heartstring hostage @heartstringhostage - Tumblr Blog

I ask him to find me.

I am not his. He will not martyr me. He will not dirty his hands with me. He will leave me to die instead. Yet, he finds me. Time and time again. Does he? I am not sure. Why does he ask that? Is that all this is? Just wanted me to say that he can fuck? He did not choose me once. He chose to use me, to unleash his violence and rage onto me. And now? I am a dead body walking about town. He…

the truth is this: she takes and thus works as a taker. I observe – another form of stealing. I take: strategies, information, glances at the world’s keyhole. Thank you for trusting me with the language of your hopelessness. I rewrite. I fix. I help you heal. Is this what I do? There is more. Always more. But I keep making mistakes. I keep losing. Is it 2 steps forward, 1 step back? I am not…

Hello container. Hello mirror. Hello eyebrow. I have filled you with myself.It is in the past. How do I reach you?You rest. You breathe. I measure the straight ruler of your neck.Here it is: the gift of my silence. I tap. I tap again. You turn on your camera.I see tears.You wanted time, I gave you time.You wanted honesty, I gave you honesty. Here is one bare fact of my mistake. Nothing more.I…

givethispromptatry

花より団子

"Dumplings instead of flowers"

Origin: Japan

Meaning: Choosing something useful over something pretty

I asked chatgpt to write a poem about us

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#dailyprompt #spilled ink #journal #literature #poem #original poetry #my poetry #my poems

daily-spooky

carm3n-carm3n

firstfullmoon

Habibi (2011) dir. Susan Youssef

Habibi, a story of forbidden love, is a fiction feature set in Gaza. Two students in the West Bank are forced to return home to Gaza, where their love defies tradition. To reach his lover, Qays grafittis poetry across town. Habibi is a modern re-telling of the famous ancient Sufi parable Majnun Layla. The full Arabic title is ‘Habibi Rasak Kharban,’ which translates as “Darling, something’s wrong with your head.” — from the Palestine Film Institute

#i want to watch this

becomingvecna

— David Cronenberg, Consumed

shhhitsfine

petaltexturedskies

Emily Dickinson in a letter to Elizabeth Holland wr. c. 20 January 1856

flanarchy

shoutout to whatever staff member has this bumper sticker at my school

archbudzar

today I am graciously humbled with the reminder to keep the things I love outside of my animals reach

Grief takes me home

Grief takes me home. The anvil in my heart. I can't go from coffee to dessert to drinks that easily, he smiles & calls me rooted. Stable. Years later, I tap him on the shoulder through waves in the sky & he says I've changed. I say I've travelled and my bubblegum heart is around the forefinger and flagpole of more than one place, he smiles & calls me sweet, that I've so much to write home about.

Grief takes me home. I never write. Anyway, I'm different when I'm away, but I'm always the same back home. Iron and bubblegum. Tears and sweat. My bed, my bed, my bed. Sometimes, a friend. Sometimes, a kind word. Sometimes, a day, a week of sun. Sometimes, I fall inside my head. Iron and gum. Life is heavy and words are sticky. Sugar and dust.

Grief takes me home, yet again. But I've a tent, a rental, a deposit. I've one or two, elsewhere, a number, a text, a phone call. I'll go back, I'll go back soon. I never stay home too long.

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