If You Feel A Little Crazy Looking At News Coverage Of Gaza Or Any Other Military Operations, I HIGHLY

shoutout to everyone who wants to infodump but cant string together coherent thoughts to form sentences and instead just look at you like this

everyone: what's your goal in life?

me: to write a story so soul snatching, so gut wrenching and so devastatingly beautiful that it leaves you crying at 3am when you have a 8am lecture/shift and it inspires people to write entire essays, to write entire fanfics, mood boards and playlists based on it.

WORDS FROM THE HALLWAY

She had spun herself a web- not one of lies nor of truth- 

Just a sticky situation to let others come into 

It’s quite strange, to be a bird like her

For words and songs aren’t always heard

She declares her faith to one admirer 

But the nest and the next she has no desire. 

Birds can’t speak but she’s a flyer.

Watch her dive, watch her drive, 

Watch her spin her web of crimes. 

Watch those tears fall down others' faces, 

Will she stop and slow her pace? 

Twig legs no longer there, 

She’s disgusted and caught in her hair. 

Dare she move once more? Fuck those birds and slam the door.

UNKNOWN 

Ever so carelessly, you ignore my entire 

Being and destroy thoughtless opinions 

Of me. Even so, I continue to pest and 

Cause thunder to boom inside of your head. 

Those wilted flowers will caress your legs

And with one uneasy smile, I admire you

Those thorns wither and twist around 

Your arms. I will not scold, I behold your 

Truth. 

And when it’s over, I’ll give you a cold hug. 

For I am the lurking shadow,

I am the unheard footsteps and the candles 

That flicker as you rest. 

My crown will never falter, 

For I am death. 

[not my photo, creds to photographer&editor]

“You were supposed to love me, how do you screw up this badly. How did I screw up this badly.” - Delaney Hunt.

Loop poetry from 2019

“simply remembering what it feels like to love creatures that aren’t human. A nameless sadness, the fading away of the birds. The fading away of the animals. How lonely it will be here, when it’s just us.”

— Charlotte McConaghy, Migrations

WX. 

I don’t owe you 

Anything. 

Nothing at all. 

I don’t have anything else 

To offer. 

But you know that – don’t you? 

Just look at your damn sweater 

I have knit you everything I could 

It now has holes and you trip on the 

Threads. 

Perhaps you would like to tangle 

Yourself in those threads 

They didn't let you down 

You did. 

You dig, dig, and dig. 

reading a book is not enough i need to embroider the words on my lungs

Colonizers write about flowers. I tell you about children throwing rocks at Israeli tanks seconds before becoming daisies. I want to be like those poets who care about the moon. Palestinians don’t see the moon from jail cells and prisons. It’s so beautiful, the moon. They’re so beautiful, the flowers.

— Noor Hindi, from “Fuck Your Lecture on Craft, My People Are Dying,” DEAR GOD. DEAR BONES. DEAR YELLOW.