cherry valley forever
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Janaina Medeiros
noise dept.
Product Placement
★
Andulka
Peter Solarz
pixel skylines
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Xuebing Du
d e v o n
KIROKAZE
Cosimo Galluzzi
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
ojovivo
Mike Driver
#extradirty
art blog(derogatory)
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@meetmetaylor
It's not going to be perfect, but it is going to be done.
It's not going to look exactly like it did in my head, but it will be tangible.
It's gonna have mistakes, but it will be finished.
It won't be perfect, but I'd rather it exist imperfectly than die in my imagination.
My life is a constant cycle between "I need to rest before I burn out" and "I'm wasting my potential, I should work harder"
- @one.paper.crane
flowers for the dead
How do you process grief?
by running from it until it finds me in the middle of a sunny street on a beautiful day
prev had extremely beautiful and profound thoughts i had to share
My eyes yearn to see you so come home from distant lands, beloved
Is there another life? Shall I awake and find all this a dream? There must be, we cannot be created for this sort of suffering.
- John Keats
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
[text id : I want so obviously, so desperately to be loved, and to be capable of love]
when you grow up in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. it’s not.
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Autumnal, Dante Émile
And in a few months we’ll all be
Gone
And I’ll forget you
Even though I love you now.
It’s a cruel certainty.
That I will look back on these murky years,
And not be able
To place
Your name.
when you grow up in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. it’s not.
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burning food is an inherited trait
Man of the House
Some fathers are born miserable
I think
Or at least mine was
He had a rough childhood
He hardened his heart
Threw out his feelings- left unused
He stares at the world with dead eyes
Soon, he's gifted with children
You'd think kids would change him
But he remains a miserable man to this day
Dragging us through the muck of his pain
Allowing us to swallow his discomfort and agony
Instead of teaching us things
Like love and regulating feelings-the good, the bad, and the downright ugly
We learned how to be filled with rage and emptiness
How to yell until our voice bounces off the walls
Our faces red from our generational anger
We can't help but tether his suffering
To our bones
But as an "adult"
In her Wretched Twenties
Who sees him with fresh eyes
I will not be the keeper of my fathers' pain
