A siren, a female being made of liquid stars and all the unnecessary wars. A beauty that is overpowered by rejection an overdose of a vitamin…
Well, I’m begged for redemption only i lure to self destruction.
I sing about broken promises that lasts a lifetime and fears that grow as you do... grow viscously, and as big as the void an emotionally absent parent can leave behind in you.
I’m one year closer to my mid twenties It took me a life time to realize It’s not love that I’ve been starved from
It’s the comfort of feeling seen, without dressing myself up with all the glamorous words that I weighed myself down with since i was a child
forced to communicate; only to please. Now I sing, and it’s out of tune but I seduce and I ruin.
I was loved growing up, i felt so even when no one ever gave me a definition to what love really means.
Maybe they didn’t even know it was missing.
I felt indestructible so I kept stripping my love from misconceptions; only to be left with suffering
Now I know better. It’s either leaving or being left and both in a way are synonyms of love.
the residual of that love is almost nonexistent among the memories that resemble a never ending internal bleeding.
That being said, tragedies stands out more and i use them like bookmarks to my memories.
So i love; and i leave.
I cut into myself with my own teeth dissecting the pieces with my tongue knowing very well how much it will hurt me to taste something that i don’t recognize…
I spend most of my hours dwelling on all the parts of me that make me a duplication of my mother
hypocritically i pack them in the carry on bag that’s always open on my bedroom floor
So ready to leave; just like my father. he emptied more of me in his bags every weekend for business trips
Carving unintentional hollows and leaving them for my mother to fill.
I thought he was the one sacrificing himself, until I noticed that alot of my missing pieces are still under his bed.
Mama doesn’t like it when I point out where my father went wrong she loves him too much, and i .. i reflect that love; by leaving
I know they did their best molding me into a human that knows how to survive, but that’s all I know now.
I don’t understand affection, nor how to accept it in my body.
Not even when I crave it; i suspect it’s because I’m too full of myself and if I feel this way… why would I expect anyone to carve themselves out to fit me in ?
Anyway, I don’t know how to ask women for acceptance and men can’t stand me cause I don’t flatter them
Love sounds like a curse to me.
What if I loved for all the wrong reasons?
my body understands the mechanisms to create another life from love, but i don’t.
I fear that the taste of motherhood will resemble that of a defense mechanism.
•••
•Quotes: Alexander Pushkin/George Eliot/ Leo Tolstoy/ Chris Cleave/Clarice Lispector/ Anne Carson/ Kiki Nicole/ Richard Siken/ Lidia Yuknavitch/ Sylvia Plath/ Franz Kafka
•Original context: Sinligh
•Art reference:
1. A young beauty reclining on a bed By Enjolras Delphin. 2. Details of John William Godward's: Eurypyle (1921) 3. Details of John William Godward's: Eurypyle(1921) 4. Painting by Roberto Ferri (details). 5. The Table (1971-80) Antonio Lopez Garcia. 6. Painting by Alex Venezia. 7. Narzissin by Josef Fischnaller. 8. Painting by Valeria Duca. 9. Painting by Ricky Mujica.
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request for something like anger issues or an anger that has no source and will not fade? like a monster inside of you that makes you angry for no reason
Sophia Lornie, Flatline
@unspokengrief (cropped)
@nipplering (via)
Caryl Churchill, Escaped Alone
Aerial East, It Doesn’t Matter
Halsey, The Lighthouse (Lyric Video)
Ashe Vernon, Buried
Dungeons and Daddies (2019–), Episode 42: Henry’s Father and the Chamber of Secrets
Lidia Yuknavitch, Letter to My Rage
Unknown (via)
Safia Elhillo, Home Is Not a Country
Anne Carson, Plainwater
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We don't have to be perfect humans. We can say or do the wrong thing and still try again tomorrow. I hope a lot of us keep trying to meet the ideal of an ethos of creation and coexistence (not just human either), rather than an ethos of destruction and death. I hope you bear witness however you can. If you are a writer, write. If you are an artist, make art. If you weave or sew or do beadwork, weave, sew, arrange the beads or words or thread toward beauty. Whoever you are, no matter what you are feeling, put something of what you know and love toward a larger idea of existence that does not depend on violence. Make rage songs. Make your love apparent, especially to vulnerable and scared humans around you. Rise as an activist when and where you are able. Make noise. Make trouble. Bake and distribute bread. Plant gardens of food and flowers and share them. Share resources. Vote for an ethos of creation rather than an ethos of killing and death. Build housing. Feed people. Heal people. Care for and protect children and those more vulnerable than you. Fill the streets. Carry water. Donate and redistribute wealth. Love your babies. Love other people's babies. Give land back. Call Congress. Call the birds and the animals and the fish. Bring the life songs, the heart songs, the art songs. Bring the wailing. Take breaks. Take care of yourself and others. Take turns building, holding, carrying, and giving the fire of life to others.
—Lidia Yuknavitch, from "Fire: Be the Revolution" (Poets & Writers, January/February 2024)
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