Claire Keane
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
🪼
blake kathryn
JVL
hello vonnie
Mike Driver
AnasAbdin
noise dept.
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Sade Olutola
Keni
One Nice Bug Per Day
Show & Tell
Monterey Bay Aquarium
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
we're not kids anymore.
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Andulka
DEAR READER
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Germany
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seen from Türkiye
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@lilbugbabe
Gifted. the best liar in her 3rd grade class. Understood slavery better than any teacher; Serve and survive another day, Disobey and everything was at stake. She never had to pick up a book to know what it said all the stories were always the same. No mommy to save her, no saving to be done. She neednt read tea leaves to tell her there was nothing left.
The artistry of conning came to her like 6th sense. Reading micro expressions
got bored nevermind
hey just wondering whats your main blog? were you meadownymph/her friend whose url i cant remember right now?
i am meadownymph moved to mamameadow
i am so happy u started writing again!!!!!!
thank you im gonna try to get more down today!! i miss being motivated. im not the same writer i was before but i hope to get back to that
innocence never existed here. I was conceived of lies and sin. robbed my mother of her beauty, 9 months bedridden. All of her erogenous zones turned the color of dirt and her hair wouldnt grow. i was born with skin damn near transparent and a full head of hair. my mother's uneven almond lashes, fathers big brown eyes. my mothers round face with fathers aged lines. mothers hair and fathers curls. I looked nothing like anyone i was half mystery half pity. Poured my mothers full figure into fathers pear shaped glass. baby fat set into the shape of a women.
product of association. preacher's daughter. pantry's granddaughter. murder's baby sister. potential's little cousin. sorry's niece. aunt of could've been. neighbor of 4th grade education. dead eye's owner.
look at me when you shoot
pathological liar. I could write about what I woke up to this morning or what happened last night. I could tell you about the strangers Ive met, they things theyve said. the stuff I've seen, done, experienced, witnessed. Words spoken to me by best friends and mothers. my life as a babysitter or my nights as a drunk minor in the big city. I could tell you stories about high school or of what its like to walk down the street alone at night. Life in a big city for a girl on a downward spiral the stuff of novelas. and no one believes it could be true. but really what motivation do i have to lie to people that have never met me? that would be very much like lying to my diary about my weight or not correcting the kids when do something wrong. its silly and pointless, it isnt hurting anyone. truths shake worlds. truth is a thousand maybe a trillion times more chaotic than lies
my feet ache and my eyes burn. two pregnancy test my bag and a unread text in my pocket. my lucky still in the box unsmoked, spurn. all I want and need is out. out of here, the space, the people, the corners of my mind. all on unwelcoming. I want to be back in the arms of my soulmate. the first born into my custody. the light of my life. I love her more than there is sand in this galaxy and stars in all of space. emotionally codependent to the point of being pathetic. cancer heart and a capricorn spirit. we want. we crave. we need. all the world has to offer. money. attention. death. we want. we crave. we need. one person stretched out through two bodies. hating and loving. loving and hating. quick smart greedy little. death.
what if I listed my accomplishments in the ways people have loved me? I'd seem more together than I am. there are 4 people walking around this earth with me etched into there skin one way or another, by name, birthdate, or favorite animal. My first mother has 3 biological kids and a code of ethic strongly opposed to tattoos. she has one tiny tattoo over her collarbone with tiny angel wings surrounding it. my name. There is two baby girls stumbling about in my neighborhood named after me. 3 babies calling me nina. godmother. then i have the kids I'm supporting. my little angels. grown children that I wasnt around for when they were young. kids I didnt meet until the internet, highschool, or rehab. my angels are children that arent looking to be saved, just welcomed. looking for a mom that'll love them. and thats what i am and have always. a mom. a mom at 10. loving and nurturing. 19 years olds whose parents were too busy living life to hug them and tell them it was gonna be alright. a hand holder and hugger. a person. looking out and watching over. The love people have shown me comes in more forms than I acknowledge. In first words of a toddler. or in the dedication of a suicide note. more people have my name printed on the inside of their heart than on the skin. love for a mother, child, best friend, kid sister. is shown in more ways than I could count in both hands.
I could kill her. snap her neck. drag her limp body up next to your bed by my teeth. I'm a kitty daddy. I brought you a gift. do you love me now.
motived but uninspired.
True love is being drunk. with dried vomit on the hem of your dress. swinging your hands back and forth. screaming the lion sleeps tonight at the top of our lungs in park at 4 in the morning. we had no long night. we had an early morning. out of bed at 2 am. my nightmares woke you up. again. and we dug up the old vodka bottle from our youth and drank it all away. We fell from swings and bumped heads down the slide. we screamed at the rustle of leaves and screamed so more when our screams shook trees. woke neighbors with your joyful misery. we were 15 again. our parents waiting for us. getting paid for dropping our pants around our ankles for men over internet. I had nothing that would create nightmares. just you and the onset of a hangover. all was so 15 again.
what does it matter that I’m not they’re only support? I dont know that I’m not. I dont know that they have someone else to text until 4 in the morning. I’m not sure that any one else knows about their addiction to sliding blades over skin. dont tell me to not lose sleep over them. dont tell me to focus on myself. I’m not as important. they have hope and prospects. they have aspirations and ways of meeting them. they can still be helped. I’m not jumping the gun by rushing the phone from the first sad post. there is no jumping the gun with these angels. Dont say I cant make them so reliant on me, when I dont know if they have anyone else that would let them. i love my children. I’ll be there when they need me. regardless of time. they are my priority.
Its not my place. or it shouldnt be. but could you be more fucking mindful of your 15 year old daughter? just a little girl already having to act as a grown woman. meeting men to make ends meet. keep your raging alcoholism and insufferable inconsistencies away from her. I demand this as a better mother than you’ve ever been. as the person that asked her what was wrong. Be fucking mindful of my daughter because I’m trying to hold her hand and make her feel alright. ask her to put down the pill and the blades and maybe, if she can push herself, pick up an apple and fingers crossed she gets herself a sandwich. I’m so proud of my little angel. shes doing so well. stop ruining it for her with your tainted love. she is worth it all. she is worth sobriety and help. I wish one day, not too far down the road, you realize what an angel you carried and how many galaxies she’s worth. I love my little babies. how cant you? let her call me mama because I was there more than you.
I have prompts in my ask box. I know all the answers but theres one in my head. on the tip of my tongue. I dont know how to start it and i don't know what its about. but I need to. its important and about something.
describe this guy you like
he has long eyelashes. really long. feminine
nostalgia. write about positive times in your childhood
there is misery in all happiness. there isnt a corner of my childhood left untouched by reality of abandonment and tears. but the sweetest tasting memory i can conjure for you my dear is being 2 and half years old. opening my presents on christmas morning. the only year i would make it to Christmas day without tearing open every box. i got a salon set. and kitchen. lolita and pinky. im sure there were others. unimportant knicknacks. lost in the toy chest. lolita was this long tall dolly 3 times my size. she had string hair and she wore an apron. we slept together. pinky. my pride and joy. she was an angel. she had this nightie. pink with little crescent moons and clouds. the nights sky in pink. she snored and whined. she was me and i was her.