Salma Deera, Letters from Medea

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Salma Deera, Letters from Medea
The Row Fleur Brushed Wool and Cashmere-blend Coat
Duomo di Siena by Marco Scalcon.
“...not all stories have happy endings; but that doesn't mean they're not worth the read.”
— Cassia Leo, Black Box.
David (1501-1504), by Michelangelo. Heart edit.
― Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless
“As I grow older, I pay less attention to what men say. I just watch what they do.”
— Andrew Carnegie
If nature is innate survival,
and violence is learned
I wonder who taught me best
to hate myself
before anyone else
This is the part no one talks about:
existing in the space between grief and growth,
where words without forethought are caustic
and I fear another tragedy,
my life becoming a divine comedy—
god’s joke and punchline—
with standing room only
But joy comes in the morning;
from body to mind
from steel to citrus
from sorrow to whatever is after
I sit in my own dark
with the feelings,
and the callousness,
and the fear,
and the coldness of my own hands.
I sit,
and I sit,
and I sit
and wonder
what birds dream about
in the space between
But joy comes in the morning
and so do birds,
so whatever they dream,
it must be enough;
it must be whatever follows on the heels of sorrow
“Attention is the purest form of generosity.”
— Unknown
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@mrgryphon - The thrill, the fear, the hope, oil on paper, 2021
WELCOME TO THE WANTING. IT IS HEAVY HERE. (cc: @jonismitchell)
caption: The Wanting, @jonismitchell // Água Viva, Clarice Lispector // Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen // x // Imitation of Life (1959) // South London Forever, Florence and the Machine // Plainwater: Essays and Poetry, Anne Carson // All Too Well, Taylor Swift // New York Movie, Edward Hopper // Reading too much into a Tongue bite by Me // I want you to Love Me, Fiona Apple // IWYTLM genius annotation // Ada Limón on Preparing the Body for a Reopened World // The Unabridged journals of Sylvia Plath // He Held Radical Light: the Art of Faith, the Faith of Art, Christian Wiman // x // Hunger, Florence and the Machine // Eye Level: Poems, Jenny Xie // Big God, Florence and the Machine // Ada Limón // Emily Dickinson correspondences with Sue // Sharks in the River, Ada Limón // x // Nobody, Mitski // I will name this tragedy after you by Me // Litany in which certain things are crossed out, Richard Siken //
Romance in the shadows of our daydreams
I held your open palm,
my fingernails traced the valleys of your hand,
creating invisible lines
and willing new paths into existence.
The curl of our hands as babies
and the strength with which we held our mothers
does not define our life span
or with how much vigor we will live
and love.
I am no oracle,
no miracle worker,
no witch of the woods from the stories,
but I know intention,
and how to unwork curses
placed upon you by a world
that claims to know you better than yourself.
Open your hands,
I will dethread those lines,
and sew them into a winter hat
so the only time you will mull over your death
is when the trees, too, are nothing but bones
to keep you company.
When spring arrives
and the world is budding,
you can remove it,
breaking your own curse
with the hands you thought were your damnation.
I am no oracle,
no miracle worker,
but if you place your hands on me,
I will help you smother those lines
and create new ones
simply because I, too, once held my hand
in a tiny fist and wanted
all that the world could give me.
Our spring is coming.
Meld your lines against mine.
We will make fools of the Fates
who cannot see where one path begins
and another one ends.
I hope this falling apart is so graceful,
that Icarus himself would envy it.
Marina Tsvetaeva, from “One A Red Horse”, Bride of Ice
mihaly zichy ‘romantic encounter’ + these violent delights, micah nemerever