Whenthetreesspeaklatin - The Trees Speak Latin

And someone to use it one

done healing my inner child. next up is my inner teen. her highness demands a sword.

jeez this ur poetry blog or some shit

uhu

you want the rest??

When I was young my dad offhandedly told me he thought people treated fish with so much casual cruelty because fish can’t scream.

The words branded themselves across my soul.

As an adult I think he may have been joking. He payed no especial attention to any indignities fish suffered in our household but I could never forget. I saw fish in a different light after that.

Fish kept in tiny bowls, breathing their own poisons, dying by inches. Fish kept in cold tanks, casually disposed of. Fish touted as being short lived when they could outlive the better loved family dog if only they could breathe. Fish casually won and discarded in cheap plastic bags, thrown away a week later.

How they would scream, if they could.

the fact that i'm no longer the same age as the protagonists of novels and films i once connected to is so heartbreaking. there was a time when I looked forward to turning their age. i did. and i also outgrew them. i continue to age, but they don't; never will. the immortality of fiction is beautiful, but cruel.

Morgan Harper Nichols’ ‘Let July be July’

“Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.”

— Sylvia Plath

Stop letting people consume you. they didn’t call? go to sleep. they didn’t message you? put your phone down and have a better day. they left you on read? delete the conversation. they didn’t make an effort? match their energy. never let your happiness depend on anyone