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Love Begins
Sweet Seals For You, Always
styofa doing anything

PR's Tumblrdome
Claire Keane

Discoholic 🪩
Xuebing Du
Show & Tell

roma★
NASA
ojovivo

Janaina Medeiros
Cosimo Galluzzi
we're not kids anymore.

noise dept.
trying on a metaphor

Kaledo Art


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@minwritings
subscribe to my substack, it would mean a lot ;) https://open.substack.com/pub/saewritings
inner writings of my diary. Click to read sae’s writings, a Substack publication. Launched 21 minutes ago.

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lie amore, lie
he caresses my arm, going gently over my moles and sketching over the outline of my tattoos. his fingertips slowly reach my lips as he brushes over them with such adoration in his eyes. the incandescent glisten in his eyes is so compelling, so persuasive, sort of like he's asking me to love him in his entirety. his love is sinful, he's aware of this, yet i wake up every morning, conceding every inch of my soul to him. lie amore, lie, tell me your love won't be painful anymore and i'll stay put, always.
if i were to write a book it would be based on the fact that it’s april and the tide is still there. it doesn’t weaken, it doesn’t strengthen, it just lays motionless as a sort of way to remind me that even though it hasn’t shifted, it will always be there.
the whispers of love being intangible
linger through the air
but when i look at you
i know that love can be touched
and hugged, caressed
when i place my hand within yours,
the solidity of love
is indisputable.
Mieko Kawakami, from 'Heaven'

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the innate trait
we as young girls possess
to yearn for our mothers
even when they’ve deprived our bodies
of gentleness
and we’re all empty shells
screaming for them with
the inherent longing
that’s wired into our bodies
to embrace ourselves in the arms of
disappointing mothers.
forgiveness is a figment of my imagination
a fabricated story i tell myself
a person who is inherently bad
shouldn’t deceive herself with the
mere thought of forgiveness
i write this over and over again on my anatomy
sculpting and embedding the words
across my wrists all the way to my thighs
my body is bleeding
vivid fragments of the landscape
have now turned into a displeasing grey
my smile lines
have now ceased to exist
my mirror doesn’t recognise me anymore
i am drained of all colour
i stare at the person in front of me
trying to catch her eyes
the dark void that seems to surround it
and when she finally catches my gaze
she whispers
all along,
you were born damaged
vivid fragments of the landscape
have now turned into a displeasing grey
my smile lines
have now ceased to exist
my mirror doesn’t recognise me anymore
i am drained of all colour
i stare at the person in front of me
trying to catch her eyes
the dark void that seems to surround it
and when she finally catches my gaze
she whispers
all along,
you were born damaged
on countless nights
where the air seems heavier and
the walls feel stained with my
hollow cries
i turn to the moon, naked and vulnerable
unmasking all my sorrows
and as she listens,
i let her know that
tomorrow
i’ll be by her side, making sure that
the sky glistens
as much as she does

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as the water fills my lungs
and my mouth lets out
the smallest screams for help
i realise that even though
everything is disappearing in this moment
i’m going to wake up tomorrow
and repeat the cycle
of my endless drowning
but
it’s my drowning
so i close my eyes
and begin the suffering again
august
i sit still
surrounded by individuals
the sound is deafening
yet all that i can concentrate on
is my chest dreadfully pulsating
the abundance of guilt resting inside of me
the immense sadness that comforts me
and above all
i feel the irrepressible urge
to turn around and
ask someone to save me
but
i sit still
under the moon and stars
with your hand
enfolded with mine
like an invisible lace was
intertwined within ourselves
incandescently holding us together
under the night sky,
you and i will be okay
every year on my birthday
i rip open pieces of my body
as a desperate attempt
to search for the good in me
as always,
i am greeted with inutile
streams of my blood
and fragments of my flesh
nothing more

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henry miller
i grip my loneliness in my hands
she is meagre
i hold my hands to the mirror
she is 8 year old me
she is fading
i stroke her until
she takes her last breath
and i bury her in my garden
surrounded by carnations