I saw your name in a magazine entry - where the ink was wet with the heat of madness - captioned with: “derived from a word meaning ‘the primary elements of the Universe.’

This is the theory of everything:

There is a microcosm in time where an object exists in a state simultaneously whole and broken, living and invisible, full of emptiness and sick with holiness.

Out of touch with reality and present with this misery; you see, I fell down that rabbit hole and never made it past the front door.

You see, I’m afraid if I catch your breath into my lungs I’ll hold what you give me until I suffocate from your memory. Your name echoes through my (decaying) arteries like a eulogy for lost lovers.

You see, the oxygen is filled with absence. In a room full of empty space and the perfume of your proximity I will die knowing this is what it means to be holy.

You see, my lungs are pooled with hemoglobin, and I fear that in kissing another man he will know the taste of your name, his skin glowing like an exit sign.

You see, I’m tired of living under the body bag because they didn’t know what to resuscitate me with.

You see, I didn’t want to be resuscitated.

—  7-weeks//Asphyxiated, I love you.
Lonesome. Its a funny thing.
Being alone in a crowd.
What do they call it?
The lonely heart, the bitter one?
The clingy, needy young girl.
The bossy, trouble maker
Easy to love at first, but hard to love forever.
Has friends, but they don’t really care
Is shushed, told to be silent, but can’t help being naturally loud.
Dramatic at most, solemn at best.
Cares about everyone and everything,
Sometimes too much though.
Hates being told what to do and when things don’t go her way.
Is called perfect sometimes, but is far from it
If you look close into her eyes, you can see her yearning to be found, to be loved unconditionally.
Doesn’t want any strings attached, but she comes with strings.
A desire to fit in, so much she is willing to destroy herself in the process.
Maybe she will be lost forever, maybe thats who she’s meant to be.
The feeling of being unwanted always scratches in the back of her throat.
Acts strong but underneath that tough skin she is weak.
Looks up to people and yearns for their friendship and acceptance.
A little girl at heart.
A failure at best.
She is lonesome and lonesome is her…
—  Alexis Pendleton
On Writing What I Know, part four

I know the journal I’m not supposed to read.
I know the corners where lying dogs sleep.
I know they awaken when the caged bird sings.
I know the tissue paper skin on my face, grey from the words I’m too tired to say.
I know love in abstraction, unconditional anonymity.
I know diamond tipped bow ties and pink peplum processionals adorning the memories of nights I felt sexy.
I know discussions of gender never hung right on me, tied up in ribbons and defiant hair braiding.
I know how much ink I have spilt rehearsing the assertion that I don’t know much of anything, really.

Days covered with lies

And smiles that didn’t last

We both wore a disguise 

That passed away way too fast

Our love was pure like no other

So pure it blinded us from the truth

That we weren’t meant to be for one another

And that love is nothing, 

but a waste of youth


“You are-” - Kushtrim Thaqi

You are a terribly beautiful thing
in a terribly ugly world.
A pure thing, broken–
a many-many times
but still unwavered!

A thing I shall not grasp
or at least I hope not to
in my shaking arms–
or it will break,
just as every other thing–
as every other thing
I ever tried to!

You are– you are–
and I have no idea what am I!
So if you break your arms
on mine,
how am I supposed to feel?
Am I supposed to cry?!

Cause I forgot!
I forgot
how does a sky looks
when there are no clouds in it–
to taint it with white.

And you are– you are–
much more than something
for which I could just–
simply cry!

Much more than something
I could breath in,
and store it my lungs!

Much more than something
I could eat, to feed my lust!

