#project requests

in honor of hitting 100+ followers, which we’re still very surprised about, we’re opening requests! we, as a network, have decided that for a brief period of time, if you want us to write you a letterpoem, send in a request detailing what sort of letter you’d like, as specific or vague as you’d like. simply tell us what you would ideally look forward to reading in a letter dedicated to you and one of our lovely members will respond with a poem. as this is a network project, kindly don’t ask for a specific member of the network to write your letterpoem. if you do so, your request will be deleted. also try to be considerate of the group members’ boundaries. explicit NSFW requests will not be considered.

to my love:

the year is 1974. 

you will not receive this - 

you are in vietnam, 

or a hospital, 

or dead. 

nothing 

has changed 

since you left, 

i promise. 

mom likes to tell me, 

with that same 

bottle of vodka 

in her hand, 

that i may as well 

just stay 

home. 

she tells me all the time, 

now, 

that leaving 

will do nothing for me, 

that i’ll end up a stripper, 

or a drug addict, 

or dead. 

she’s wrong, 

of course. 

(right?) 

i find myself trapped 

in the routine

 of this life

i lead without you; 

the monotonous back-and-forth 

swinging around me

 like the ticking 

of a grandfather clock. 

i’d like to imagine 

that one day, 

one fabulous day, 

where i can see you 

every day 

somewhere else but the picture frame 

on the bedside time,

i will escape. 

leave this bullshit town 

with its tiny stores and 

gossip-filled wives 

and chocolate-mouthed children; 

head to a city where 

nobody knows my name, 

where i can make a new one 

just for myself. 

sometimes i plan it out, 

did you know that? 

look up the bus schedule 

from here 

to the nearest city, 

pack my bag 

half-full of clothes 

i’ll burn the first chance i get, 

brush my teeth one last time 

with the shitty toothpaste 

mom buys when she 

remembers to 

i always end up 

back in my room, 

though. 

maybe one day, 

one fabulous, 

glorious 

day, 

i’ll make it 

out. 

until then, 

best wishes. 

- from your forever love 

ma colombe, 

this cantillation is now feathered 

in the vibrato of a passerotta, 

in the monsoon of dimpled sapodillas, 

in the blush of a foreign accent rouged 

upon my native tongue — 

indigoes of a bisected wishbone 

bartered 

for each velveteen wingstroke; 

pearlescent in quadraturo, 

vermilion in staccato, 

sinew turned into textured bourdeaux —

yet, the pulverisation of bioluminescent fish 

on Venetian shores pigment the Marseilles skyline

in peacocked ultramarines 

& the chokehold of nostalgia 

is a sirensong 

wilfully rupturing my heart 

on a fisherman’s hook, 

desperate to splatter itself home. 

after all, the desire of every bird 

is to be cradled 

in the very seams of the sky, 

it has relentlessly 

stitched its lifeline into — 

& my unraveling is due,

tua passerotta 

-by @caliphascheherazade

I never knew how bright 

 you would be // never anticipated 

 radiant honeydew eyes that drip back 

sweet comfort whenever I gazed 

upon them. Not even the stars 

could rival your glow. 

They say the sun is a 

dangerous thing— 

that it could give you 

warmth but can 

burn you all the same. 

But this was different. 

You were not a blazing light that 

burned to the touch— 

a faraway beauty that scorches 

against all others 

(red-orange flames flaring up 

on sight). 

No, you were sunlight incarnate— 

golden yellow bouncing off 

your skin. All I could do was 

melt away in your presence, 

with any dark traces fading into

my sprawled silhouette. 

And even now your brilliance 

does not blind me. 

The soft light of your smile 

draws me near, reminding me that 

I too hold the sun in 

my hands.

initially, you were a fox.

       no, i don’t know how this plays out

but you should know that i’m trying to understand.

maybe it’s not literal. maybe it’s a metaphor.

maybe it’s a lucid dream.

there’ssomething about a fox in a forest                                                                            

that is not unlike a forest fire,something red and fast

in a sea of green.  but it’s more than that,

there’s something about a fox that is soquiet

and so alert, watching the world,

observing the world,

yet, never taking over – blazing throughthe spaces

in a blur that you can’t quite forget.

next, you were a werewolf.

but only for a lunar month. and maybe,this time

it was just in your head. but your skinitched

and there was howling in your lungs.

you carried yourself like a wound.

there’s so much hiding to be found in aforest.

there’s so much solace in taking theforms of animals.

it’s easy to not-exist when you breakdown existence,

go down to atomic level, piece it apart.you know,

things like that. maybe it felt betterat some point,

but it doesn’t help you now. has it everhelped you?

you rise from the ashes not as aphoenix,

but as a human. you’ve made yourmistakes,

but you know what they say:

“every saint has a past,

every sinner has a future.”

you’ve looked destruction in the eye,blinked,

and looked away.

there’s no more forest fire speed, nomore

lungs aching with the weight of themoon.

these animals & this wilderness isbeautiful

but it’s not a part of you. you lookaway again

and this time you don’t look back.

you’re a myriad of emotions –

exhausted & overworked, pushedbeyond the edge

and taken home with bags under youreyes,

weary and sleepless. excited and

ready for what the world has in storefor you

but also, afraid. something about theshape of love

feels like it wasn’t carved out for you.

something about the way the world feels

has never made you think of it as home.

there’s nothing wrong with seekingcomfort

or craving the echoes of animals in yourblood.

we all have wolvish grins sometimes,

we all roar with laughter if the joke’sfunny enough.

you’re still you. you’re still human.

you still belong here on this planetwith us,

you still deserve love. and one day ( ihope soon )

all of this will be so much easier foryou,

all of this will fill you with light

& make you so very happy to exist.

of course, dear friend, you knowyourself

better than i know you. that’s a fact.but

i think of foxes and i think ofwerewolves.

i think of how at night, everything’sscarier

but also somehow more beautiful.

and i think of love, of how it will findyou

when you least expect it, how one day

you will finally feel like you’ve comehome.

you don’t need to forget the foxes &the werewolves.

you just need to remember or rediscoveryourself.

i can’t promise that it’s all gonna workout

but i want you to know that i do believein you.

recovery isn’t a road less traveled.

recovery is waiting for you, and you’rewalking

right towards it.

PMO is a centralized, managing body air lock an organization that aims to mediate a well-designed strategy for task management. It helps identify and address project bosses concerns in hest up support and oil accomplishment of projects. <\p>

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