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ellievsbear

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Keni
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DEAR READER
ojovivo
taylor price
Jules of Nature

JBB: An Artblog!
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
almost home
One Nice Bug Per Day
Cosmic Funnies

if i look back, i am lost
i don't do bad sauce passes
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Cosimo Galluzzi
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@welcometogodly
“Veil of Smoke” by Unknown Photographer ◇ Cigarette smoke caught between transparency and touch
btw it's so fucking stupid you can be anxious physically in your body even after you've decided mentally you don't care. I'm supposed to be in charge here
Firework Incident
Mamma said I got burned because I don't know when to let go of things. She calls it’s a forever scar. The kind God puts on you till the day you die.
"After fragmented memories of childhood abuse resurface, Noah breaks into their past abuser’s home to confirm the only memory he has, the room." - Unnamed Short I'm writing
I'm writing again after film my last short this month. Needed a space to talk pretty explicitly about what I've been dealing with this past year. I don't know if I will ever actually make this film. Writing this film has been very helpful.
I've been able to make a character that's not totally a carbon copy of myself and experiences so that's been nice. I also don't care to have any sort of sexual trauma depicted in this film I'm writing.
I care more about capturing the experience and atmosphere of CSA healing when these memories begin to resurface. I found myself driving a lot during dusk and dawn. I couldn't sleep, so I was ether asleep during the day or online at night. Beautiful sunsets and sunrises became pillars in my routine. As well as driving by my past abusers home and work. It's cringe but I felt and still feel this need to be closer to him. To somehow jog my memory, finally have the story of what happened, and have it be so clear I could believe myself. I have been trying to not drive by those places anymore and finally blocked him yesterday online.
Maybe I'll share a draft here sometime soon.
Brendon Burton
I remember vividly how his hand felt on my shoulder through my uniform.
Big man hands, with fingers as thick as sausages curled around my growing bones. How the fat on his side would touch mine when we’d take a photo after a tournament. Me holding a gold medal.
Saying I love him used to remind me of how soft his hands felt on my shoulder. But saying I love him now reminds me of a body convulsing. Trapped in his love. Convulsing for love. My body is convulsing.
And I still sometimes tell myself it didn’t happen.
my fucking abuser is still wearing that god damn gold cross necklace ... can't say it's not hot but that's not the point. I want to reclaim that some how....
Brent Cotton Before the Thunder Speaks, 2026 Oil on canvas, 91 x 121cm