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sinligh · 28 days

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Stable.

a presence that changes nothing I control nothing,

Not the rhythm of my breathing Nor that of my emotions.

I share my blood with a phantom of melancholy, a tempered shadow that shields me from grief

I sacrifice, as all women learn to do;

In this life, you either choose violence, or it comes knocking at your door

until your heart starts beating with its rhythm, erratically.. until you’re “hysterical”

But what woman hasn’t been called that at least once in her life?

today, i scheduled an appointment with death first thing in the morning

physiological or metaphysical, what difference does it make ?

around 4 hours between time and space.

I haven’t slept yet, this is my Eurydice and I know better than to look back; but I’m weighed down with grief, and rage alike.

what colors does it take? sometimes i believe it to be the exact shade of my eyes, dark brown, like blood that’s been accumulating under a layer of skin for too long

Or chocolate like...

I think I’ve tasted it; a lucid dream..

an early state of decomposition a tree with branches that are made of coping mechanisms and abandoned reveries taking up the place of my lungs

Grief like, it grows just as much as i do.

my age now is double what It was when i first discovered what grief means…

a decade of steps that i took while i try to redefine it, this time it felt like :

your last step was my first and now I live everything halfway through because I’m always concerned: what if I’m not missing you.

a lifetime of me trying to accept it, like a foreign organ that my body kept on rejecting until it failed, in a random day; and built it’s walls all around it

life with a core of undeniable death…

that’s the beginning of all that i am,

an exsanguination.

and at my weakest, i resent you for leaving me with no other option..

I don’t know when it happened, but subconsciously, I started associating the day I lost you with the day i was born

my reincarnation, unwillingly.

All those terms... bloodstains that I must leave behind

A temperament gene. Isn’t it clear ?

I stand still in the past, where my vulnerability lies in a grave

with all the unknown. and I think my greatest regret

was thinking that i needed more time, to come up with a language that we both understand to tell you that l love you.

and that’s of little to no value..

I regret believing i had time, now as a redemption, I’ll forever live as a skeleton of fragmented existence underneath a flesh that’s sewed on with patches of half chewed rage.

•••

• Quotes: Sophocles/Caroline M. Mar/ Taylor swift/ Nicole W. Lee/ Sara Luisa Kirk/ Sylvia Plath/ Louis Tomlinson/ Emilie Autumn/ Fyodor Dostoevsky/ Franz Kafka/Forugh Farrokhzad,

• Original context: Sinligh

• Art reference:

1. Painting by William Adolphe Bouguereau. 2. The Mausoleum by the Phantom Painter. 3. Louis Janmot, Fleur des champs (details) 4. Despair by Bertha Wegmann 5. Tristan et Isolde (Death), Rogelio de Egusquiza

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sinligh · 5 months

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As the year is ending,

The residual of all the life I’ve forbidden myself out of habit

is barely drawing a new beginning line

So where do i start ? today ?

By the time I woke up today i was already late, not in the sense that i had somewhere to be. No, but the urge to up and leave was almost hysterical

The only thing contradicting it

Was the hesitancy I chained my feet to before I went to sleep last night.

One foot in December, the other in January.

I thought i could still put an effort in trying, but then i started counting all the steps that i took away from reality

I’m so full of life that i don’t know how to put any of it to use; bits and pieces are falling behind because i have my hands so full of myself.

I rationalize the amount of love i absorb into my body, but.. it’s never wasted on me.

If it’s too much for me today, I’ll save it in, store it in a dark corner in my brain that resembles a personal pandora box

my prefrontal cortex

and when everything gets overwhelmingly dark I’ll open it then, let all the leftover love roam my world, and if it ruins me then so be it and if it fixes me…

Well, i don’t see it.

I strive for depth but the more i dig the deeper I’m buried

Naïve enough to expect that someone on the surface will surely notice, and walk back on my steps.

But it’s nothing to worry about now, is it ?

I’m young and I’m invincible and I’m on top of the world

I’m hesitant and I’m rotten. and I can’t stop thinking about throwing myself into this world

The way i was thrown in a pool as a child, expecting that contact will trigger an instinctive response and I’ll swim.. I’ll live.

