#noncursed

[o17jl]

"I got my heart handed to me tonight, all bloody and frail, like a newborn colt. I thought I was going to write you a sweet poem “tender green over fragrant flowers” but today I love no one.

I’m the gravedigger’s broken guitar. I saw a granite box with my father’s bones inside. I walked this land biting back tears of contempt. I ran my nails through the mud on my tights.

At dawn I sat slowly on the edge of my mattress and put on my armor, piece by piece. The chest and neck always come first, because the dead never look comfortable in coffins.

Don’t take your eyes off me now—I’ll give you a show. I’ll curse your land, I’ll spit in the face of your god. I’ll laugh as they drag me and tie me to the stake. What does it matter to me, if you don’t care either? Isn’t it only fear that brings you to your knees?

I will swallow the burning coal of my anger, my desire. You will see me burn, and you will plead in my name. And it will hurt you more than it hurts me— because that’s how it was meant to be."

[o17jl]

Before our names Before our jobs Before the gods Before our parents Before our empty beds Before our lovers and friends Before the closed gates When do we come? I’m on my knees, can’t you see? I have worn off my voice howling at the sky And there is no answer

No golden cherub in a cloud Singing of mercy and endless love There is no one waiting for our kind We’re the ducks or were the wolves when there is hunting season among the tall grass

You have no idea How it feels to be mistreated by me only thing you got from me has always been love.

[o17jl]

The want, the others — something

We know in our hearts where the issue comes from: the desire for community, the touch starvation—physical and emotional—bred by years of virtual attempts at relationships, or the lack of them. “Giving a fuck” where it isn’t deserved. Trying to comply with the expectations of unknown faces, for whom our own faces and realities are equally unknown. We struggle to put the question into practice:

“Why would I care?”

Yet we circle back to the same place; we care too much, we can’t help it. Is it in our nature as social animals? Then why are some people able to ignore injustice and horror with such ease? Is it that we can only truly care about what affects us directly? Can we really be reduced to that?

I want to believe I can be and do better than a self-centered jerk, blind to the hunger and pain of the strangers around me. I work actively to do better—to not forget that someone always has it worse. But even so, trapped in the cell of my own hyperconsciousness, devouring myself alive, I can’t escape the laws of the solitary ego.

The desperate urge to stop wanting—that, in itself, is just another want. The hunger for unnamed things, never had and lost—or forgotten. The craving to build real bridges of communication with the world, only to face the truth of a planet populated by a few golden hearts in an ocean of rot.

So, back to the main argument: no, it seems we can’t escape our hunger. Or at least, not for long. And it’s such a cruel thing, the one sweetening our way back into those wants again—it’s hope. The hope injected by kind gestures, easy conversations, the so very rare human warmth, dying once more in the bitter mud of the world; you can trust so little, you can want so much.

[o17jl]

Kiss it better.

[o17jl]

I’ll show you my heart.

[o17jl]

July 13, 2023

I try to tell myself that I can find my heart within the mess, but I see the weariness on my eyes and the bloody teeth collected on my hands. I have lived a lot for so little life. I have learned everything about survival except what to do after reaching the shelter. Tell me, what do I do with all this time? Can I do something with this mind? If you took my face in your hands, so warm and tender, I could not look into your eyes a single moment, but I would like to die right there, not live another minute, so as not to remember the moment when you let go.

I am the hungry dog in the backyard. What I wouldn't give to be something else. Simpler and happier. Simpler and happier. Simpler and happier.

[o17jl]

November 11, 2025

I’ll never come back from this. I’ll feel alone and restless forever. Not even in your arms, not even in mine.

We’re doomed—and yet… it’s never stopped us before. From falling, like this, into this pit of longing.

[o17jl]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈’𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞. 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐝. 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐈 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞? 𝐈𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬? 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐈𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮.