[mielnah-deactivated20220722]

this blog is my diary it's my sketchbook it's stuff on my bedroom wall it's a pdf it's an unpublished novel it's a collage. it's all of these things

[oresti-s]

The Incest Diary, Anonymous.

[dreormeadow]

It Only Stings In The Shower

My mouth waters 

at the thought of you.

Wet lungs, swollen tongue;

dry drowning in love.

I choke politely;

napkin to the corners 

of my mouth

while hypoxia settles in. 

Devotion has always 

bruised me blue;

this time I realise 

I'm covering you too. 

Half-moon, hanging gentle. 

Only rising to mock me.

Pulling my hair

while I try to sleep.

The night leans heavy.

Stars split the sky;

pale wounds pulse memory;

dark reminders of our distance. 

I dig nails through my chest

to prove you’re in there;

someone I can't exhume.

The only way you’ll let me have you. 

My tongue iron bars

keeping you here,

pressed against my teeth.

Wishbone I will not let go. 

Every hollow under my skin

bears your shape.

I could spend my life

carving spaces to let you in.

But will you ever come willingly?

[anxeious]

they should invent a me who is not exhausted by simply being alive

[feral-ballad]

Blythe Baird, from If My Body Could Speak; “Eat”

[Text ID: “I am trying to stop doing / things that don’t make any sense. Body, / forgive me. I am trying. I am trying. I am still trying.]

[soulwr1ter]

We live and die by a different name just to be reborn to one another and life said it was love because we always find our way back to each other even when the light is lost as I can see you in the dark with nothing, but my soul meeting you there by the silence of your heart accepting I was made to hold your hand eternally this way as you are my resting place

-J.Wool, Resting Place

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“You have the blood of a poet. You have that and always will. You show, in the middle of savage things (that I like), the gentleness of your heart, that is so full of pain and light.”

— Federico García Lorca, from a letter to Miguel Hernández wr. c. April 1933

[paperbackscars]

you'll only die twice in this world: once you stop breathing and once your name is spoken for the last time. and the sad part is it doesn't necessarily come in that order.

[inkpressedpetals]

[louisegluckpdf]

anxiety will have you thinking things like "will everyone hate me if i order coffee at the coffee shop" and "will people think i'm crazy if i work out at the gym"

[persianmom-deactivated20251026]

up at 3am googling how do i break out of a repetitive cycle that both comforts and harms me

[kosmogrl]

there’s something very beautiful about being able to try again tomorrow

[mournfulroses]

Cecília Meireles, from a poem titled "Silk and Ashes," featured in Antologia poética

[oresti-s]

The Carrying, Ada Limón.

[serratedpens]

Emily Skaja, “No I Don’t Want to Connect With You on LinkedIn”

[paper-wounds]

[cache-e]

“I am nothing. I'm like someone who's been thrown into the ocean at night, floating all alone. I reach out, but no one is there. I call out, but no one answers. I have no connection to anything.”

Haruki Murakami, 1Q84 (1Q84, #1-3)