So.. if I start spinning around myself in my kitchen like a dervish would do in sufi whirling..

it’s only because I’m overflowing with all that I want to be.. but i can’t.

•••

•Quotes: Nelly Sachs, tr. by Eric Plattner/ Anne Sexton/ Fariha Róisín/ Sylvia Plath/ Mayclair/ Taylor Swift

•Original context: Sinligh

•Art reference:

1. Mother and Children by William-Adolphe Bouguereau (Details) 2. Jean-Augustin Franquelin (detail). 3. Ettore Tito - Con la rosa tra le labbra. 4. Louis Janmot, Fleur des champs (details) 5. Art by Salvatore Postiglione (detail)

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sinligh · 6 months

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I’m soft spoken,

In a way that contrasts my sharp teeth and my pointed corners.

Unapproachable, unapologetic yet, open and falling apart at the seams

Fierce, and guarded with expectations that are as high as my walls, the same walls I spend my days painting the colors of all the flowers I have never received.

Lavender to grey Girlhood to decay

I yearn for things that will wither if I dare to embrace and my moral compass is almost always out of my hands reach. I exchange a piece of it for every new defense mechanism i pick up, and I regret nothing…

not even my tongue that is still stuck in my windpipe because in my hast to run away from spotlight I forgot to tuck it right.

I hold on to ghosts of sentiments that i let filter through me

I, a distant soul that walk through earth aimlessly.

I linger but my traces refuse to hold I don’t get close because i can’t afford being left behind, I dwindle, but i don’t let anyone touch me because being starved taught me that we don’t need to overanalyze the intentions behind every touch; we just need to prevent ourselves from getting hurt.

It’s a collective we, because I learned to stand behind a wall of who I’m supposed to be.

Even if I do it inadequately.

I’m hypersensitive, yet i’d rather shed my own skin than cling to unwanted love that have no potential for growth.

I’m lovable, that much I know

but I don’t believe in falling, It’s not that I don’t want to believe in an unadulterated emotion..

but however I look at at love. it seems fabricated

So now, i only want it with a pre-negotiated price.

With a clear definition and stable steps that I can take one at a time.

That’s how it goes for kindnesses too, as something in me believes that we need to earn it.

Maybe it’s the part of me that i inherited from my mother,

the same part that is still searching for ways to sacrifice more, otherwise we’re selfish.

•••

•Quotes:Louis Tomlinson/Roland Barthes/ Taylor Swift/Meggie C. Royer/ Nikki Giovanni/ Helene Cixous/ Margaret Atwood/ Sylvia Plath/ Anaïs Nin

•Original context: Sinligh

•Art references:

1.Playing Games With Paranoia by Guillermo Lorca (details). 2. Art by: John William Godward (details). 3.Art by: by Ivan Olinsky (details). 4.The wave by Guillaume Seignac (details). 5.Art by: Edward Hopper's (details). 6. The Repentant Mary Magdalene by Francesco Hayez. (Details).

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sinligh · 6 months

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Over two weeks of death, terror, pain and suffering for Palestinians..

Undoubtable anguish, that children have to carry along with adults. Innocent civilians are under constant attack, basic human needs such as water and electricity are now luxuries for civilians.

It sits too heavy on my heart, all the grief they must be experiencing, i feel so guilty to be living in a world that is still silent.

I can’t fathom that human beings are capable of choosing to turn a blind eye on all the injustice that innocent people are suffering.

50,000 pregnant women in Gaza cannot access health services. 5,500 will give birth this month. -source: united nations population fund-

If you are a human being with consciousness and functioning brain, if you’re a feminist, if you simply believe that nothing should be above human rights, that no one should be forced to live a life stripped of mercy or be killed.

THEN SPEAK UP. have conversations, organise, and push for an end to this mass killing of civilians.

here’s a reminder: the blood of every woman and man, every fetus, infant, child, teenager, adult and elderly. Every animals EVERY SOUL are on your hands if you’re okay with the genocide that’s being committed against Palestinians.

WAKE UP, open your eyes. Think for yourself, take history into your consideration and don’t let it repeat itself.

#freePalestine.

