very rushed adamandi fanweek art!!! vincent and ambrose as freshmen
(poem + concept art under the cut)
My friend likes fruit.
I'll offer him a spare orange I keep on me,
and he will jab his thumb into the peel,
leaving the flesh a jumbled mess.
My friend doesn't peel oranges the right way.
That was his words, his nails were too short cut to cut through the skin,
his hands not 'dainty' enough to separate the pieces,
he never did like things he couldn't do well.
My friend doesn't like the way the pulp stuck to his hands.
I wasn't ever opposed to getting my hands dirty,
so I'll peel my orange as best I can, letting the white stringy bits fall off with the exterior,
and he'll toss the scraps in the bin.
Since my friend likes fruit,
I'll cut the orange in two halves, one for him, one for me ---
it's hard for me to give my all for things,
though I'm trying to give my all for him.
Even though I cannot do much, I can still peel oranges.
The tips of my fingers can worm their way above the flesh without harming the fruit,
I can share half of my time, my routine, my life,
I can still be the person who peels your oranges.
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Books read in February 2024
THE PRETTIEST STAR by Carter Sickels
POOR DEER by Claire Oshetsky
STAGES OF ROT by Linnea Sterte
SO LONG SAD LOVE by Mirion Malle
I DO EVERYTHING I'M TOLD by Megan Fernandes
THE TAIGA SYNDROME by Cristina Rivera Garza, Translated by Suzanne Jill Levine & Aviva Kana
SUITE FOR BARBARA LODEN by Nathalie Léger, translated by Natasha Lehrer & Cécile Menon
THE SKUNKS by Fiona Warnick
MAGNOLIA WU UNFOLDS IT ALL by Chanel Miller
A FROG IN THE FALL by Linnea Sterte
HOW TO END A LOVE STORY by Yulin Kuang
SLOW DANCE by Rainbow Rowell
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As Simple As The End: A Poem
Spoilers for The Immortal Thor issue 7.
All stories must end,
It is the way of stories.
Yet, to borrow from another tale,
Something too much of this.
Is it too much to ask, O Norns,
For a clean break, with no unfinished business?
For a long life, for forgiveness from my brother,
At long last earned, without conditions?
Is it too much to ask, you Fates,
For a peaceful retelling, where the only changes
Are made by us, now, with nothing sinister
Lurking in the shadows, rewriting our history?
An ending. If only this were the last ending
We would have to contend with for awhile.
If only I were as everlasting as Wildfire,
As fleet of foot as my own Thoughts.
If only I, too, could wrestle Death,
And nearly stay upright with pride.
If only I could meet my own foretold end,
And live on to tell the tale of it.
But that all is behind us, brother.
My death and rebirth and rising
Like a phoenix from my own grave.
Now, like a raven, nevermore.
An ending, yes, an ending.
It is how these things go, brother mine, and yet,
Sometimes they are the hardest parts
For a Teller to sculpt from the clay of story.
Where do I end? When do I stop?
You told me once that I was the best
At running away. I think if you could,
You would eat your words now. Yet still.
How do I stop running, brother?
How do I let go, of life, of breath in my lungs?
How do I let go of you, when all I want
Is to protect you from whatever truths may yet come?
I know what it is like to wake to your life a lie,
Your parent a stranger, your world turned on its head.
I know what it is to unleash something so terrible
You cannot stuff it back into its box when you lose control.
I can help you, in this adventure, and the next,
But where does it end, Thor?
And when do I grow bored as your ally,
And return once more to being your foe?
I do not want to be your enemy again.
I do not want to go back to that past.
I'd sooner die, and I know that isn't a threat,
Isn't a vow. It's a premonition.
I hope I get a chance to write the ending myself,
But Thor, if my end is written for me, know this,
All stories must end, this is true,
But a story told once may be told again.
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