I think the poets might disagree —
Sasha ·︎ '94, October 7th ·︎ He/Him
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@chorraich
I think the poets might disagree —
Sasha ·︎ '94, October 7th ·︎ He/Him

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Have I always been this anxious? Was it always in my blood? Was the trigger your recklessness, or the ending of his beating heart?
It’s October again. The convergence of heaven and hell.
Ellie and Joel <3
How come that it’s only been half more than a month, but your claws in my chest have left deeper cuts than the years of fangs in my neck.
— You’re leaving me to crumble, while I still try to build your throne.
this is my roman empire as of today

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The boops are making my day. Especially since I tend to draw little paws like the boops on letters or notes or basically any surface that’s free to draw on.
boop'd
The first time I killed myself was at four years old. It’s when my father told me to stop crying with his fist on my cheek, instead of his words in my ear.
The second time I killed myself, I was seven years old. I waited for my father to pick me up, ran up and down the streets and all I took back home were bruised knees and blistered feet.
The third time I killed myself was two years later. It was my favourite room and she is five years older and her hand played a game that I didn’t like.
The fourth time I killed myself was at 19. He used more than a hand and more than a body to touch me that night and I still don’t like knives.
The fifth time I killed myself was at 23. I think 23 is too young to die and that he should’ve had more time.
The sixth time I killed myself, I was still 28. Six months ago. He didn’t notice, but I couldn’t even move.
I hope the seventh time I kill myself, I will not die out of violence, but out of love.
All that I can tell you is that nothing can justify it, not even the most sacred ends in the world, not even peace itself.
Refaat Alareer, from Gaza Writes Back, 2014
something abt johnny being raised catholic

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Dance 💞
“Love with the Hands Wide Open” by Lisa Suhair Majaj from We Call to the Eye & the Night: Love Poems by Writers of Arab Heritage
some of y’all didn’t have a bootleg dvd guy your dad somehow knew growing up and it shows

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Love is parked at my heart tonight, we are dancing to the sounds of the night, You’re here, so close that I don’t know what’s the essence of distance anymore. Just like this season, we are carved carefully between the edges of a constellation. I cannot put all that I feel in a word called love, so don’t believe the words for it can never hold the feeling warm enough. If there's anything as pure, it’s only the eyes. Only the eyes that can dare to hold all my love for a fraction of a moment before it pours it out. So, don’t take these words even if they hold your heart all warm and cozy, instead just look into my eyes and let the tints tell you the colours I don’t talk about. My heart is full tonight, some of my fears had to move out, you’ve taken up all the space. You surely know how to take what’s yours. You know the way too well to my heart to ever ask for directions.
- trustonlystars | Jannie F
I swear by every God I don’t believe in to revel in your sin. I swear to love you even with the demons from within.
— for IV.