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sinligh · 9 months

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It’s late July, A lost breath of soulful desperation bled half the year that has passed over my eyes, painting a veil like fabric that blinded me mercifully.

can time really heal anything? I’ve been struggling with digesting all that it stored for me…

My cruel heart is only a result of the ignorance that i built brick by brick from its remnants

I even named the process defensive mechanism.

It’s early august, I’ve held on to a routine for as long as i can, living off of small accomplishments; cause what’s the alternative?

Prisesstant melancholy? Undoubtable anguish?

I became insensitive to time passage, like a child that never knew health only saw it as a blanketing apology covering everyone they love.

a child that can vividly touch the heaviness of the life they’ll carry for as long as they’re allowed to.

I’ve been accumulating feelings like corpses that are waiting to be identified in a morgue.

frozen above my brainstem, that until the heat of the summer caused them to melt and overlap into a storming ocean; leaving little versions of me to drown in their waves

and I as a helpless outsider watching from a coast and hoping i could pour all of this in one single poem, or maybe aspire it all like you’d do a patient with fluids in their lungs: Thoracentesis.

And use it as a supply to wash away the catatonic rage that flows through my veins.

reality is ringing it’s bell inside the cavity where my eyes should be, and even though i can hear it.

It’s taking me longer than I thought it would to reach; cause thats all i can do.. try.

I measure my self value interchangeably with all the pieces of me i left behind to comfort others.

That and all the leftovers of my mother’s life.

My soul is constantly tugging.

Tugging, tugging, tugging. Never in the same direction but it’s still clear that it wishes to be free from me.

Emotionally attached to this and that to her and him

But they’re never enough; i never am…

And I’m so tired of it all, the never ending self loathing.

But to whom do I confess ?

Who would acknowledge my longing, Who will embrace my infelicitous desire to be held together or even just touched,

an innocent reminder of my existence, to ease me into being a human again, especially after I starved myself for the sake of nourishing others.

•••

•Quotes: Louis Tomlinson/ Taylor swift/ Henry Miller/ Rainer Maria Rilke/Helen Oyeyemi/Anne Sexton/Franz Kafka/Susan Sontag

•Original context: Sinligh

•Art reference:

1. Timothy Archer - The blue rider. 2. The Train by Ben McLaughlin. 3. Paintings by Raymond BonillaRaymond. 4. Ottoman Beauty with a Butterfly by Harold H. Piffard. 5. Side Light by Quang Ho. 6. Painting by Alex Kanevsky. 7. Fine Morning by Sally Strand. 8.painting by Steven J. Levin

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sinligh · 9 months

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I’m my mothers favorite child; I’m full of sacrifices.

Hers and mine, and so many women before us Substituting security and affection with systematized delusions.

I'm falling down the rabbit hole, not because of curiosity, nor distraction. But because of something akin to reality call.

All the rage that belonged to my ancestors before me, spilt ink that I spend my days crying over

And i wonder if I’m the one dragging it along with me, or is it the emotion that keeps weighing me down.

I was raised to be paranoid mother said that will protect me when she’s not around..

Now, I’m just my mother’s child and I only know how to define versions of myself through her.

Always free, never enough.

A mother lullaby can blend into her child's bones, my mother used to lull me to sleep by humming

"I love you madly, enough to embrace you in my eyes and see the world through you as I cover you with my eyelids"

I’m my mother’s daughter, a wound that refuses to heal.

I poke at it every time I question how can i convince someone who spends days and nights writing and rewriting my future that i grew up to be blind to all that is prewritten ?

That l'm building a pathway for a little life In the shadows of dreams that are out of my reach

That silk sutures hold my organs in place and lies dressed in white sew me dreams that my brain didn't dare to conjure.

That i learned to dilute the amount of love I have for everyone in my life. I don't understand the whys and hows of it but I know that I'm at the stage of life where I don't love without guarding myself.

And I refuse to be punished for feeling anymore, even if it meant I'II only ever know rage.

Meaningless and absolute.

I lose my details as i go. Leaving tracks of my soul behind me.

I shed pieces that i don't know how to define, like a snake does its skin. The only difference is that a lot of my potential lay there underneath it.

I think i overlooked discipline in my journey to search for wildness and inspiration,

and it seems like the only consistent in my life is my desire to change.

I know empathy the way I know my father. Should be present; but isn't. And I'll never be my mother, doesn't matter how much of herself she sees in me.

