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#indiana
I want to feel love blooming by the old oak tree at dusk, where fireflies write secrets and the world feels made for us. I want laughter on the tailgate, warmth in the summer air, slow dances in the driveway like nobody else is there. Maybe I’m just wishin’ on a radio love song, But I dream of a hand to hold when the nights feel too long a heart skipping wild like a stone on the creek, a little bit of forever every day of the week.
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May 20
May 20, 2026 at 11:29 PM UTC
Front Porch Dreams
a satellite dish on the roof of my grandfather's shed sings to the stars who will provide the countermelody? i took you to a place on the beach that my dad took me as a boy to share these sweet things with you it all means something. there is a waterfall in the woods in northwest indiana where once the river ran so dry you could look down into the riverbed and see the roots of trees gasping, begging for the water's return we stood in the rain the next day as the wind whipped petals off the branches of the maple trees and in the downburst i fell so deeply love with you will you sing with me? there is no use in weeping over things left unsaid if they were better off on the radio waves bouncing down to the satellite into the screen inside your head to replay the crescendo to failure in the moments before collapse
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Jan 31, 2021
Jan 31, 2021 at 1:55 AM UTC
interference
2/5/09 - The day I lost my best friend (Grandpa) 7/?/12 - Moved in with dad 12/11/16 - Tried to KMS 9/16/17 - The day my dad and stepmom got married 4/3/18 - Started dating my boyfriend 6/19/18 - The day my dad gave me up and kicked me out 6/23/19 - Day my uncle died. He never gave up on me 10/3/19 - My best friend died(Grandma) 12/9/19 - The day I broke up with my boyfriend New: 3/13/20 - Moved states New: 7/21/20- Moved schools
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Sep 11, 2020
Sep 11, 2020 at 12:32 PM UTC
I'll Never Forget Pt 5
the stitches in my thigh are healing so now we can all shake hands and watch the money poor in. the bombs are not coming, please come out from under your desks, you are safe now and if im being honest the desks wouldn’t protect you from the shrieks of a war plane. they sound like nothing you’ve ever heard a frequency you unlocked just for this particular pain. you can almost see the sound pour into your ear drums like a bartender mixing the ***** and the cranberry. it sounds like 6am it sounds like the same song over and over.
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Nov 16, 2019
Nov 16, 2019 at 6:31 AM UTC
a review of indiana by adrienne lenker
As the crow flies south from capital city With soaring moonshine he coasts into synchronicity Highways below dissolve into forgotten whispers Like a rear view mirror sees only memories in its disappearing Visual ****** initiates and fills this polychromatic cruise Starting with a quiet historic ruse Contesting over which of the two echo shadows for optical repeal the many leaves of kaleidoscope hues That keep a running legacy since time before our time and / or Buried horizon from endless layers of skyward hills Hills that have been storing a primitive foundation for the growing of substructure foliage in order to be able to drop its petals and leaves Resolve is left with the one true and unbiased impartial decider... the wind to form a fair measure of mediation From the human view All are merely a preview for the impromptu quest In an attempt to catalyze foreshadow and paint memory for the drive out west To approach from afar The destination appears to be a resting shape of an antiquated location splashed with opaque aromas, sensory weaving visuals, and Melodic tones of nostalgic definition Emitting vibrations of soothing tremolo that quiver throughout the body this multi-strip string of singular select shops Is the alignment initiative in the countryside forecasting a manifest for the hazy occasion Anointing inspiration over the heartland’s artland That nearly only hope, could create Invisible snows sprinkle over roads like a magic red carpet of threaded tranquility in its coat Enticing, Welcoming, and Lighting up this neck of the west And opening into the Woodland Hills of Little Nashville ———-—————————————-——————————
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Oct 3, 2019
Oct 3, 2019 at 6:10 PM UTC
Little Nashville (Indiana)
As the crow flies south from capital city With soaring moonshine he coasts into synchronicity Highways below dissolve into forgotten whispers Like a rear view mirror sees only memories in its disappearing Visual ****** initiates and fills this polychromatic cruise Starting with a quiet historic ruse Contesting over which of the two echo shadows for optical repeal the many leaves of kaleidoscope hues That keep a running legacy since time before our time and / or Buried horizon from endless layers of skyward hills Hills that have been storing a primitive foundation for the growing of substructure foliage in order to be able to drop its petals and leaves Resolve is left with the one true and unbiased impartial decider... the wind to form a fair measure of mediation From the human view All are merely a preview for the impromptu quest In an attempt to catalyze foreshadow and paint memory for the drive out west To approach from afar The destination appears to be a resting shape of an antiquated location splashed with opaque aromas, sensory weaving visuals, and Melodic tones of nostalgic definition Emitting vibrations of soothing tremolo that quiver throughout the body this multi-strip string of singular select shops Is the alignment initiative in the countryside forecasting a manifest for the hazy occasion Anointing inspiration over the heartland’s artland That nearly only hope, could create Invisible snows sprinkle over roads like a magic red carpet of threaded tranquility in its coat Enticing, Welcoming, and Lighting up this neck of the west And opening into the Woodland Hills of Little Nashville ———-—————————————-——————————
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39
My boyhood pocketknife Sits in the bottom of my bedside table My skin is healing But I still feel a little cut I thank God every time I leave Say goodbye to flat land the long stretches of road I forget the peonies but they still bloom in me My old backyard is littered with noise and ***** snow Cold trickles into the lungs Slowly, like it's afraid to let go Each exhale is proof we're alive A cloud of condensation curling away from mouths Small, sleeping dragons in an even smaller city where all the jewels are gone
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Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 10:21 AM UTC
Latitude.
