YOU ARE NOW ENTERING THE HUMAN HEART

tread softly as you go she/her, 22

[heavensghost]

Apple zine! With a little poem I wrote

[havingapoemwithyou]

Crush by Ada Limón

[nunhauntology]

RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOURSELF MEANS THAT YOU DON’T FALL FOR SHALLOW AND EASY SOLUTIONS

ADRIENNE RICH

[salemwitchtrials-deactivated202]

Coming to Writing, Hélène Cixous

[luthienne]

Childhood does not end in one fell swoop, as we wished it would when we were children. It lingers, crouching silently in our adult, then wizened bodies, until one day, many years later, when we think that the heavy burden of bitterness and despair we've been shouldering has turned us irredeemably into adults, it reappears with the force and speed of a lightning bolt, wounding us with its freshness, its innocence, its unerring dose of naivety, but most all with the certainty that this really and truly is the last glimpse we shall have of it.

Guadalupe Nettel, from The Accidentals (tr. Rosalind Harvey)

[weltenwellen]

Wait Galway Kinnell

[firstfullmoon]

Something big happens. Something bigger than you. My mother marches at a student protest in 1984, wearing suede boots, the sun rising over the mountain. Or, seventy years earlier, Kafka wakes up and learns that Franz Ferdinand was assassinated. Sunlight moves through the water glass on the nightstand. God comes down to Moses and tells him to refuse to golden calf, to take his children out of Egypt. My great-great-grand-father leaves his tribe on the Iranian border and settles in Afghanistan and says the Shahada. A whistleblower sits in a courtroom, his gaze turned towards a blue book that contains the sentence that will define his fate. Trials are held. The world spins. We send rockets into space, robots that take pictures of planets we have never been to. We write down the law, we amend it, and we define who is good, who bad. Documents are classified, hidden for years. Exile. War. Terrorism. A girl brushes her hair and plants a bomb in a café in Algeria. I felt no regrets. I did it for my people, she will say from her prison cell. Apokalypsis, which means revelation: the bride removing the veil, turning her face in the direction of the grainy wind. Sand fluttering in her eyes. You watch the news; everything you feared is true: They hate us. You belong, you understand, to the others. You think of Celan’s “Todesfuge,” the image of graves in the sky. You think of Palestine. And then, as always, there is loneliness. A loneliness as old as your childhood.

— Aria Aber, Good Girl

[funeral]

Roland Barthes, Mourning Diary

[firstfullmoon]

Gabrielle Calvocoressi, “No Poems Today,” in The New Economy

[explicitlyrics]

This is by a patient of mine with early late stage dementia, who was a poet for most of her life. Her new poems are dictated to me during writing workshops I run at my hospice job. She hadn't written since her diagnosis. This is one of seventeen poems I've written with her so far.

posted with permission from herself and her family.

[theinternetarchive]

She died early this morning.

I’ve been doing poetry since I could write but I do think she was my only teacher.

Working with her was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I mean it when I say you all are so lucky to get even this glimpse at the majesty of her work.

In her words from another poem (not posted):

I am not the only creature watching

All of this,

Drinking it in.

I have a companion,

The cat who sleeps in the backyard

Is watching, too,

And there is so much to be.

[soracities]

“It’s summer now, and you’re craving a simpler existence. You want to read. You want to write. You want to meet strangers for dinner, and not refuse another drink at another bar. You want to dance. You want to find yourself in a basement, neck loose, bobbing your head as a group of musicians play, not because they should, but because they must. It’s summer now, and you’re looking forward to worrying less. You’re looking forward to longer nights and shorter days. You’re looking forward to gathering in back gardens and watching meat sputter on an open barbecue. You’re looking forward to laughing so hard your chest hurts and you feel light-headed. You’re looking forward to the safety in pleasure. You’re looking forward to forgetting, albeit briefly, the existential dread which plagues you, which tightens your chest, which pains your left side. You’re looking forward to forgetting that, leaving the house, you might not return intact. You’re looking forward to freedom, even if it is short, even if it might not last. You’re looking forward.”

— Caleb Azumah Nelson, Open Water

[metamorphesque]

'things there are no words for, but should be', tatheve simonyan

[notsoterriblymisanthropic]

I am asking them, as I am continually asking myself, to imagine a heart that feels a connection to the hearts of others, even others you do not know. I would like to think that this is what nudges me forward, more than some mythological concept of “hope.” In the silence of a room after the reading of a poem, when the only sounds are small gasps and sniffles, I can say to myself that we are all carrying a unique ache, or a unique memory, or a unique desire that the poem ignited. And I would like to know about it. I would like to know what few inches of the wretched world can be made into an adequate space for you to mourn, or to make a plate of food, or to dance in your living room, or to bury something you’ve finally decided to put down.

Hanif Abdurraqib, In Defense of Despair

[makethewordsyours]

My name is Abed.

I’m a survivor from Gaza, holding on to hope in a world that has fallen apart around me. 💔

The life I once knew — my home, my family, my sense of safety — has been shattered by war. Today, I live among the ruins, trying to find a path forward through the rubble and heartbreak. 🏚

Every moment is a battle against fear and uncertainty. What was once ordinary — a safe place to sleep, a future to dream of — now feels like a distant memory. 🕊️

I share my story not to seek pity, but to keep hope alive — to believe that even in the darkest places, kindness can still find a way. 🤍

If my story touches your heart, please consider sharing it or offering support. Every voice, every act of care, brings me one step closer to safety. ✨

Thank you for taking the time to listen. 🙏

Post Link

!!!!!!

[makethewordsyours]

Hi there,

I’m reaching out with a quiet hope in my heart. These days are heavy, and my family is living through a reality filled with uncertainty—but I’m still here, doing my best to hold on and keep going.

If you have a moment, please check out my pinned post.

A simple share could help it reach someone who might be able to make a difference.

If you’re able to give, even the smallest kindness can bring light into the darkest places.

Your time, your voice, your compassion — it all matters more than you know.

With deep gratitude,

@nadinfamily

boosting!!

[makethewordsyours]

‼️‼️Please Don't Skip Me‼️‼️

Dear humanity,

I'm Amal, a mother of three children, living under the weight of the genocide taking place in Gaza. 🍉

The Israeli occupation forces launched drone strikes on my husband, Fayez, and my son, Mohammad.

Although my husband's condition has stabilized, my son is still suffering immensely and urgently needs medical treatment outside Gaza.

I lost most of my family. I'm afraid to lose my son too 🥺 .

I need your help please donate and share, evry contribution, no matter how small, brings us hope in these dark times.

Mohammed deserves to live a happy and healthy life, just like every other child on this earth.

So I humbly ask you to donate even a little or at least reblog this appeal.

Please Donate now:👇

https://gofund.me/d272a0d1

Ddonate Via Paypal 👇

https://www.paypal.com/donate

my bad for never checking my asks, boosting here!!!!

[firstfullmoon]

Fady Joudah, “Remove”

+ his essay “My Palestinian Poem That “The New Yorker” Wouldn’t Publish”