in my not so roaring twenties | awkward by nature & nurtureĀ | a haven for art and words | a blog on be(com)ing an artist | Meredith Casemore | she/her
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Look, I know a good number of you are from the US and things aren't amazing there either, but my country is literally on the brink of collapse. So I'd love it if we could talk about that for a minute.
If you can't do anything else, please just read and reblog.
A second COVID wave has taken out the healthcare system. There are no more hospital beds. There's an oxygen shortage. There's a critical vaccine shortage. The Central Government has thrown its hands up and is passing the baton to the State Governments to do what they can.
There are over 16 million covid cases. A record 330,000 new cases reported yesterday - comparable to the US at its peak. 187,000 dead as of today.
There is no plan.
Mass cremations are taking place. The cremation grounds are running day and night and they are short on wood. People are watching their loved ones die while waiting for a hospital bed, and then they're unable to give them the proper burial rights.
Hospitals are overwhelmed. Patients are being confined, two to a bed. They're the lucky ones.
We are on the verge of people dying in the streets.
This is the second-most populous country in the world. The largest democracy. A country that encapsulates over 15,000 years of recorded human history and has endured everything from famine to invasion to colonisation.
We might be at the end. This might be the thing that does us in.
People are dying.
People are dying.
People are dying and there is no plan.
More good news? Variants are popping up. A double mutation strain has shown up. It is resistant to current vaccines. This will not go away. This is the devastation they warned of when the anti-maskers were out protesting the minor inconvenience of covering their face in public.
My country is on the verge of an emergency state. Our government has failed us. This is as dire a situation as it ever could be.
Look. I don't do much with my life. I write fics, some of you have read them and that's pretty much it. I spend my days with my head in the clouds because that's where I like to be.
But two days ago, my grandmother tested positive, had to be taken to hospital and the ambulance caught fire.
She barely made it to the urgent care she needs.
So, here I am, using whatever meager platform I have to cobble this request together. Because I have to do something.
āSomeone can be madly in love with you and still not be ready. They can love you in a way you have never been loved and still not join you on the bridge. And whatever their reasons you must leave. Because you never ever have to inspire anyone to meet you on the bridge. You never ever have to convince someone to do the work to be ready. There is more extraordinary love, more love that you have never seen, out here in this wide and wild universe. And there is the love that will be ready.ā
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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āI know this transformation is painful but youāre not falling apart; youāre just falling into something different, with a new capacity to be beautiful.ā
āWhen you give your heart away, you usually get it back in pieces, fragments. And often, a great deal of time passes before you realize that every piece wasnāt returned to youāand probably never will be. You crave nothing more than to get those smallābut vitalāfragments back; to return to the unbroken, undamaged version of yourself. But whatās been broken cannot be unbroken, and so all you can do is learn to live with the void of the missing pieces, to somehow find beauty in the wreckage.ā
By peeling insecurities away
like withered kitchen wallpaper
stained with ambivalence,
he taught me that I could be loved.
Caressing diligently, laboriously
every last harmful thought
that should so much as flutter
in a mind as impressionable
as mine.
Year in, year out.
Picking wounds or picking flowers?
I could never tell.
The mossy overgrowth of a damaged child
seemed to him a field of petals,
pinkĀ and innocent, filled with dreams.
My weeds were roses in his eyes
untilĀ they werenāt.
Father time may dote upon the supple young,
but has no patience for the ripened old.
As my garden ceased to be his Eden,
I realized that I was no longer
his Eve.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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That is part of the beauty of literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you're not lonely and isolated from everyone. You belong.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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there is danger in numbers
days passed, months spent in suppression.
fears accumulated. too many to count
the odds were always against us, my darling
yet we remain, piling chips onto
a table of dreams, tame and tender,
soft yet precise. darting glances
over card tricks, baiting breathĀ
with lovely surrender.
My king of hearts,
this round
Iām all in.
poetry bothering thee @evergreenpoetree - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
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