,
there was always a Drake song
holding the atmosphere together.
I wrote my first remix
to “Best I Ever Had”
before I even understood
that writing was slowly becoming
the only place
I told myself the truth.
There are certain songs
that stop feeling like music
once your life fully enters them.
“Connect”
playing during seasons
where everybody still said “love you”
but the energy had already left the room.
You learn distance
before you learn endings.
“305 to My City”
felt like night drives in your imagination.
Like mentally escaping
before your circumstances caught up.
Like wanting more for yourself
without fully knowing
what “more” even looked like yet.
“Make Me Proud”
lived in computer labs,
library basements,
highlighted textbooks,
frontal installs,
half-finished study guides,
and the exhausted silence
of people determined to change their lives.
That song belonged to college campuses.
Everybody carried it differently,
but we carried it.
Then “Fake Love”
started sounding less like music
and more like recognition.
Cause success got a strange way
of exposing who liked the version of you
that needed less.
Then “Enemies.”
That one felt quieter.
More mature.
The realization
that elevation changes
how people study you.
Not everybody clapping for you
comfortable with your growth.
And years later,
“Elevate”
didn’t even sound motivational anymore.
It sounded inevitable.
Like finally accepting
that your life was only going to expand
the moment you stopped shrinking
to keep other people emotionally comfortable.
I don’t think Drake was just making music.
I think he accidentally narrated
an entire generation
trying to survive ambition,
loneliness,
ego,
beauty,
pressure,
and becoming
all at the same time.
Naomi Campbell in Girl 6 (1996)
My record player set up is the best.