I Wish For Liberation

I Wish For Liberation
I Wish For Liberation
I Wish For Liberation
I Wish For Liberation

I Wish for Liberation

I sit in the dark, my thoughts a storm of fragments, and I wish, not with the innocence of a child but with the bitter clarity of experience, that you would feel the weight of every wound you gave.

do you know the sharp sting of betrayal, the cruel echo of a lie, the loneliness that wraps around the heart like a shroud?

I want you to know the hollow ache of waiting, the gnawing uncertainty that burrows deep, the sleepless nights stretched out in their endless, aching expanse.

I want the weight of your own choices to press down on you, heavy and relentless, until you understand the pressure that drove me to despair, until you feel a trace of my sorrow settling like dust in your own empty spaces.

you, who sculpted misery with your hands, who wielded cruelty like a blade, are you aware of the echoes you left? do you hear them whisper in your dreams, the ache you wove so effortlessly into my days?

i could wish for storms to ravage your calm, for the sky to crack open with lightning that rends the fabric of your peace, for the tremors of regret to shake your foundation.

yet, even as I wish this, I realize that suffering does not heal, that the flames of revenge only scorch the hands that wield them.

so, instead, I let the weight of my sorrow settle, a quiet confession to the universe that sometimes I crave for the scales to tip,

for the pain to be known, but mostly,

I wish for liberation, for the shackles of my anger to fall away, and for a heart that no longer clings to the shadows of the past.

so I let the wish drift, a bitter gust of wind that fades into the void, and I turn away, searching for a release from this desire, for a way to mend the broken pieces without adding more shards to the world’s already jagged heart.

S.T. 2024

santa rosalia by roberto ferri(1978) oil on canvas

the shepherd david by elizabeth bouguereau(1895)

dancers by franz von stuck(1896)

perseus slaying medusa by laurent-honore marqueste(1903)

More Posts from Pluckedchicken and Others

9 months ago
I Turn To Ares.
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I Turn To Ares.
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I Turn To Ares.
I Turn To Ares.
I Turn To Ares.

I turn to Ares.

Thanks to Tyler Miles Lockett who allowed me to draw inspiration from his ARES piece for page 2! Look at his etsy page it's SICK

βš”οΈ If you want to read some queer retelling of arturian legends have a look at my webtoon

6 months ago

I am whatever gender has the shortest line at the bathroom

9 months ago
Marie-Helene Bertino
Marie-Helene Bertino

Marie-Helene Bertino


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1 year ago

confusing Odysseus and Orpheus is like confusing a liar and a lyre. send post


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1 year ago
THIS

THIS

[Image ID: Screenshot of a repost from kelpforrest depicting tags reading "I refuse to be mocking towards any generation but especially younger ones. I will not become a hateful old fuck." End ID]

I must not mock Gen Alpha. Mocking Gen Alpha is the mind killer. Mocking Gen Alpha is the little-death that brings total generational solidarity obliteration. I will engage with Gen Alpha lovingly. I will permit them to be cringe. And when they grow up I will turn my eye to their accomplishments. Where mocking has gone there will be nothing. Only generational solidarity remains


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9 months ago

~~PROPERTY OF RAY SMITH~~

Memories are the foundation of what we base our perception of reality and even our own selves off of, and those memories ultimately make up who we are and how we interact with our external world. Recently, I feel that I've been forgetting many of mine. You always expect that when you forget something like a major memory, you can feel that something is missing. I've learned that often times you don't even notice you're forgetting something until something comes up to suggest that you should know what it is, but you simply don't.

Like waking up in a bedroom you don't recognise after a night out of drinking. You can remember going out to the bar with your friends, you can remember talking and laughing, and you remember this person you didn't know coming and talking to you. You know you keep drinking with them, but you don't actually remember much past that point. You can assume you slept with whoever you were talking to before your memory runs a blank, but you don't know for certain.

Next comes what I tend to think of as the most terrifying part of the process.

Later in the day you talk to the friends you went out with again, and they fill in some blanks for you. You now know you actually went to a hotel with someone else who wore an outfit absolutely blindingly neon orange, definitely not the person you remember talking to. You look through your phone, checking your camera roll and texts. You see a couple videos of yourself very drunkenly dancing with your friends and someone wearing neon orange, but there's always too much movement and poor lighting for you to recognize a their face. You also see some texts from an unknown number talking about how wild last night was, and how they are they ran into you. Based on all the information you collected, you assume this unknown number is the person who was wearing neon orange, the two of went back to the hotel and slept together, and they left before you woke up.

When you retell this story in the future you say that you were talking to this really cool person who you got bored of after 10 minutes before your friends, being the saviors they are, dragged you away from them and you all started dancing. It didn't take long after that for this really attractive person with admittedly bad clothing taste started dancing with you. One thing lead to another and you ended up sleeping with them in the hotel, giving them your number before they left.

The actual events of that night looked more like this: The person you remember talking to got wine spilt on them and left the bar in a huff. Shortly after your friends dragged you up and you all started dancing. Next, you see your brothers ex in the bar, and drag them up to start dancing too (you had always liked this ex). The two of you leave the bar together and stumble drunkenly through downtown as you talk about your brother. By pure bad luck your brother spots the two of you while driving, pulls over, astounded to see the two of you together. His ex says they have a hotel room booked, and your brother agrees to give his ex a ride there, and offer's you his couch to sleep on. By the time you get to the hotel your brother and the ex don't seem to be very broken up anymore. The ex gives you the room key, and you stay in their hotel room while your brother and the ex meant to go back to your brother's place first, but don't quite make it that far. The text you receive the next morning from an unknown number is your brother, who's number you never saved out of spite.

The human ability to completely forget memories without a trace and rewrite memories scares me more than death; more than life.

I am no author, but I need to get this written down. I don't want to forget who I am.


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8 months ago

I used to have public sex all the time. Back in the 90s there was no internet or after school programs for lgbtq kids. We'd go up bull tail holler and on the back side of the reservoir there was a rundown poorly maintained picnic pavilion and playground and that's where all the queers that weren't old enough to go to the one gay bar in the county I lived in would hang out. And it was colloquially called queer holler in fact. It was in the holler right next to the mall so you could just have your parents drop you at the mall or catch the bus if you lived in town. We'd hangout there and have sex and make out and what have you. Every now and then the law would raid it and wouldn't you know the kids and young adults they could round up would be charged with public indecency and contributing to the delinquency of minors because 18 is 18 and other public sex charges. Of course in the process you would be outed to your parents and if you were over 18 you got your name printed in the newspaper in the police blotter which is fun (not really). So yeah I'm all in favor of legalizing public sex. Because though we've came a long way there are still a lot of queer youth who have no where to fuck their partner and being labeled as a sex offender shouldn't be a consequence of doing what millions of cishet teenagers and young adults do all the time.


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10 months ago

βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨

πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹

βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨

πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨ MANIFESTINGβœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›

βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨happy outcomes andβœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨

πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›good news in AugustπŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹

βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨

πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›

βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨πŸ‹βœ¨πŸ’›βœ¨

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pluckedchicken - The Chicken Man
The Chicken Man

I do not possess chickens :( sometimes I write silly stories, other times I don't! let's just see where this goes lol

225 posts

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