Polkadot

This is for our weird bunch. The ones whose internal 'socialize' battery icon starts flashing red after three minutes of small talk. The proud bookworms who can discuss the semiotics of a dusty tome for hours but freeze when asked about the weather. We're the theoretical coffee lovers – the ones who romanticize the idea of a perfect latte while secretly preferring a cup of tea with a little bit of suger that give away it's 'im there but im not' taste. And don't even get me started on the 'ocean lovers' stuck landlocked, staring wistfully at desktop backgrounds of waves, because the logistics of actually getting there feel akin to planning a moon landing. Then there's the delightful phenomenon where our basic grasp of language, solid enough when we're alone, collapses into primordial grunts the moment we're surrounded by actual 'cool kids' (and let's be real, brother, if you even think about whether you're cool or not, you've already lost the battle). But my favorite attendees? The indoor enthusiasts. The reclusive connoisseurs of their own sofa indentations. The ones whose families occasionally send out search parties, only to find them perfectly content, still in their pajamas, having successfully merged with the furniture. Their main concern isn't FOMO, it's 'Fear Of Missing Out on My Own Refrigerator.' This wouldn't be a party, per se. More of a collective sigh of relief, punctuated by sporadic, mumbled conversations about the existential dread of laundry. We wouldn't need fancy catered food; just a vast, self-serve buffet of lukewarm pizza and enough silence to hear our own thoughts finally uncoil. We need a place where the only expectation is not to function at peak capacity. A sanctuary for the delightfully dysfunctional, the terminally tired, and the perpetually pondering. Now that's a festival I'd actually leave the house for... eventually. So please someone pls host : The Post-Traumatic Exam Stress Gathering: An Ode to Exhaustion-dedicated retreat for Exam Survivors.

those who think college would be any better than your school life, adulting will be better than your childhood experiences, and job might feel okayish than your teenage broke era. i hate to break it to you, but those same people transition into the next phase without learning the proper lessons from their past ones and then drag others along with them. you'll be helpless crying about how is any of it my fault, but all you'll find is yourself sliding down the path to more misery.

Little miss thinks everything that is codified and conceptualized is applicable

You’re not describing yourself you’re carving yourself with words

Me and you gonna manhandle life

Needing a playlist cuz im pulling all nighter without coke

Up and fighting death(studying jurassic period like we aint gonna be the next species to go through line of extinction in ESP way)

Miss ya in i notice you not being here cuz i stalk you

Idk what my young little child self saw but i had this trait of categorizing everything as indoor(private) and outdoor(public). And lowkey i give off split personality

Have you ever had the urge to say my man in a serious conversation with the man you wanna call your man but not in your 'your' man way but then he kinda give that kinda vibe yet you know it will be spoiled if you fucking open that big mouth of Your's.yh me too

Yh we need to bring that 'i dont care' era back cuzzzz this shi not happen'in

imagine talking shit behind me and I'm just in my room and talking shit behind myself as well.

There will come a day i wont stop screaming but for now it's just silent white noise

i wanna write a poem but im tired as shit so just like imagine a really beautiful poem about having fun and being fun and other people having fun around you and chilling and swagging and being cool and also a general sense of being deeply terrified about life. but swagging in the mean time

Im saying pls dont respond with a fucking '😁' everytime you dont understand batshit!

The meticulously drafted, an engineered curve of lips stretched to an impeccable, almost surgical, precision? The perfectly bleached row of teeth?... Is it really a smile? Or a chilling impression of a complaint mechanism? The eyes do not align with the oral bound performance. They remain detached, bureaucratic spectators to the oral charade, betraying a deep, unsettling chasm between the displayed and the felt. It is terrifying because it is a lie, meticulously maintained, not for deception but for survival. It is the unspoken agreement with the world: "I am fine, therefore you will not look closer." A surface-level reassurance that all systems are operational

they need to invent a running away and never coming back that doesn't negatively affect your life