@sophia.solstice: oh !!!! #fyp #daddyissues #relateable #foryoupagе

₊˚ෆ :

okay that was so rude

eunice 🍌 :

I’m going the FUCK to bed

izzy 🎀 :

hey so uninvolve me

liz °❀.ೃ࿔ :

Okay wait… block me. 💔

Ffion💕 :

can't talk here..

bordahajtogato :

well that was enough screen time for today ty

ulap 🧷 :

that's rude and personal pls delete

h3llo.k1ttys.c0rpse :

i’m bored let’s delete our accounts🫩🫩🫩

VENUS. HYBEHATE. :

we used to dance on this app

caitlinaitchison :

wait, delete this

Lilly :

Oh.. I’m not hungry

catherine (billies version) :

can’t repost but know i was here

luv.frankiez._ :

Right on the money

таніхапіздуліха :

hey what did you just say to me

allie jane💐🍀🪩 :

I hate being so scared of him at night that I can’t even sleep when he’s sleeping here overnight.

🫧☀️Jamie ☀️🫧 :

this really changed my perspective: To the man who is supposed to be my father. I don’t know what to call you. “dad” feels too personal for someone who feels like a stranger. Calling you by your first name feels disrespectful, but also honest. So i will call you what you have become to me. The man who is supposed to be my father. It’s strange how someone can share your last name, your blood, maybe even your eyes and hair colour. You don’t know what classes i struggle in or which ones make me feel smart. You don’t know the names of my friends, or the music i blare way too loud in my room throughout the day. You don’t know my favourite drink or order at a restaurant. you don’t even know that i got a piercing for myself. You don’t know the version of me that laughs until i’m crying or can’t breathe, or the opposite version where i can be an emotional train wreck. You don’t know me and that’s what makes you a stranger. When people ask about you, i never know how to answer. Do i say that you’re busy, that you live far away, or do i shrug and pretend like it doesn’t matter? there’s an awkward silence and embarrassment in my life because of you. people expect a story, a reason, something dramatic or tragic that explains your absence, but the truth is so much more quieter than that. You just aren’t here. your not my emergency contact, you missed all the small things the things that turned into big memories. And the strange part is life kept going anyway. I kept growing without you, knowing anything about it. You taught me how to ride a bike all those years ago. but you didn’t teach me how to deal with the first time a boy broke my heart, or tell me that i deserved better. I learned how to calm myself down when i was angry, how to push myself when i wanted to quit. i became independent because you made me learn to have to be. for a long time, i thought that maybe if i achieved enough. you’d want to know me. If i got good grades, if i worked hard, if i stayed out of trouble. That maybe i would be interesting enough to show up for, maybe i just wasn’t impressive yet, or atleast not as impressive as the woman who is not my mother. but over the years i come to realize -

vawnzzn :

luca🌜 :

wait unsay this