Pinned
hi friends!!
I made a neocities so I could share my writing! In the poetry section, I posted extracts from the poetry manuscript I wrote in 2023-2024. It talks about dating as a CSA survivor. Please have a look if you're interested :)
Updated my website with a poem about my mother and an essay about her hometown!
Forugh Farrokhzad, tr. by Sholeh Wolpé, from “On Loving”, Sin
Leonard Cohen, 1987
This public domain picture of water is so beautiful
It's an honor killing if it happens in Asia, femicide if it happens in LaTam but it's a preventable tragedy if it happens in the USA
What I’m trying to say on here is that there’s a certain attitude of “It can’t be helped..men in the Global South are just animals who hate women” when discussing the senseless killings of women in this region. Meanwhile, when women are murdered in places like the U.S., the men responsible are seen as anomalies, not representative of a broader culture of misogyny.
In the first poetry workshop I ever took my professor said we could write about anything we wanted except for two things: our grandparents and our dogs. She said she had never read a good poem about a dog. I could only remember ever reading one poem about a dog before that point—a poem by Pablo Neruda, from which I only remembered the lines “We walked together on the shores of the sea/ In the lonely winter of Isla Negra.” Four years later I wrote a poem about how when I was a little girl I secretly baptized my dog in the bathtub because I was afraid she wouldn’t get into heaven. “Is this a good poem?” I wondered. The second poetry workshop, our professor made us put a bird in each one of our poems. I thought this was unbelievably stupid. This professor also hated when we wrote about hearts, she said no poet had ever written a good poem in which they mentioned a heart. I started collecting poems about hearts, first to spite her, but then because it became a habit I couldn’t break. The workshop after that, our professor would tell us the same story over and over about how his son had died during a blizzard. He would cry in front of us. He never told us we couldn’t write about anything, but I wrote a lot of poems about snow. At the end of the year he called me into his office and said, “looking at you, one wouldn’t think you’d be a very good writer” and I could feel all the pity inside of me curdling like milk. The fourth poetry workshop I ever took my professor made it clear that poets should not try to engage with popular culture. I noticed that the only poets he assigned were men. I wrote a poem about that scene in Grease 2 where a boy takes his girlfriend to a fallout shelter and tries to get her to have sex with him by tricking her into believing that nuclear war had begun. It was the first poem I ever published. The fifth poetry workshop I ever took our professor railed against the word blood. She thought that no poem should ever have the word “blood” in it, they were bloody enough already. She returned a draft of my poem with the word blood crossed out so hard the paper had torn. When I started teaching poetry workshops I promised myself I would never give my students any rules about what could or couldn’t be in their poems. They all wrote about basketball. I used to tally these poems when I’d go through the stack I had collected at the end of each class. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 poems about basketball. This was Indiana. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. I told the class, “for the next assignment no one can write about basketball, please for the love of god choose another topic. Challenge yourselves.” Next time I collected their poems there was one student who had turned in another poem about basketball. I don’t know if he had been absent on the day I told them to choose another topic or if he had just done it to spite me. It’s the only student poem I can still really remember. At the time I wrote down the last lines of that poem in a notebook. “He threw the basketball and it came towards me like the sun”
Britney Spears and bodyguard Los Angeles, August 2001
After a long hot shower.. accidentally fogged up my windows
Where's that Vincent van Gogh quote
"Many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. And it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘What do I care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’ Yes, evil often seems to surpass good. But then, in spite of us, and without our permission, there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope."
Gaza without bread .. The sector's bakeries were closed all of the day .. The remaining flour is not enough for more than a week, and the sack of flour if its price is exceeded 60 dollars ..
I swear to you that Gaza is hungry, and the remaining food stocks are not enough for the maximum of more than ten days and will completely end .. What do you expect after that from a people who kill around the clock and now hunger?! God does not forgive those who brought us here, God does not forgive those who have the ability to stop this genocide and did not.
THE WHITE LOTUS, season 3
@ the library 💌
i hate wanting material stuff. i rly want a plushie keychain but then the communist monster in my mind is like hey brother u cannot do that. and its like. well hes not wrong. but also...... a lil guy on my bag........
im literally incapable of buying material stuff unless i deem it necessary or if its used. its the catholic guilt mixed with im being possessed by an communist demon. whatever. i dont need a plushie keychain.
last time i bought something material was after hanging out w my friend whos rly into perfume. they rly convinced me to buy one. so i got one. i rly like it. it was super cheap but it felt good to buy something nice for myself. but idk i feel like a keychain is like. idk. maybe i need to calm down.
