Authie_Unfiltered

There's a femicide going on is South Africa right now, here's the petition;

Just a moment of your time will be one step closer to helping those suffering because of those who think they have the right to treat our fellow humans as lesser.

Just for a moment, I get tired of living.

Tired of wondering where the rest of my life will take me, whether my people will stop loving me tomorrow. I get tired of existing in a body that grew to be ill-fitted to my soul.

I plead with the universe, for peace, for the kind of safety I'm not sure I'll ever know.

Keep both bleeding eyes set on the target.

Hold them open in defiance until they glow red.

Watch me kill in cold blood; stare as my hands steal the life from a little girl who never existed-

She sees you. She crafted herself out of stray materials [you] left her, because she knew from the moment she entered your world that the truth was unacceptable.

She sits in front of you now, nearly dead and ignoring the blood pooling from her wounds;

at peace, for once in [her] life.

Don’t. Look. Away. Don’t you dare look away.

[You] will glare into my eyes as the last of her disappears from them, and you will recognize me.

I am not the daughter you wanted.

I am not your daughter at all.

But [you] are still my father;

The least you could do is acknowledge [this].

Let me lay claim to the ‘sin’ you believe someone forced me to commit.

This poem is also posted on my substack, I'd appreciate it if you'd check it out (:

It's currently the only thing on there but I will be posting a lot more and some of it won't be cross-posted here

that moment when it's 4 am and you start wishing you had a whole ass child.

Seriously 😭

This happens every other night, I'm not even in my twenties and I don't have a partner let alone enough stability to raise a whole human, please knock me out so maybe when I wake up I won't be thinking about this anymore 🙂

I’ve never been in love.

Not the kind you’d dream about, and not the kind you’d dread.

I’ve never been kissed. Not for lack of wanting, and not for complete lack of opportunity.

I almost fell once, almost gave in to the hell that is hiding for someone who lacks the courage to to leave the draw of ‘expected’.

I was already plunging into the depths, accepting my place, when she swam to the surface and wandered away as if I wasn’t still sruggling to escape; as if she wasn’t the reason I’d taken the risk of drowning.

I could have kissed her, and that might have changed something. Maybe she wouldn’t have saved me the choice and turned away from my longing hands; the Ocean did not embrace me like I had hoped. Instead, she left me behind.

A wayward star drew my attention. And kept it, too, for a while.

He was gravity. The sort of pull I didn’t get from the Ocean. His pull was light, inviting me in.

I held fast to the warmth radiating from his arms. He accepted me, he wanted me, and drank up every bit of the attention I gave him.

But it’s dangerous to hang around a dying star, no matter how much the longing kept me going.

Too much wanting can be bad. My Star knew he was dying, he knew he didn’t know how to stop it, and he thought… with every fiber of his being he thought I could save him. That I could become the center of his universe, and keep him alive.

I knew I would die with him if I stayed. That the pieces of me would be mercilessly dragged into the black hole he would become; so I left my blazing red star to preserve what little of me there was left.

Searching for the same draw, I came up empty every time. I spent a year trying to yearn for someone who didn’t fit. The Sun felt like my dying star, at first.

It was unfair to her.

The Moon admires the Sun, and is glad to bask in her warmth, but never truly longs for her.

And it wasn’t the same. We both could tell we were a momentary comfort in each others worlds, although I fear my Sun did love me.

She isn’t a danger like the red giant. For a moment, it seemed she might whither into nothingness, but she soon returned bright as ever. The Sun has everything ahead of her, no matter if she falters.

The Earth was right there still, with her salty depths and clear-water lakes, with greenery reaching towards the moon in a way that smelt of belonging.

I couldn’t have ever touched the Earth, and so I continued to drift. Holding onto every sliver of warmth the Sun gave me, for she was all I had.

The Earth, for all her beauty and consistency, was just that- consistent. And the Moon has never been able to touch the Earth and her Oceans. Not quite.

The Sun stays in my view. Every so often I get to feel her warmth again, when she graces me with a “how are you” or an “I’m proud”.

There was never any bitterness. When it comes to each other we’re mind readers, so adept at our craft that even months of radio-silence can’t change our pace. Out of everyone in the world, my Sun knows me best, and I loath that I can’t love her.

Sometimes fear coils and writhes in my chest.

I compare myself to the moon far too much- and since the moon cannot truly touch anything around her, I wonder if I’m also destined to be alone. To be admired from afar, briefly, to be touched by the not-so-gentle hands of men and laid claim to before I’m left to continue my watching. To sit and wait.

It’s lucky I’m not really the moon. I can move and breathe, and I have the Earth under my feet.

I’ve determined that I won’t die without having felt that evasive thing pulling at my soul. I will not lose myself to the despair of wanting, and that is why I will get what I want.

My own soul is the one I’ll love first, and when I’ve mastered that, I’ll let myself be torn apart by the torturous thrill of experience. I’m not the moon, sitting high in the sky where no one can touch her.

I’m human. And no matter who believes they can claim me or cast me aside, no matter how many hands grab for me, no matter how many voices claim “mine,” “Mine,” “MINE!” I am the only one I belong to. And I am not the moon.

A couple of sketches I did on black paper! I'm seriously in love with the look of light on dark.