I like canceled plans. And empty book stores. I like rainy days and thunderstorms. And quite coffee shops. I like messy beds and overworn pajamas. Most of all, I like small joys that a simple life brings.
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Plato said, “At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.” But Hemingway also said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” Because it is in these times that poets write their best work, when they are in love or in pieces.
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I didn't learn what love looks like
I thought it looked like a monster
I thought it yelled and hurt and restrained
I thought that's what love was
So how was I supposed to know
To watch out for these things
They happened all my life
When they happened again it was just
Oh yes, that's what love is
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My first DCA fic is now live! (Even though it’s more Eclipse focused lol) I hope you all enjoy! 😊
@castercassette I hope you don’t mind me taking my own stab at your absolutely incredible Street Racer AU! Ever since I first saw your designs for Eclipse this fic idea has had me in a chokehold and refused to let go! 💖
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Suffering from pre-doom frustration. Like I know my destruction is coming, i have accepted it, but the anticipation is killing me
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"This generation is so <insert heavy criticism>" is such an interesting phrase. We keep hearing and using it on every young generation, and how we think this generation will be the worst of all, when the next young generation comes, and we shift the blame to them (in today's case it's how Gen Z is slowly calling Gen Alpha the worst coming generation, for example), and it just goes on... Every year, every century, every millennium, since the beginning of our existence till our end, probably.
Oh how lovely and eternal is the phenomenon of ✨Juvenoia✨
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Poem I wrote called sorry
"I'm so sorry" I say from above
you're all here to express love
I wish I could be with you now
I wish I could find a way how
I feel bad watching you cry
Watching from the sky
You all found me dead
my hands covered in red
I heard you punch the wall
and then make a dreadful call
you were with me until the very end
we both know you were more than my friend
and now I'm in the sky that's starry
and all I can say is, "I'm so sorry"
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Poet Cries
Even when the typewriter
Gathers dust
Or the Quill runs dry
Poetry is brewing in me
Swirling in my eyes
Seeping out my pores...
You never loved me
There is no escaping that horror
I'm writing about your betrayal
In all my sleeping dreams
But I can't bring myself
To put the words on paper
So they're dripping off my skin
I am a writer
And grief is living in my veins
Cut me, and I'll bleed your name
Even without words
The world hears
When a poet cries
-I am the goddam ocean
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