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ādo you think i am an automaton? ā a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? do you think, because i am poor, obscure, plain, and little, i am soulless and heartless? you think wrong! ā i have as much soul as you ā and full as much heart! and if god had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, i should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. i am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh: it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at god's feet, equal ā as we are!ā
Oct 3, 2024
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you know what i find really interesting? that iāve never not started a big little post like this without the words āyou know what i find really interestingā?
anyone who has ever met me has been a victim of this same quote, with no fault of their own, i am but a broken record
āthe entirety of your life is either waiting for the really good things or the really bad thingsā (my father)
you know what i find really interesting?
numbness.
not itās presence , not its absence, rather the fact it exists at all.
i am
moved
by the fact i can be moved
i often wonder if i have felt the entirety of emotions possible my disposal
have i ever really been in love?
can i look upon you with tears in your eyes and say, definitively, i know how you feel?
is your happiness mine? do you understand my desires as i understand yours? i am but words on a screen and pixels that stand before you in their own right, words that are not contingent on your comprehension yet secretly hope and pray they do not fall on deaf ears.
i do not need your validation, but i want it. tell me i am beautiful, or smart, or that the funny words i use are any different than another teenage girls, tell me you know too what it is like to be numb, and sad, and happy, and hungry.
why do we write? why do we express? to remind you that i too am human, grappling with my own mortality every day? am i writing for you?
Feb 11, 2025
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i canāt listen to music without thinking about her. every piece of shitty poetry that condemns my for you page makes me think of her in our living room. she is holding bills as she sits on our couch, a calculator on the table and a glass in the other hand. i will ask her what she wants for dinner, and she will tell me.
thereās something so guttural about knowing you want to love someone for the rest of your life. that little moments like a dinner order are exactly what will give you the drive to wake up and slave away to a 9 to 5. ive been thinking about what i wanna be a lot lately. i think itās honestly teaching. philosophy. i like to imagine myself as a philosophy professor discussing love with my students, i would tell them about my little artist at home and our baby girl and how i too thought marriage was simply the removal of autonomy until it befell my door.
i think thatās a normal way to feel, with tubes of āthe good ol ball and chainā and ācanāt live with her canāt live without herā down our throats like prospective foie gras.
but my love is gentle. it is patient. it is kind.
Mar 16, 2025
i think i am at my best when the world holds me in its arm and coddles me. kisses me ever so softly on the cheek for understanding bentham and grips my back with pressure akin to the way a mother holds her baby when the words that leave my mouth follow by oohs and ahhs
what is the purpose of dialect, if not to impress? if not to gauge, smirk, haggle with word choice? is it ever really about the expression of ideas themselves?
the world cannot coddle you forever. and it wonāt. at least consistently. i have been held for years, years years years years. and i think a few months ago, for the very first time, i was dropped on my ass with nothing to speak for myself except a plastic bowl of mushy peas and a stained onesie. to not have the cushion of a warm soft skin or cold moist soil is truly what is scary- that simply no one cares. it is just you. but it really never is just you, there will always be a woman, a mother, a plant, a god, a lackthereof.
you do not need to be coddled, because you never were. you werent satan for having a cushion, and the only thing that made you any different from jesus himself was that thatās what you called it. put your hands in the dirt, hug your mommy. eat your peas, or no dessert for you kiddo.
Apr 10, 2025
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movie posters are not ending up in the trashā¦ not if i can help it
Apr 3, 2025
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do it because you love it, because youāre passionate about it.
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