therese

- “I can’t even advise you to be healthy anymore, you’ve just got to be happy in the exam”

- “Bro this isn’t even english, it isn’t even math english”

- “I’m actually just proud I haven’t started smoking yet”

- “Petrified, mate. That’s my answer to everything”

- “My tummy hurts. This should be illegal when my tummy hurts”

- (seeing a broken printer) “killing myself”

two-bees escapril prompts!

Happy almost April, friends!! In case you were unaware, April is National Poetry Month. It's actually my favorite month, for exactly that reason! Also because it's jazz month, my anniversary with Noelle (April 14th), and April 26th, which is my birthday, is ALSO Lesbian Day of Visibility!

If you're not familiar with Escapril, it was a poetry "challenge" thing on Instagram, starting in (I think) 2019, run by an account called @letsescapril. Escapril isn't officially running anymore starting this year, so a lot of different poetry accounts have taken it upon themselves to post new lists of prompts!

This is just a no-stress, fun thing encouraging people to write. I mean, I made these, and I'm sure even I won't be able to post every day. Don't pressure yourself to write every day if it's going to make it so you can't write at all! Also, feel free to respond to these with any kind of art you feel compelled to make- I'll be thrilled to witness your creations. Tag your posts with #twobeesescapril so we can all read your beautiful work!

Another list of Latin phrases, this time with soft/warm meanings. It is 2:39am as I make this list.

a te pro te: from thee for thee

ab imo pectore: from the bottom of the heart

volat hora per orbem: time files through the world

coelum versus: heavenward

concubia nocte: at dead of night

crepusculum: twilight or dusk

crescens luna: a cresent moon

cum corde: with the heart

labores solis: an eclipse of the sun

in horam viviere: to live for the moment

in rerum natura: in the nature of things

in tuto esse: in a safe place

ingens aequor: the vast ocean

inter vivos: among the living

januae mentis: inlets of knowledge

jenuis clausis: in secret, with closed doors

littera scripta manet: the written letter remains

lux mundi: light of the world

lux vitae: light of life

meo voto: by my wish

mox nox: soon night

multis cum lacrimis: with many tears

ningit: it is snowing

occidui temporis umbra: a shadow at sunset

opinio vana: an illusion

osculum pacis: kiss of peace

papilio: butterfly

par pari refero: tit for tat

per vian dolorosam: the way of sorrows

philtrum: a love potion

pluvia: rain

res rustica: a rural affair

ros marinus: rosemary

semel et semper: once and always

silva: wood or forest

sinus urbis: heart of the city

As always, happy writing!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

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💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

According to traditional Armenian belief, Grox (the writer) is a spirit who records a person's deeds during their lifetime, determining the purity of their soul. This concept may be linked to Tir, the god of writing and literature in Armenian mythology. In some interpretations, it was believed that anyone whose name Tir wrote in his notebook would die. This is where the curse "may the writer take you" originates.

During the Christian era, Grox was mistakenly represented as a Christian spirit who no longer recorded human deeds but instead determined each person's fate, inscribing it on their foreheads. Over time, Grox came to be depicted as an evil spirit, sometimes identified with Satan. Thus, the curse "get lost in Grox’s embrace," which originally signified death, took on a more negative connotation. However, this was not originally characteristic of Grox in Armenian traditional beliefs.

"Երանի գրողին, որ տարավ քեզ:"

Together they read,

i love you you have transformed me with strange tenderness and i am the monster that startles me in the mirror. and i have come full circle. i cannot allow this. this is me, myself as I was destined to be from my birth. so soft it hurts.

The lady macbeth side reads,

i love you with strange tenderness that startles me and i cannot allow myself to be so soft

The macbeth side reads,

you have transformed me and i am the monster in the mirror. i have come full circle. this. this is me, as I was destined from my birth. it hurts.

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there. And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of. It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too high in here and I can’t turn it off. For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it. Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass, say, the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep