#writers bloc

[inknopewetrust]

i’ve done like 7 drafts since monday for my booker x oc fic and that’s for PART 1 ONLY. I don’t even have the background figured out and IM STUCK HELLLLPPP MEEEEEEEEE

i want to have part 1 published by August 9th so Sunday. 

[idris-skies]

it’s harder when your skin doesn’t fit against mine we slide past each other  in measured breaths.  you try to grab my hand but I’m always too far away.  looking in the other direction.  or maybe just loving someone else.  maybe just not loving myself.  I don’t have a word for this in any language that I know.  il dolore dell’assenza. la mancanza dell’amore. we press our palms together but there’s  still an inch of space.  you kiss me and i feel nothing. 

09/04/17

[idris-skies]

I am emotion I am shake-gasp flutter-happy sob-breath angry-clench

I am your boyfriend when you extract yourself with careful fingers he’d woven you two  together too tightly the thread breaks. 

I am the black at the funeral the masks the rain on everyone’s faces the temporary shade of the flowers

I am little girl  laugh, purer than your hands could ever hope to be  anymore.

Embrace me.  I have power over you. 

[idris-skies]

my bones tremble  my breath shakes this is unrest this is “ i don’t belong here” i’ve dirtied my feet on streets older than my country monuments more beautiful than anything in dreams i washed my hands in the water of moving art fumbled my way around a language that i love but don’t entirely understand (every syllable is artwork) i found love (for a country) (for her people)  (for you) 

07/08/2016

[idris-skies]

I exhale explanations from my childhood old hatred despair shaking hands sunshine disassociation literary trances I remember the screaming, the fighting, the crying a picture painted in only blues and reds a hot flush to the face cold breeze of shame it’s all scattered memories like skipping scenes through an old DVD I used to sing my stories back then I used to believe in escape I used to pray for it. 

24/05/2017

[idris-skies]

My grandmother has always loved flowers but my grandfather removes every beehive at her word She sweeps dirt off the walkway  in the garden Prunes away trees that obstruct her view of nature Lives for minimalism I remember the summer where the mint conquered the garden. I’d never known that oppression could smell as sweet.  Grandmother.  How have you lived and not yet learned  that the pond needs the geese, the grass needs the leaves,  and the trees need to be. 

21/05/2017

[qupritsuvwix]

Writers Protest NYT Gaza Coverage With Posters of Journalists Killed by Israel

Members of the group Writers Bloc staged an action during an awards dinner chaired by New York Times President Meredith Kopit Levien.

[cyanidevamp]

I hate the character limit so much right now