You were a beautiful Fix To an unknown problem. You liked me so much I had to end it. Because we are not looking For each other. You want someone to love you. I want... Someone to fill the silence. Maybe you're too young, Maybe I'm too ******* bored* Of sad, beautiful girls. Either way, I couldn't keep kissing you And thinking of her. You were like An Indiana summer: Hot And miserable. I knew I was too Emotionally unavailable For you. Pretending to be jealous When I just Didn't give a **** Anymore. I was tired Of complacency. And you were tired Of waiting for me To commit. So I ripped the band-aid off After a month of messing with the edges. Somehow my skin Is still sticky. I feel bad, But I resent you For being the prettiest girl Who's ever wanted me... And still being wrong for me. And I resent myself For my good intentions, But bad timing. You may hate it, But I want to say that There's no one I'd rather Have wasted my summer with.
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Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
Indiana Summer
Pale-skinned girl from Indiana, with freckles, yes, freckles, on your cheek, this is who I am. This is my story. It is only coincidence that I sing it to you, but sing, nonetheless, I do. One morning amidst the restlessness of my top-bunk sheets I heard a whispering and thought it might be God it was me. My unconsciousness begging me for nourishment, silently loudly attacking my awareness with questions: it asked why I neglect it. Pale-skinned girl from Indiana, with freckles, yes, freckles, on your cheek, is this, too, why your body vibrates when your thoughts are feelings? Because you too have recognized feeling as thought? That that faculty of wonder you hush about as if a ***** secret of forgotten childhood memory is something that is as real as the metaphysical pores of a skin you cannot touch, but know is not some foreign, distant, effacing thing, but is thick, is thick, thick as words creaking like old wood in a library filled with students who read so much ******** to get into college but never venture forth for such skin in the skin of those unconscious voices in the shelves? Selves: we call them books but they breathe. The ideas wriggle in your veins like a worm. They block your blood yet move your soul. The stillness of your speechlessness is some movement in itself. So I suspect of you, pale-skinned girl from Indiana, with freckles, yes, freckles, on your cheek. So I suspect of myself. I do not understand how else I could have been born without eyes which we call eyes. I cannot see why else. I cannot. You cannot. There is light over there in that darkness. A glimpse of it- a sliver of silver has shocked you into your paleness. Into my blackness. It is the same difference. A different same. Line break: A mirror tells me things with my eyeless eyes. My brownness ***** me into journeys with tunnels so deep that we call them pupils. In the distance that I gaze into I find myself gazing into a distance I gaze into. Fathom it. Do not. Will not will it will it will not willed. Touching it will wilt it without touching: this is the soul you said does not exist. It is not there. It is. In Indiana. Where's that? asks my blood. In Indiana. Over there? my finger points out the window. No. It is. It is. Not. Suddenly I smell something and it is myself. It is not Indiana or freckles or pale-skin. I ask you where it is. Suddenly you smell something and it is yourself. It is not Gaborone or curly-haired or black. You ask me where I think it is. What the **** do we know?
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Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC
A Walk to the Science Classrooms on a Post-Rainy Autumn Day.
Pale-skinned girl from Indiana, with freckles, yes, freckles, on your cheek, this is who I am. This is my story. It is only coincidence that I sing it to you, but sing, nonetheless, I do. One morning amidst the restlessness of my top-bunk sheets I heard a whispering and thought it might be God it was me. My unconsciousness begging me for nourishment, silently loudly attacking my awareness with questions: it asked why I neglect it. Pale-skinned girl from Indiana, with freckles, yes, freckles, on your cheek, is this, too, why your body vibrates when your thoughts are feelings? Because you too have recognized feeling as thought? That that faculty of wonder you hush about as if a ***** secret of forgotten childhood memory is something that is as real as the metaphysical pores of a skin you cannot touch, but know is not some foreign, distant, effacing thing, but is thick, is thick, thick as words creaking like old wood in a library filled with students who read so much ******** to get into college but never venture forth for such skin in the skin of those unconscious voices in the shelves? Selves: we call them books but they breathe. The ideas wriggle in your veins like a worm. They block your blood yet move your soul. The stillness of your speechlessness is some movement in itself. So I suspect of you, pale-skinned girl from Indiana, with freckles, yes, freckles, on your cheek. So I suspect of myself. I do not understand how else I could have been born without eyes which we call eyes. I cannot see why else. I cannot. You cannot. There is light over there in that darkness. A glimpse of it- a sliver of silver has shocked you into your paleness. Into my blackness. It is the same difference. A different same. Line break: A mirror tells me things with my eyeless eyes. My brownness ***** me into journeys with tunnels so deep that we call them pupils. In the distance that I gaze into I find myself gazing into a distance I gaze into. Fathom it. Do not. Will not will it will it will not willed. Touching it will wilt it without touching: this is the soul you said does not exist. It is not there. It is. In Indiana. Where's that? asks my blood. In Indiana. Over there? my finger points out the window. No. It is. It is. Not. Suddenly I smell something and it is myself. It is not Indiana or freckles or pale-skin. I ask you where it is. Suddenly you smell something and it is yourself. It is not Gaborone or curly-haired or black. You ask me where I think it is. What the **** do we know?
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72
I'm running from darkness She is avoiding the light She is closing her blinds I'm escaping the night I can never fall asleep She can never know She's not broken like I am If I give in I go Sometimes the black lasts hours Sometimes it lasts for days She wishes she was asleep To get over all the pain She is ultraviolet Keeping me awake She is everything The victim of every mistake I make She always drives me crazy But I need her all the same She seems to really love me But can't make the claim I'll want her forever Love her til my walls are blue She is where my mind wanders Her eyes are the best Indiana view.
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Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
"All The Bright Places"