•••

•Quotes:Elana Dykewomon/ Chelsea g. summers/Azra.T/Robert Goolrick/hayan charara/Hannah Green/Sylvia Plath/ Fariha Róisín

•original context: Sinligh

•Art reference:

1. Winged Goddesses. Psyche II - Nudes & Butterflies By Carsten Witte. 2.Winged Goddesses. Psyche Il - Nudes & Butterflies By Carsten Witte. 3.Winged Goddesses. Psyche Il - Nudes & Butterflies By Carsten Witte. 4. 2. Metamorphosis 2 by Giovanni Gestel. 5. My Crisis are Blessing by Andrea Galad. 6. Papillon |I" or "Woman in Wings", by Louis Icart. 7.Art by Will Kim. 8. Art by James Jean.

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sinligh · 10 months

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I’ve been on my knees since I was 5.

In the chapel,

in a bedroom,

in an alley late at night.

Always facing an inflated

godlike

version of some guy.

But as a girl you do what you need to survive.

You open wider, take the body.

Thank your father, you’ve been naughty.

2 Hail Marys, 20 lashings.

“I’ve been sent to punish you for daring to exist.

You will never know a love as meaningful as this.”

I’ve memorized

the lines

since I was 10.

From the Bible,

from the playbook,

from the magazines for men.

If you should mess it up, you’ll start again.

But, still, they only want

the women

they condemn.

I think that I’d have too much fun in hell.

With the pagans

and the hedonists

and sapphics there as well.

Purgatory seems the better fit

I can’t stand waiting in the corner,

but I do love being hit.

There’s not a torture you can prescribe

that I wouldn’t find

a way to like.

Every single second I’m alive

I’m sharpening an axe I’d like to grind.

“I was sent to punish you

for the way I was designed.

You will never know a love

that you fear more than mine.”

- “God Fear a Woman” 2023

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sinligh · 11 months

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I woke up hyperaware of every inch of my body. A bone must be missing, a tooth or two my hair feels like an extension of the pillow that i hide my dreams underneath

And my head is too heavy with the weight of everything I said i will think about later…

Childhood, adolescence, adulthood

It all overlaps sometimes, and I worry that my childhood is all I’m going to grow up to live and relive.

I worry that it’s a punishment,

Like Prometheus; that I’ll spend my nights picking at it trying to cleanse myself from all that a young version of me wasn’t strong enough to process

only to wake up and realize I’m carrying it between my ribs again.

To be pregnant with another girl that will relive my life like I’m reliving my mothers.

I’m overthinking again

Stages of life like gates to the many graveyard’s that I have built inside me.

A sanctuary

A place of residence to all the feelings i had no time to over analyze.

I digged my phone from underneath the pillow, something must be said..

A phantom of the words that are trying to escape is at hands reach..

An Aura. A migraine.

Its 04:51 am. The sun didn’t rise yet, why am I awake again?

Thoughts are fighting each other for a way out, like a newborn waiting to be called by a name, any would be fine; as long as it gets acknowledgment.

On my way to the bathroom, i stumbled upon keywords

Some that I believe i missed the night before..

When anxiety was eating another pathway for itself. A way out, out of my brain

Necrosis.

I spent the past couple of months studying all that can go wrong in a woman’s body.

Starting from puberty highlighting child bearing period and ending with menopause.

It’s all prewritten

And I get mad with rage because improvisations are treated like a sin that can never be forgiven.

I watched women bleeding incomplete lives from between their legs, that without shedding a tear.

We’re used to that, aren’t we ?

Bleeding.

And incomplete lives.

Distant dreams of motherhood bleeding classic tragedies into an ink jar

to be hand written as another passage in the wrenching history of all the fabricated religious books that swore by women.

