no band-aids

i found a hole on my face
today and poked it

it bled. i collected
red dots on tissues 

growing maps with every
dab. i can read the red and wrinkles

better than i can read
your voice stammer 

behind a sentence. i can
see more possibilities

in the trash can than i do
when i let myself walk more than

three steps in this
fake house. forgive me

if i refuse to look out the window
for the next fourteen months.

words by Dhiyanah Hassan
art by Bob Schofield

I think I get ‘some type of way’ as a nod to the ineffable, as a way of expressing the inexpressibility of one’s own emotions…but in a question? It just makes me feel I am lacking some essential piece of information.

"And the land he will come to is unknown—as is, once he disembarks, the land from which he comes. He has his truth and his homeland only in that fruitless expanse between two countries that cannot belong to him." - from Madness and Civilization by Michel Foucault. #sketchbook #painting #illustration #art #afraidofwords #artistsontumblr #watercolor #ink #moon #sea #madness

clasp, grasp. new sketchbook’s being sketchy about ink — but we’ll get there.
#art #afraidofwords #wip #painting #illustration #shoddytypography #sketchbook #watercolor #ink #quotes #artists #artistsoninstagram #handsinthebackground #hello #finallygettositdownandpaint #phew


limbs move slowly, knowing there’s no other way to move. heavy airs dampen ability to respond, and there is not enough blue when i look outside to calm these aches.

there is not enough blue when i look outside to let the tiredness overtake me, belly where it belongs — pressing against the floor or bed. i want the promise of being taken care of by surrendering to whatever is happening inside me, but —.


now when i see someone with a red nose i feel sad. so, so sad.

it is so hard to rest here. my eyes, they’re dry and sore from all the salt kept secret inside. i don’t know how to get on with things like i’m not waddling through air made of thick jelly. 


i blame this arbitrary slowness on my body’s irrational preparation for a winter — cold to wrap me in four layers of clothing before venturing out the door, chill to remind me where all my bones are, grey skies to parallel with the greys inside, the need to cup and touch all the warm things around me, darker nights for easy sleep. i’ve never missed winter as much as i do now.

there is no winter here. this place will never work that way. 

before this i could have sworn i was getting used to these hours and monotony, but then i started to think i’m waking up in the wrong bedroom again.

after recalculating the years and events to wear off the shock from waking up today, i thought, how long more will i be jet lagged from the past?


i will always be jet lagged from the past.

and from all the loss and losing that brought me back here.

-DH (afraidofwords)

by afraidofwords.

a cornucopia of tired phantasms 
battered against the senses 
in such a way as to make 
the orange frustrated with the day. 
silly fingers drum the toil of hours 
against tabletops and tree barks, green dreams 
dead from ambition. there is a voice 
that happens every night, it calls. 
it calls and no one hears it 
it calls from the soil of things, beckons 
you back to sleep with its end but wait, 
wait. it turns red 
underneath the weight of the next day’s 
listlessness, growing into groans 
that read: “I am so done with all of this,” 
before fluttering off 
into escape.

THREE-WORD PROMPT (tired, frustrated, done - ZH)