“I wish I could run away and never come back.”
Someone gave out my cellphone number and now I’m getting a bunch of random calls from food delivery places.
If anyone wants to snuggle me or hang out and drink tea or idk be my significant other I would totally be down for that so I mean.
Perks of dating me:
- I’m a good snuggler
- I make really good tea and mac & cheese and sometimes eggs
- I will be eternally nice to you and give you little weird gifts like funny shaped rocks and also inch worms
- I’m good at being really quiet
- I don’t like conflict so no fights ever yay
- that’s all
little lord bird sing- divination
plucked from the dirt.
a weed’s hope
a fool’s prayer.
little lord bird croon-
a fool’s hope
a worm’s prayer
little lord bird preach-
to the flock of the damned
Hell hidden ‘neath a gold sea
man has no hold on
Love is ineffable
it bears no real description,
words slither away, slicked
with the oil of reason.
It is indefinable really
and uniquely individual.
Love is felt not spelt
in a catalogue of details,
it is not of a measurable depth
there is no true criterion
only the feeling felt.
Words cannot encompass
every nuanced note, or colour,
each refinement or gradation,
they can only hint as
the pencil sketch to the painting.
Love is ineffable
it is why we write so much,
we strive to describe
to see if we can touch,
this emotion that feels
so much bigger than us.
We write the corroboration
of our hearts, and prove
the existence of the ineffable.
get creative. Tell me I was more disappointing than
your childhood. Send me your bloody ear with a letter
saying “I’ve got to Gogh. You’re making me crazy.”
I am hard to love but know this much: you are the
only thing I like doing more than writing poems.
My big sister walks
with her hands at her sides,
a cigarette between her fingers
and a rusty ring on her thumb.
Forty-five days ago
we walked this sullen street
with our arms at shoulder height
and pretended to soar.
When we reached Fifth street
the stars were peeking out again
ballet dancing across the sky,
into constellations that drew
out our fate in secret codes.
I should have learned to read them.
Then, I would have seen his knife
at her throat, and his hands around her waist.
I would have seen the crimson stain
that patterned the pavement with innocent blood,
that left her crying on the roof of our house.
It took me four hours to talk her down.
I baked her cookies with extra sugar
and let her eat all twelve of them.
I was the one weeping when she mourned
her youth, “I’m not a child anymore.”
I have not been one in a long time.
I was stolen away from myself too,
on a night like hers.
But it was not the fault of another.
I took me from myself
and chained her to a tree,
then set the forest on fire.
Please, I beg of you, my dear—
never be like me.
Charles Bukowski, “A Poet in New York”
these are the delicate
shades of you.
so soft and
heavy hues hang
to my tongue
and my words
from the sugar
I have gleaned off
of your alabaster skin.
Ainee is the FIRST Hijabi to be featured in Seventeen magazine.
She’s working “with Gucci, Beyonce for her campaign, Chime for Change and Seventeen Magazine to unite and strengthen the voices speaking out for girls and women around the world”.
Love is in the smoke and we can’t even breathe