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#femalevoice
Пиздастрадал пиздаконтроль — На стуле Янка Супер-сутер, На карандаш берет любовь И загружает темпо в убер. И дохли розы под наркозом, И рифмовались к буржуЯм, Мы ж ебанем салат мимозу За число Пи и первый лям. 👉 Bloch-Bauer & Adele · 2020 · Signature Privée
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Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 1:44 AM UTC
♠️ Пиздастрадал пиздаконтроль
Супер Б была матрёшкой — Тем и этим понемножку. Поварёшкой прикрывала Ах, как дерзкое начало. Только покрывало знало Её первую одежку, Ту, в которой изумрудом Светит солнце для верблюдов. 👉 Bloch-Bauer & Adele · 2020 · Signature Privée
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Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 1:42 AM UTC
♠️ Супер Б была матрёшкой
Кобылки сходили с дистанции, Ликовала только Констанция, Кто-то стал ура-визажистом, Колхозницей с мужем стилистом. И только насосная станция Неслась по тропе террористов, В тапок к последней инстанции — Хуяк — и в дамках с министром. 👉 Bloch-Bauer & Adele · 2020 · Signature Privée
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Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 1:17 AM UTC
♠️ Кобылки сходили с дистанции
После спортзала и порева, С маникюром и на бровях, В поле боя рулит гонево — Пощипать молодых цыплят. Боевой раскрас ахуенный — Аватар на млечном пути. И сквозь джунгли, как танк довоенный, Хацапетовка рвётся в жюри. 👉 Bloch-Bauer & Adele · 2020 · Signature Privée
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Aug 1, 2025
Aug 1, 2025 at 9:15 PM UTC
♠️ После спортзала и порева
Она рыдала в туалете Гостиницы «Континенталь» — Её ебали те и эти, И вдруг себя ей стало жаль. И вдруг однажды на рассвете Она решила полюбить, Но, как листали те и эти, Никак уже ей не забыть. 👉 Bloch-Bauer & Adele · 2020 · Signature Privée
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Aug 1, 2025
Aug 1, 2025 at 9:03 PM UTC
♠️ Она рыдала в туалете
I’m always watching myself watch the world. Even in love, I’m already narrating the ending. I turn silence into stanzas. Affection into evidence. Every kiss, a metaphor. Every absence, a motif. People think I’m honest. But really, I just edit well. Half of what I write never happened. The other half happened too hard. I’ve written the same heartbreak fourteen different ways. Gave it a new name. Gave it better dialogue. Made him softer so the betrayal feels worse. I say I’m writing for me, but I’m always picturing the line someone might underline and send to their ex at 2:03 a.m. I’ve performed pain like a dress rehearsal— highlighted the devastation, downplayed the shame, cut the part where I begged and called it pacing. There are poems that made people cry and replies I never opened. Because if I read them, it might mean I was never alone in it. And I don’t know if that would feel better or worse. Some nights I write like I’m searching for proof that it happened at all. That he said it. That I felt it. That I was the kind of girl someone could ruin on purpose. And if the writing is good enough, maybe I don’t have to go back. Maybe I don’t have to forgive him. Maybe I just have to survive it beautifully. So I sharpen the line. I fix the form. I leave the ending open. I publish the ache. And I tell myself that counts as closure. The betrayal was real. The good lines were mine. And maybe closure doesn’t come in paragraphs— maybe it’s just a quiet night I don’t turn into a poem.
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Apr 4, 2025
Apr 4, 2025 at 2:06 AM UTC
Editorial Notes
I’m always watching myself watch the world. Even in love, I’m already narrating the ending. I turn silence into stanzas. Affection into evidence. Every kiss, a metaphor. Every absence, a motif. People think I’m honest. But really, I just edit well. Half of what I write never happened. The other half happened too hard. I’ve written the same heartbreak fourteen different ways. Gave it a new name. Gave it better dialogue. Made him softer so the betrayal feels worse. I say I’m writing for me, but I’m always picturing the line someone might underline and send to their ex at 2:03 a.m. I’ve performed pain like a dress rehearsal— highlighted the devastation, downplayed the shame, cut the part where I begged and called it pacing. There are poems that made people cry and replies I never opened. Because if I read them, it might mean I was never alone in it. And I don’t know if that would feel better or worse. Some nights I write like I’m searching for proof that it happened at all. That he said it. That I felt it. That I was the kind of girl someone could ruin on purpose. And if the writing is good enough, maybe I don’t have to go back. Maybe I don’t have to forgive him. Maybe I just have to survive it beautifully. So I sharpen the line. I fix the form. I leave the ending open. I publish the ache. And I tell myself that counts as closure. The betrayal was real. The good lines were mine. And maybe closure doesn’t come in paragraphs— maybe it’s just a quiet night I don’t turn into a poem.
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