•••

•Quotes: Blythe Baird/ Paul Guest/Molly McCully Brown/ Uma Thurman/ Sylvia Plath/ Joel Coen/ Emily Rose Cole

•Original context: Sinligh

•Art reference:

1.painting by Domenico Induno. 2. Painting by Henry Asencio. 3.painting by graham dean. 4. Art by Patricia Cronin. 5. Art by Amelie, Maison d'art. 6. Spirit Body Consciousness by Byron Tik. 7. Painting by Francesca Strino 8. Charles-August Mengin (detail)

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sinligh · 1 year

Note

Hello! I am a graduate student doing research in the realm of docupoetics and I am trying to theorize about the wonderful world of web weaving online. I have noticed that you compile a lot of web weaving posts (and even create your own) and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions as a content creator of web weaves. I wanted to send an ask before I just directly try to message you in case you aren't willing! Please let me know. Thank you!

Hi !

I’m not keen on answering anything personal, other than that I’d certainly be happy to help !

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sinligh · 1 year

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High fences of realization built on the liquid like foundation of my murky soul.

My desire for love when kept untouched grew into resentment towards myself.

Soothed only by the hands of death on the base of my spine stitching me back together I, her only leftover with words of comfort.

"Life goes on". Is its construction mantra.

Out of deaths lips its arbitrary, a stolen promise; like all the souls that it deemed unfit to be renovated.

The hand of death on the base of my spine, on the back of my neck

it grounds me; I find comfort in it.

the way it caress me so lovingly, a threat of a postpartum psychotic mother to an oblivious child.

Death was never particularly appealing to me, it’s the thought of not existing

not now, not in the past, nor the future. to never be, with no trace whatsoever.

To cease to exist all together With no leftovers, nor broken lovers.

It’s not a constant desire, more of a lure, a forbidden love. A slow burn romance with a happy ending

One that I’ll never reach out to willingly but if it ever reached out to me then I know for sure that I’m not strong enough to reject it.

Because life loses its colors from time to time…

And that leaves me, like a person suffering from aphasia. I lose the ability to understand the point of it all…

I try hard to redefine everything, yet, I can’t express it not even when I reach for a semi-stable ground with all my words.

sensitive, i let life play me like an instrument, so responsive.

i increase the tone of whatever melody goes through me..

do it so i hurt anyone who loves me enough to listen. And because I can’t just fade…. And because I don’t have the upper hand…. I make sure to leave my mark, I make sure I have a way to I leave.

And then I choose not to.

•••

•Quotes: Christa Wolf / Joyce Carol Oates/ Sylvia Plath/Susan Sontag/ Virginia Woolf / Ocean Vuong / Molly Brodak/ Halsey

•Original context: Sinligh

•art reference:

1. Painting by John Bagnold Burgess (detail)

Painting by Roberto Ferri ( detail)

2. Painting by Émile Vernon (detail)

3. The Grasshopper by Jules Joseph Lefebvre. (detail)

4. Painting by Valeria Duca.

5. red" by Hei Shan.

6. Sleeping Beauty by William Oxer.

7. Halsey from her Ig post: iamhalsey (detail)

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sinligh · 1 year

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I exist, in the missed steps of your way to self discipline.

In tragedy and inspiration

In broken tradition and consequence satisfaction.

I exist,

despite being stepped over and made to feel inferior.

A moment in time separating stillbirth from abortion

A choice, to be unidentified

Like a work of art that everyone claims to have its rights

Yet no one have the privilege to touch.

I exist, a simple fact that makes those who view the world cursorily uncomfortable;

and I refuse to apologize.

I exist, somewhere between the lines.

Something they’re not sharp enough to understand

I exist in lost credit cards and offhanded remarks

A puzzle with more pieces than they know where to place, but i can’t be solved with less

they said it’s high maintenance.

Yet I compartmentalize and I exist.

I exist in the journey of searching for answers to questions they never asked.

In never ending childlike wonder

In nameless hours, before tomorrow but not today.

I exist despite lacking confirmation I exist despite stigmatization.

I exist,

In petals that can only smell good when crushed and boiled..

In vivid dreams that we mistake for memories

I exist in idyllic poetry that tastes bitter if not read at the right time

A ripe fruit that’s forbidden

It’s never the right time to taste me but i still am the way you dream to be loved,

even when you know I have potential to be rotten.

More than a desire less than a demand

I can be yours to admire…

I’m not.

But i do, I exist.

•••

•Quotes: Sylvia Plath/ Neil Gaiman/ Marina Tsvetaeva/ Emily Brontë/ Virginia Woolf/ Nikki Giovanni/Haruki Murakami/ Venetta Octavia/ Ernest Hemingway/ frank o'hara.

