creative artist

I am half 
asleep on the train, 
all the yellow lights, 
oh my black and blue
beaten heart.
When it misbehaves
nothing can forgive it.
And it forgives no one either. 
I think of my mother,
and her mother and
I wonder about their
youth and tears. 
I walk in talking on the phone, 
with the heaviest accent,
the passengers marvel at
it. But they don’t understand 
how much pain it takes to 
design this language I am speaking.
To forget theirs, 
to put my hand in the mud 
dig the dead latin up and call my mother. 
I speak with her about crossing borders,
about my temper, 
about my bad cooking. 
That’s the thing about 
my heritage 
it makes me love a man to 
to the point of exhaustion.
Women like me 
have nothing to offer 
but love. 
And when that’s not enough
you call your mother 
for home remedies,
advice for bruised hearts
and aloof husbands.
—  Lessons From Romania from The Immigration Series by Royla Asghar 
2

Maedhros! Ordered by Molly ❤️ 

Well guys! I was dreaming about such a commission for a long time! Because my small-big dream is to create the portrait gallery of feanorians but as usually - I have no time 😢 And… it has happened! 😍 Thank you, Molly, for such a wonderful possibility 💐🌹