You are– you are–


In the storybooks and in my head, love was a fleeting touch, a blooming black rose, love was great tragedies and empires burning, lives ruined; bloodshed and mayhem - something epic and divine, love was Greek goddesses and Romeos and Juliets and fluttering kisses under the unearthly glow of the Northern Lights and love was home for lonely people and love was where the broken souls would be allowed mending and love was life; love was the feeling of being born again everytime you looked into someone’s eyes. In reality, love is a ghost, an unseen, unimaginable force, love is a distant terrain where mortals do not go, deserted and desolate and dry without the rain, love is an old wives’ tale, they talk about it but nobody has ever seen it in real life.
—  4 am thoughts about love
Crossing Oceans (Edited)

Together, in this cruise
A lengthy one, with you.

These oceans drove us
We didn’t mind at all.

With the ray of light,
Sun tried to complement,
Our glee, towards the horizon.

The epiphany might be the fact,
Before we even boarded
The credence.
From you to me,
Already sailed away,
With the mighty seas.


i think I was born with
the taste of their blood in my mouth;
their story intertwined with mine 
long before i was old enough
to start writing it.

the word genocide 
passed down through generations–
an unwanted inheritance
laying heavy on our lips and 
etched into the lines on
our palms. 

a word small enough to hold
in the palms of your
hands holds the history
of a nation.
a word comprised of the lives
of 1.5 million, written in sets of
footprints in desert sands.

we are a people defined
by genocide
we are the generations born
from the blood spilled before
us– a people who will fight to
have their history
bloom bloody red 
with a stem of thorns. 

their battle, 
their blood, their lives 
are now ours. 
There is no their
We are our

we can sit here, knee to knee.
we can dash from this doorstep
to the edge of our imaginary eighth sea,
push the future across its rippling surface
and not think twice, we have all night.

  we can sit here, exchange our hearts
like swapping stories. we can push
colorful string through old cans, linking
windowpanes and promises that stretch
from this today to every coming tomorrow 
and not think twice, we have all night. 

you can walk away, and it’ll be a 
good luck, never a goodbye. I can watch
you go, and trace our names over the ridges 
of my heart until it is more alphabet than
arteries and not think twice, it’ll be alright.

—  S.Ghazal, it’s alright, it’s alright  (25/30)

“You cut the rope effortlessly,
With your bare hands, each weave separated.
I still wonder today, how?
How could you let your strength kill me..
How could you let me go this easily?
I swear, I was waiting;
Waiting for you to use the rope,
Use the rope to save us.
But instead you let me fall…
Down and down all the cliffs and edges.
You let me go…
Suffering. Hurt. Sadness. Agony. Pain
Are just a few of the things I felt…
I wish time could make me feel numb,
I wish time could heal my damages…
But I was wrong,
Boy was I wrong.
Time only made me wonder more..
Wonder why you left me to bleed
Wonder why you didn’t climb to save me.”

-You never showed me the ropes

I don’t think you understand. I woke up at 6am today made entirely of flaws and love for you. I walked through the rain in a t shirt and jeans and love for you. I sat down in class doodling words on notepads and love for you. Nothing I do is done without this intense love for you. So please know that when I love you, I love you. I want nothing but pillow talks, late night walks, and marital bliss. Since I was young I was taught that life was hard and love was easy. And real love, true love is exhausting and hard work. Yet I want to do it with you because without you life is one big meaningless pit of hurt.  Please do not see my words laced with crude remarks or a changing heart. I just really fucking love you.
If ever you think your existence is pointless in this world, close your eyes for a second. Feel the breeze that was created by the ocean’s breath on your skin. Feel the heart that is the same as a lion’s sending blood to every part of your body. Feel the blood pumping in your veins, filled with the same iron that was used to create the swords knights once fought with. Feel your brain working, a million times quicker than any computer invented. Now open those beautiful eyes that capture better images than any lens on any camera ever can. Do you still think your existence is pointless? Because the universe doesn’t. That’s why it took four billion years of evolution to create you.
—  Feel Your Existence | Nikita Gill
I don’t like the terms “good person” or “bad person” because it’s impossible to be entirely good to everyone or entirely bad to everyone. To some, you are a good person, while to others, you are a bad person.
—  Armin Arlelt (Shingeki No Kyojin)