•Original context: Sinligh

•Art reference:

1. Painting by Charles-August Mengin (detail) 2. Painting by Ary Scheffer (detail) 3. Painting by Hugues Merle (detail) 4.painting by Jacques-Louis David ( detail) 5. Painting by Ron Hicks 6. Mary Magdalene as a Hermit by Francesco Hayez (detail). 7. Tempus Fugit by Welder Wings.

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sinligh · 1 year

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#love this #faith in the future

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sinligh · 1 year

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As a woman I’m used to living in cycles,

Twenty-eight days if you start today I’ll bleed the rage that my mother mastered with age and only then I’ll seek acceptance, I’ll seek love, but hide behind paranoia and when that can’t fix me, and when this earth can’t hold me

Like an ouroboros, I’ll devour all that i let into my inner circle all that i let define me, only to destruct it simply to reincarnate myself, with or without it.

I’ll trace the lines in my body to try and delude it into thinking we can be touched. I’ll look in the mirror just to see, not to judge. I won’t look too long cause I still fear that the shame i was taught to absorb will manifest on the tips of my fingers.

Potential exposure.

The pathophysiology of the chronic cases of loneliness. Starts with a history of a lonely pregnant woman

When my mother gave birth to me, silent and cyanosed me, i was deemed viable. But not the part of me she wished and prayed to end with still birth, the melancholic presence that wrapped around me inside her womb.

The one with no heartbeat, but is loud enough for a part of her existence to hate part of mine.

She loved me enough to never acknowledge it. Enough to breastfeed me the leftover energy she used to be herself.

and when all the love she felt for me blinded her, our case lacked enough evidence and slipped undiagnosed.

Now when I say love can’t fix me, you have to understand…

Love isn’t the only meal I skipped I’m highly malnourished, and running on paraphrased memories.

I trade cautiously when it comes to hope. I’m not hopeless,

but I’m never hopeful about that fact.

I can’t fall for it, or anyone really; i was raised to be ashamed if only I thought about taking a step that might lead to a mistake.

As a result,

I think the absolute worst of everyone, even when i don’t necessarily believe it.

That being said, paranoia is as intrinsic as breathing to me.

•••

•Quotes:Sylvia Plath/Sandra Cisneros/Azra tabassum/Sandra Cisneros/Louis Tomlinson/Cassandra Clare/ Louis Tomlinson/ Ritika Jyala/ Gloria E. Anzaldua

• Original context: Sinligh

•Art reference:

1.Tight, by István Sándorfi. 2. Painting by István Sándorfi. 3. Painting by Henry Asencio. 4. "Hugs II" by Yang Cao. 5.painting by Ans Markus. 6.Painting by Liu Yuanshou. 7. The Brood By Sam Wolfe Connelly. 8. "Passionate Dreams" by Henry Asencio.

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sinligh · 1 year

Text

All the quotes are going to be either in pictures or written like this:

“…….”

The author will always be listed below along with an art reference.

Other than that it’s an original context. i do not allow sharing my personal writing somewhere else without my consent.

I’m here if you wanna ask/comment about anything, or if you’d rather you can ask anonymously !

-sinligh

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sinligh · 1 year

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Women in my family are raised to give. They rarely ever take

unless it’s pain.

My mother and my grandmother Are two of the strongest women I know. They’ve been through a lot, you wouldn’t believe a human being can survive all that…

They both have so much in common: strong, sensitive, talented, independent, unadulterated, generous, radiant, Stubborn, overpowering…

And.. they have very similar reactions when it comes to me:

The eldest child, the eldest granddaughter.

When i say I’m tired my mother reminds me: “but you’re strong”

And when I say I’m afraid it’ll be difficult my grandmother says: “No, not to you, it’s not”

It’s the way they were raised, the way i am…

And although for so long that managed to motivate me

now…

For someone who’s burning, what they say is carried away by the air along with the ashes they stand on, their ashes !

it took me so long to realize

THEY ARE BURNT…

And yet they stand,

like the thought of taking a break will break everyone around them.

Like their pain is nothing but the ash they collect to build their empires with.

