Rashé @rashestarr - Tumblr Blog

Isn't it interesting how living and dying are considered antonyms, yet they are parallels and, dare I say, in some ways, even synonyms? If you're living, it means you're dying — slowly or quickly, you're getting closer to death, whether inching forward or rushing headlong.

I understand that the dictionary tells us living and dying are antonyms because, on the surface, they’re framed and presented as mutually exclusive states: you’re either alive or you’re dead. It simplifies the human experience into neat and manageable boxes as if we move from one "phase" or "stage" to the next in a clean move.

But life doesn’t really work like that, does it? From the moment we begin, we’re also ending. We don’t go from "living" to "dying" as separate stages — we are dying as we live. The dictionary, in its black and white rigid definitions, misses the poetry of it all.

musings on living and dying

achillesinhighheels

weepingwidar

Laurent Grasso (French, 1972) - Studies into the Past (series) (2025)

weepingwidar

Joseph Dilnot (British, 1997) - The Pit (2024)

zakarijukai

Back again. Deleted Instagram and twitter. Hopefully I can get some reading done and watch some cool films. And I have so much school work to catch up. I'm also doing some courses for my career. I'm stressed. Been applying for soo many jobs but it's so hard. Wish it was 2009 again. The economy sucks. Ugggh.

I'm back here. I love this little app. It's like my own personal diary. No bad vibes just cool aesthetics pics and corny poetry. I think I'm gonna keep writting everyday. Hope no one finds this page coz this is literally my digital diary. Re-reading some of my entries from last just showed how important it is to document your life, I'm gonna try to be more consistent. Gonna start taking more pics of myself, making art, reading and journaling.

#lemonade 2016

Currently obsessed with lemonade (2016) and it's aesthetics. Gonna rewatch the film.

#lemonade 2016

gracious-bones

fypoetry

the unbearable weight of staying (the end of the relationship)

i don’t know when love became elusive

what i know, is that no one i know has it my fathers arms around my mothers neck fruit too ripe to eat, a door half way open when your name is a just a hand i can never hold everything i have ever believed in, becomes magic. i think of lovers as trees, growing to and from one another searching for the same light, my mothers laughter in a dark room, a photograph greying under my touch, this is all i know how to do, carry loss around until i begin to resemble every bad memory, every terrible fear, every nightmare anyone has ever had. i ask did you ever love me? you say of course, of course so quickly that you sound like someone else i ask are you made of steel? are you made of iron? you cry on the phone, my stomach hurts i let you leave, i need someone who knows how to stay.

dear moon (the distraction)

we blame you for floods for the flush of blood for men who are also wolves and even though you could pull the tide in by its hair we tell people that we walked all over you we blame you for the night for the dark for the ghosts you cold unimaginable thing following us home, we use you to see each others frail naked bodies beneath your blue light, we let you watch; you swollen against the glass breath a halo of steam as we move against one another wet and desperate like fish under a waterlogged sky.

how to wear your mothers lipstick (the desperation)

you must wear it like she wears disappointment on her face

you must hide the surprise of tasting other men on your lips your mother is a woman and women like her cannot be contained. you find the black tube inside her beauty case, where she keeps your fathers old prison letters, you desperately want to look like her film star beauty, you hold your hand against your throat your mother was most beautiful when sprawled out on the floor half naked and bleeding. you go to the bathroom to apply the lipstick, somewhere no one can find you your teeth look brittle against the deep red slickness you smile like an infant, your mouth is a wound you look nothing like your mother you look everything like your mother. you call your ex boyfriend, sit on the toilet seat and listen to the phone ring, when he picks up you say his name slow he says i thought i told you to stop calling me you lick your lips, you taste like years of being alone. questions for the woman i was last night (the honest conversation) how far have you walked for men who’ve never held your feet in their laps?

how often have you bartered with bone, only to sell yourself short?

why do you find the unavailable so alluring?

where did it begin?

what went wrong?

and who made you feel so worthless?

if they wanted you, wouldn’t they have chosen you?

all this time, you were begging for love silently, thinking they couldn’t hear you, but they smelt it on you,

you must have known that they could taste the desperate on your skin?

and what about the others that would do anything for you, why did you make them love you until you could not stand it?

how are you both of these women, both flighty and needful?

where did you learn this, to want what does not want you?

where did you learn this, to leave those that want to stay?

i think i know what we did wrong (the realization)

we loved like two people who did not know god. (as if we had not used every prayer every surah every ayah asking god for something like this) subhanallah, what a shame. for women who are difficult to love (the affirmation) you are a horse running alone and he tries to tame you compares you to an impossible highway to a burning house says you are blinding him that he could never leave you forget you want anything but you you dizzy him, you are unbearable every woman before or after you is doused in your name you fill his mouth his teeth ache with memory of taste his body just a long shadow seeking yours but you are always too intense frightening in the way you want him unashamed and sacrificial he tells you that no man can live up to the one who lives in your head and you tried to change didn’t you? closed your mouth more tried to be softer prettier less volatile, less awake but even when sleeping you could feel him travelling away from you in his dreams so what did you want to do love split his head open? you can’t make homes out of human beings someone should have already told you that and if he wants to leave then let him leave you are terrifying and strange and beautiful something not everyone knows how to love. (the prayer) ya allah, if it will keep my heart soft, break my heart everyday.

-Warsan Shire