🕵🏾♀️ - teenage girl in the world with an appetite for writing, thank you kindly for visiting...
i write my best work when i'm home, under the canopy of a familiar palm tree stretching its leaves out to me, in the gentle caress of a warm, wrinkled hand cradling my cheek. here is where my mind is ever-giving, an endless spout of glittery, multi-coloured creativity; where dreams larger than life feel somehow reachable. i reach and jump now, wishing the tide would carry me there. wishing i could…
enough of abysses that talk back. enough of the inferno that chases you wherever you go. enough of 'love'. enough of everyday life. enough of the endless noise, the to and fro, restless pacing around. enough of you, o mere illusion. enough of you, enjoyment delusion. unhand me, now, you warped world! i am human, not beast nor blinding light. i am your wretch, as you are mine. try your hand, best…
how immediate, death is. how harrowing. when we forget that its looming head is constantly peering over at us between lilac skies and lily-laced rivers, it rattles our windowpanes and tap tap taps at our doorframes in the dead of night when we're fast asleep; shell shocking and incomprehensible, reminds us who, exactly, is the eternal conqueror - may the Lord above have infinite mercy upon you, M.…
think not of what love 'is' or what it ought to be instead, consider this: tears shed under a black sky and a full moon a familiar street sign, intersection, traffic light coming home to people, not a place the sun rising from the same window, casting shadows on your face in the same way exchanged gifts popped water balloons, a child's tiara, matching pj's, a shared meal, the corner store down the…
I wrote the following on December 28, 2022 you can only imagine what spurred these musings as first semester finals approach! Sundays are for mourning. Yearning, pondering, longing. All regrets of the week join together and concentrate their restless reminding into Sunday. The smell of laundry. Turmoil building up into unshed tears inside. Sundays are for the poets and philosophers and great…