Category: tanzania
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marrow
enough settling for shallow hungers the convenient touch the borrowed warmth of ghosts the pale substitutes the dull aches and measured grief enough paper cuts it’s time for the clean slice of a blade that cuts through to marrow and teaches you who you are alone in the dark with only yourself for witness
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love finds you
in unexpected ways in murmurs after midnight in clear sky mornings at the bottom of a paper cup of morning coffee after in the not-forever nows that sound like breath between words and settle like steam on a bathroom mirror because ephemeral love, you see is love still and when everything is so very impermanent…
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afterglow
There are experiences I wish I could bottle Seal tight in a jar and let them live there suspended just as they were Then I could revisit them Soft untainted still Before the after Before everything turns sour Before our true colors bleed through Before the magic gives way to the human The more of…
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not yours
What if your desires are carefully crafted your ambitions quietly learned your lust artificially stirred your suffering self-inflicted your wants, unrequited, just self-sabotage and wanting a win where none can be had is simply a way to fill the void to feed the silence to feel something like scraping a spoon against an empty bowl…
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worship
He worships me with hands like altars, with teeth like prayers. Every touch, a sermon. Every bite, communion. He ruins me not with rage, but reverence. Like he’s dismantling a temple just to understand the architecture. Not to break it, but to belong inside it. He is soft like surrender. And then he isn’t. He…
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communion
We shared our deepest, darkest secret. Uncensored. yours as fucking sordid as mine Equally devastating, altogether liberating. Damn.
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unspoken, cracked open
I have a tiny corner of space where my unsent notes to family, friends, and lovers live (or, rather, go to die). I do not delete them. I keep them.And on occasion, I read them— like silent incantations.They help me grieve the words I wish I’d screamed but never spoken,the safety I’d craved but never…
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rupture
On a street corner, I cradle myself I brace tightly, so that my skin won’t rupture— pouring out a thousand tears, a thousand fears. It’s lively, loud, and lurid, and all I want to do is scream. I haven’t felt this scared in such a long time. I’ve forgotten my innermost demons and the ache…
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lest I forget
None of this is real. I’ve felt transcendence for a while now, and lately, I fear regression. In and out of old places, old patterns, old skins. Suddenly, it’s all so familiar — yet we speak a language I no longer understand on a soul level. And in places I know all too well, I…
pollyhristova 