``ᴸᵉᵍᵃᶜʸ ᶦˢ ᵃˡˡ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉ ᵇᵉʰᶦⁿᵈ ᶦⁿ ᵗʰᶦˢ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ``

@xX_WilburSoot_Xx
          
          BROOOO MY FRIEND KEPT CALLING ME BRITISH TODAYYYY
          
          SHE SAID I 'JUST HAVE THAT BRITISH LOOK'
          LIKE WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEANNNN-
          AND OF COURSE, I DRINK TEA, WHICH ONLY MAKES HER CALL ME BRITISH EVEN MORE T-T
          
          AND IN SOCIAL STUDIES, WE WERE DOING SOMETHING ON THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION WHERE WE MADE A FAKE FACEBOOK PROFILE (don't ask) FOR SOMEONE IMPORTANT IN THE WAR.
          
          I  W A S  T H E  O N L Y  O N E  W H O  D I D  S O M E O N E  F R O M  T H E
          B R I T I S H  S I D E.
          
          SO NOW MY ENTIRE SOCIAL STUDIES CLASS IS CALLING ME A LOYALIST SSKSKKKSKSKKKSJSKSKK

@xX_WilburSoot_Xx
          
          HELP OMFG I JUST LOOKED UP MY IRL FRIENDS NAME FOR FUNZIES BC I WAS CURIOUS TO SEE IF SHE HAD AN ACCOUNT.
          
          SHE DOES- IT'S LITERALLY HER IN HER PFP- WTFFFF

The Ram and the Duck, a love took flight,
          Sweet gestures danced in morning light.
          They wed, a promise whispered low,
          A garden where affection ought to grow.
          
          But seasons turned, and shadows crept,
          The Ram's true nature, long since kept,
          Now roared and lashed in drunken fits,
          His heavy hand, where kindness quits.
          
          The Duck endured, a silent tear,
          Each blow a whisper, sharp and clear.
          His body bruised, his spirit broke,
          Used for pleasure, a cruel joke.
          
          If he dared to flinch, to push away,
          The Ram's dark anger held the sway.
          No one outside could see the pain,
          A secret locked, a pouring rain.
          
          The Duck, despairing, lost and small,
          Trapped within a gilded wall,
          Stayed by his side, through dark and dread,
          Until the Ram one day lay dead.
          
          A battle raged, a final fight,
          His heart gave out in fading light.
          The Duck was free, the cage undone,
          But scars remained, beneath the sun.

GUYS
          
          @xX_WilburSoot_Xx TRAUMATIZED CHARLIE SO MUCH THAT HE'S JUST GOOP ON THE FLOOR. 
          
          (I announced this to all of my followers btw, hehehe..)

Young Wilbur, dreams so high,
          Built L'Manberg beneath the sky.
          A place for those who felt astray,
          Away from crowds, a brighter day.
          
          The Greater SMP's discarded souls,
          Found comfort in L'Manberg's roles.
          But power shifted, a bitter sting,
          Exiled him, no joy to sing.
          
          Tommy, too, was forced to flee,
          From lands that once were wild and free.
          Manberg rose, with shadows grim,
          Pogtopia fought, a world grown dim.
          
          The battles raged, the tension strained,
          Wilbur's mind, it slowly drained.
          He couldn't cope, the pressure high,
          His symphony began to die.
          
          A button pressed, a final act,
          TNT ripped, there's no turning back.
          His nation gone, his spirit crushed,
          By his own hand, his hopes were hushed.
          
          A father's love, a tearful plea,
          A final wish, for him to be
          Released from pain, a restful sleep,
          A secret kept, finally at peace.

( @xX_WilburSoot_Xx )
          
          Quackity is perched on a low, decorative stone ledge, leaning back against a polished railing. His posture is relaxed, almost deceptively so, given his usual intensity. He's not looking at the city itself, but rather up at the starless, light-polluted sky, one hand absently tracing the rim of a half-empty glass of amber liquid (whiskey, likely). His signature beanie is pulled low, casting a shadow over his eyes, but the harsh, multicolored glow from below illuminates the sharp angles of his scarred face and the slight tension around his jaw.

A certain name on the wind,
          Carries stories, sharp and thinned.
          He’s seen the dark, the bitter sting,
          Of promises that mean nothing.
          
          Love was lost, and trust betrayed,
          A lonely path, a life unmade.
          So walls went up, brick by cold brick,
          Protecting wounds, both raw and quick.
          
          He built a land, of bright facade,
          Las Nevadas, power, unafraid.
          A gamble's den, a shining lie,
          Where gold replaces tear-filled eye.
          
          He chases clout, he craves control,
          A desperate mending of his soul.
          But underneath the forceful grin,
          A hurting heart lies deep within.
          
          He pushes close ones far away,
          Afraid to feel, another day.
          For attachment brings a painful sting,
          So he reigns alone, a lonely king.

Just so y'all know, I like to delete my posts after awhile if I find them cringe or weird </3