I’ve been telling myself the reason I can’t write anymore is because I’m not sad. Because there’s no pain inside me to flow out of my trembling hands onto paper, there are no sorrows clouding my vision to make my poetry hazy.
I can see straight and sometimes I feel poetry needs to be twirly and zigzagg-y.
But, I’ve been trying to be sad lately. Trying to find wretchedness among the mists, among the nights I stay up laughing, trying to feel what I felt before, trying to pour poetry back into my veins. Maybe this is some stupid excuse.
But here’s how it really is. I keep finding myself beaming at unfamiliar faces and sipping hot chocolate over brunch dates with new friends, or falling back into rhythm with old ones.
Or that one time I snuck out to my best friend’s house and we danced to alcohol in our bodies but we were sober enough to remember one of the best nights of our life. So maybe there’s nothing poetic about this. Or maybe there is.
I know poetry is more beautiful than sad and there’s something really very beautiful about loving life.
-H.S.
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"You certainly don't sound as if you've been
in love. You tell me to give up. But that's
no longer in my power."
Menander, The Dyskolos
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Whoops, my bad I was just disassociating again.
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“I had everything. I was everything. Position, power, money, masculinity, the stimulus for submission. My men quivered before me, my scent crazed and confined the strongest of man into devotees. My presence was powerful, my mouth spoke nothing but truth fulfilled commands—victims could only pray I was feeling merciful. My hands evinced nothing but death; my fingers grabbed and tackled, shot mercilessly and took away God’s gift of breath. My heart was too dark to ever feel remorse, to ever indorse morality; to ever feel.
It was not until she had entered my life,—she who had the lasting impact of an interjecting knife, for whom I had prayed, to the God i hated, to be my rightful wife—, she had ignored me, she had frowned and turned away, that I had found myself weaker than a pathetic kolibri. I could not avail an inch of my hand forward, afraid she’d disapprove henceforward. I couldn’t raise my voice, for one flinch from her would drive me to raise my carnage upon my own being; put an end to my corrupt destroys. After her, is when I learned what a man really is.”
— Tomie Yamazaki, “Chaos x Kindness”, 2024.
Notes
1. Stimulus: trigger, to evoke something.
2. Envinced: reveal the presence of.
3. Indorse: approve or support.
4. Interjecting: interrupt.
5. Kolibri: a very weak gun.
6. Avail: do; attempt.
7. Henceforward: from this/that time on.
8. Carnage: the killing of a large number of people.
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It ends with us
In a world where love often feels like a battleground, my allegiance remains steadfast to Ryle Kincaid. While the allure of Atlas may be captivating, my heart unequivocally belongs to Ryle. He deserves better from Lily, whose constant fixation on Atlas left Ryle feeling overlooked and undervalued. He represents stability and security, offering Lily a sense of safety and comfort. Even amidst turmoil and strife between Lily and Ryle, her instinctual gravitation towards Atlas wounds Ryle deeply, highlighting the stark contrast between his unwavering devotion and Lily's fleeting affections. It would have ended better if she were to prioritize loyalty over temptation and stand by Ryle's side.
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If you see beauty in something, don't wait for others to agree.
Sherihan Gamal
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