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Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

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Keni
Mike Driver
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Three Goblin Art
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2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

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@pinkiepie22
i blew up the journal factory. tell me everything
me and my secret tumblr account vs the world
how to know if the sense of impending doom is because of the curse or just the state of the union
my way of flirting is letting her consume all of my thoughts and hoping somehow she senses it
the view from drowning
i watch as large forms pass over me, long boards with limbs gliding just above the surface. humanoid forms i once recognized, but have since turned alien. as i fall closer to the soft sand below me, i let out a laugh, watching the Sun’s rays dance around me. i think “that’s a God i could believe in,” yet i don’t. when i’m gently placed on the ocean’s shelf, i’m unsure of where i’m going, but i’m not afraid. for the first time, i’m not afraid. and i think no matter what is next, i can hold on to the delicate moments, like lingering salt on your lips from the sea, or sunlight peaking through tree leaves. i can carry these with me through fire or emptiness, and it will finally be enough. yes, in the next one, this life can finally be enough.
soulmates
sometimes i think of all the things i will lose. my high school friends, my childhood room. my first car, favorite earrings, sunglasses, and virginity. i think of all the things i’ve already lost. sometimes it overwhelms me, thinking about everything i love but will have to die without. but my soul shakes me loose, every fiber of my being lights up to remind me that i will always have my siblings. in death, but more importantly in life, i am eternally an older sister. when counting the things i’ve lost, i don’t list the items my little sister has stolen or the secrets i tell my baby brother on the drive home. sometimes i hate myself for the times i’ve met them with anger, but my soul shakes me loose once again, reminding me how easy it is to forgive your siblings. how i couldn’t hold a grudge against them if god asked.
An Omen or an Empty Fortune. More Like a Vision or Psychic Prediction for August into September.
I break old testament and traffic law, I give unhoused people cash, And I don’t tell them how to spend it. I disappoint my father by getting tattoos, And his pride is restored by the next weekend when I do what I do best. I put on my face, I step onto the floor, I do my dance And win my awards. At seventeen and a half I think about my older sister a lot more than I did as a kid. I cherry pick her mistakes, Some to avoid, Some to remake. I go through the motions, I cry myself to sleep, Impress my professors, And call home to make sure I’m still the favorite daughter. I fall in and out of bars, I stay in love with her, Everything I do makes me anxious, It’s how I maintain my edge. I gave up pretending, I shamelessly beg my younger friends and older sister to come visit. “I’ll sleep on the floor, You can have my bed.” When I show them around a lump forms in my throat, I swallow it down because I’m good now, I swear I’m good now. My to-do list has become much less complicated than it used to be. Survive the day, Stay inspired. I suppose that’s what I’m trying to do now. Stay inspired. A little less than two months before move in, On month 13 of the curse, I received an empty fortune cookie And a business card for a psychic. I was brought to my knees by both of these things, Yet I went to work And I drove home. I napped in the sun And posted on instagram. I don’t know what the future holds, And I’m so tired of my magical thinking. The fortune cookie was a mistake I stole, Every car in the lot had the same card on the door.
fourth of july
i spend my summers memorizing your face,
the placement of your freckles and curve of your nose.
i watch as you sleep next to me,
a blanketed silhouette
close enough to touch,
imperfect enough to love.
sometimes i think you must be an angel,
lips so delicate they can’t be of this world
framed by golden strands of hair that would mesmerize god himself.
when you turn over, touching your elbow to mine, i feel worthy
and righteous
and all of the good things they write about in the gospel.
i remember feeling like the fourth of july
staring into your eyes,
magically lighting up fireworks inside of my heart.
it’s spinning violently in my chest as you reach for my hand,
as you meet my gaze,
as you say my name.
your touch reminds me of diving into a pool,
being left in a sea of bubbles
with nothing but the mystical sensation of your body on mine.
Juansen Dizon, i am the architect of my own destruction
Trista Mateer, from a poem featured in her collection titled The Dogs I Have Kissed
extra heart wrenching on this sunday evening
ordinary heaven
falling in and out of consciousness,
laying next to you in bed.
i work on memorizing the slope of your nose and the freckles on your face
as you dream
and turn over,
letting your elbow touch mine.
i stay still,
wishing to remain in this state forever.
an ordinary heaven,
getting to experience your presence,
feel your touch.
to simply witness you is a blessing,
a complete separation from the worst parts of myself and of this world.
the moon and all her tides.
i’d take you as a friend,
a lover,
or a confidant.
i’d take you as a superior,
a dictator,
or an executioner.
i can construct kingdoms out of cardboard,
i can design dreamscapes out of dust.
you cracked me open and bled me dry
with the twinkle in your eye.
you’re my deity,
my obsession,
my cause for insurrection.
i’d settle for a life of pain
if it set everything in motion for your gain.
you’re the moon,
i’m a tide.
i rush and crash the shore like my life depends on it.
sorry for not keeping in touch. i have so much to say and i can't choose what to say first