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RETURN TO SENDER.

NERIUM OLEANDER. LAVENDER. SOFT RAIN. BARELY AUDIBLE JAZZ. SHADES OF BLUE. YOUR HAND IN MINE. HURRICANES. ROSE QUARTZ OFTEN PAIRED WITH SERENITY. WARSAN. KATAKAMUKHA. WHEN YOU SAY MY NAME. WARM OCEAN WAVES. HER WHOM I LOVE MOST. CHANDRAKALA. MORE SHADES OF BLUE PAIRED WITH FUZZY SOCKS. LEMONGRASS. MAXIMILLIAN. CLOCKS STRIKING THIRTEEN. THE MAGNUS INSTITUTE. NINE TAILED FOX. WARM VANILLA. CITRUS TEA. THE ESOTERIC AND UNCANNY. WHEN UNAKKUL NAANE. PHILOMENA. THE DICHOTOMY OF HURT. ONE THOUSAND AND ONE. YOUR SHADES OF BROWN AND PINK. VALAR MORGHULIS AND VALAR DOHAERIS. FALLEN ANGEL ARCHETYPE. LYRA BELACQUA. THE MAHABARATA AND RAMAYANA. MY GRIEF PERSONIFIED AS FLOWERS BLOOMING. FALLING IN LOVE WITH DETAILS. CERASEE. THE UNDISTURBED POETS SOCIETY. SAMSARA AND MOKSHI.

RETURN TO SENDER.

grief is such an indescribable emotion when you live your life as an avatar of it and wear all the things you so helplessly miss and mourn as skin.

because grief in and of itself does not equal sadness or negate growth which makes it such an infuriating process because you don't even know where you are in the middle of it all and often theres the question of "am i past this yet?" but then again, grief doesn't always sum up to longing or nostalgia. it can be resentment, emptiness, this big ball of memories (or the lack thereof) which propels you into a sense of imposter syndrome because why aren't you grieving the way other people do?

there’s a negative connotation associated with grief that once you’re grieving, you’re forever broken in a place that can never be repaired.

but i think grief is more like someone kicking you in the back of your knee. you wobble, for a long time and then sometimes it’ll be a thought or a phrase or a picture and it’ll feel like that same person kicked you in the back of the knee all over again. until eventually you start standing perfectly firm — the kicks will still come but you’ll weather it and carry it in stride like a reminder, stand straight. stand firm.

humans are so inherently wicked and beautiful all at the same time and only a lonely human could create the idea of an ever present being called god as an explanation for each intricate detail of our own psyche that we can’t understand . that, and only an omnipresent being free of wickedness themselves could want humans to fill that void of inexperience

i think about 꽃샘추위 alot because what do you mean the cold envies flowers... it’s so beautiful and devastating

dreaming of someone who hasn't even touched you is as devastating as watching a white lily drown in murky water or a toad laying flat on a mountain of salt because my whole body knows you, every single nerve ending and fibre of my subconscious is familiar with your being to know it’s you in my dreams, no matter how obscured your figure may be. and yes, you might not know what a flower feels like when it’s drowning or what a toad feels when salt permeates its skin and sucks all the moisture from its body in the same way i don’t know what your hand feels like in mine but in those dreams, i just know it’s you because both the fear of outcome and unknowing can be true at the same time.

the bar for art is so unbelievably low because humans have adopted this box method where it’s all about tropes, aesthetics, labels and the complete incorrect use of the word niche for some reason? art is no longer esoteric and unsettling or leaves you with a million questions to think about even long after it should’ve already left your mind — it’s all sam i am and guy am i and very big words for very little nothings

this whole tortured poet thing was cute until it wasn't i’m not sorry

i hate to be the one to break it to you and i’ll hold your hand when i say this but knowing, relating and actively emulating sylvia plath, kafka, camus, etc etc does not make you special or an intellectual and i fear i must look you in your eyes when i say making your whole personality an aesthetic based on eurocentric academia built on white supremacy ≠ being an academic or a tortured poet, and in reality the knowledge you have is actually very subpar and in no way niche so i beg you stop believing you’re gatekeeping some grand piece of literature because i guarantee you’re not one in a million for crying about how “no one understands” your fig tree

“women supporting women” until that woman is not conventionally attractive or as educated as you

the way people pick and choose which zionists to actively support is crazy to me because yes let’s all make a huge block list while subsequently leaving out our favorites because omg no wdym she’s a zionist because she hasn’t spoken up? you don’t know what she donates to in private ! name a man you’re attacking the way you attack her (i must get tickets to her show though) and btw don’t buy that brand ! don’t stream that song ! my brother in christ in marathi we have a creole word called mummukut and it is you.

“i hate capitalism” but you can’t live without things you absolutely have no need for. “i’m an empath” but it’s 'same' and 'i understand' until you realize you don’t actually understand because the idea of it all or just imagining it happening to you makes you feel sick to your stomach.

there is nothing more revolting to me than the phrase “i understand” in that specific context because do you? do you truly and wholly understand? it’s almost as angering as laughing in my face tbh because whooooo are youuuu to say you understand?

sam selvon was so right with the way he wrote tiger in ways of sunlight because he knew for a fact that only people who had lived a life that mirrored his would understand why tiger would’ve starved himself, urmilla and that damn baby to get to town and work for those stupid white people because to struggle is to hate the version of yourself that was born into it and was constantly grateful for absolutely nothing but ignorance and hunger while constantly performing for people who don’t even know where you lay your head at night or if you ate a meal

with spring comes fruit trees and with fruit trees comes the devastating knowledge that everything must blossom before it bears including me

“you don't get to invalidate your own experience by using other people as an excuse” is the best and worst thing i think i’ve heard in months because on one hand it’s this constant need to be grateful and present myself as ever loving and ever appreciative of even the wind that blows because without gratitude you’re stuck in an endless cycle of devastating comparison while on the other hand it’s the fact that being grateful does not negate suffering. why are you suffering and saying thankyou or “at least i’m not...” voicing struggle ≠ being ungrateful or unappreciative and idk why it’s so hard for me to learn that accepting wind does not mean i should say thankyou during a storm.

no one talks about how exhausting it is to live with rolls of barbed wire type hate inside of you and still choose to be kind. for all you've lost, you love some more. for all you've hurt, you live some more and it's this endless cycle of trying to fold these large masses of barbed wire inside of you into the neatest squares possible and tuck them in a corner inside of you so when people come by you can say, "that's my barbed wire, it's there but atleast it's neat and set aside." and you can say, "oh i'm hurting but i love and i love and i love." and it feels good in the moment, but that barbed wire is a part of you. all of that negativity and hurt and resentment for what is and what could've been and what should and i guess at some point you start leaving your wires unfolded for people to trip over because well, if you've been scarring your hands to fold it for so long, who cares what happens to them?

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