Gluing it all by the pieces of themselves they sacrificed; cause they had to.

Life rarely gave them a choice

And here i am… on my way to the top, another version of the same woman.

My story has been prewritten I see it now.

How did i not see it before?

•••

•Quotes: Blythe Baird/James Baldwin/Marguerite Duras/ Fernando Pessoa/Anis Mojgani.

•Original context: Sinligh

•Art reference:

1.Soaking by Ron Hicks. 2. Painting by Joseph Lorusso. 3. Dream House by Lisa Lach-Nielsen. 4. Ricardo Fernandez Ortega

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sinligh · 1 year

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A siren, a female being made of liquid stars and all the unnecessary wars. A beauty that is overpowered by rejection an overdose of a vitamin…

Well, I’m begged for redemption only i lure to self destruction.

I sing about broken promises that lasts a lifetime and fears that grow as you do... grow viscously, and as big as the void an emotionally absent parent can leave behind in you.

I’m one year closer to my mid twenties It took me a life time to realize It’s not love that I’ve been starved from

It’s the comfort of feeling seen, without dressing myself up with all the glamorous words that I weighed myself down with since i was a child

forced to communicate; only to please. Now I sing, and it’s out of tune but I seduce and I ruin.

I was loved growing up, i felt so even when no one ever gave me a definition to what love really means.

Maybe they didn’t even know it was missing.

I felt indestructible so I kept stripping my love from misconceptions; only to be left with suffering

Now I know better. It’s either leaving or being left and both in a way are synonyms of love.

the residual of that love is almost nonexistent among the memories that resemble a never ending internal bleeding.

That being said, tragedies stands out more and i use them like bookmarks to my memories.

So i love; and i leave.

I cut into myself with my own teeth dissecting the pieces with my tongue knowing very well how much it will hurt me to taste something that i don’t recognize…

I spend most of my hours dwelling on all the parts of me that make me a duplication of my mother

hypocritically i pack them in the carry on bag that’s always open on my bedroom floor

So ready to leave; just like my father. he emptied more of me in his bags every weekend for business trips

Carving unintentional hollows and leaving them for my mother to fill.

I thought he was the one sacrificing himself, until I noticed that alot of my missing pieces are still under his bed.

Mama doesn’t like it when I point out where my father went wrong she loves him too much, and i .. i reflect that love; by leaving

I know they did their best molding me into a human that knows how to survive, but that’s all I know now.

I don’t understand affection, nor how to accept it in my body.

Not even when I crave it; i suspect it’s because I’m too full of myself and if I feel this way… why would I expect anyone to carve themselves out to fit me in ?

Anyway, I don’t know how to ask women for acceptance and men can’t stand me cause I don’t flatter them

Love sounds like a curse to me.

What if I loved for all the wrong reasons?

my body understands the mechanisms to create another life from love, but i don’t.

I fear that the taste of motherhood will resemble that of a defense mechanism.

•••

•Quotes: Alexander Pushkin/George Eliot/ Leo Tolstoy/ Chris Cleave/Clarice Lispector/ Anne Carson/ Kiki Nicole/ Richard Siken/ Lidia Yuknavitch/ Sylvia Plath/ Franz Kafka

•Original context: Sinligh

•Art reference:

1. A young beauty reclining on a bed By Enjolras Delphin. 2. Details of John William Godward's: Eurypyle (1921) 3. Details of John William Godward's: Eurypyle(1921) 4. Painting by Roberto Ferri (details). 5. The Table (1971-80) Antonio Lopez Garcia. 6. Painting by Alex Venezia. 7. Narzissin by Josef Fischnaller. 8. Painting by Valeria Duca. 9. Painting by Ricky Mujica.

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sinligh · 1 year

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the way you put everything together and add a bit of yourself to each post is so beautiful, even if the topic is hard to take in. you genuinely inspire me. I think you're incredible.

I honestly just wanted to fan over you so I didn't plan a real question. so this is a random one, what song are you currently obsessed with?

Thank you so much !! This is so sweet of you to say, i appreciate it and I’m glad you feel inspired.

Okay for my song obsession it’s actually a tie between Whispers by Halsey and an unreleased song by Louis Tomlinson called copy of a copy of a copy.

#sinligh poem #answered

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