I walk through the chemistry building
Its been two weeks, but feels like two months
I used to come here to study,
I cried in these halls
Because I liked being surrounded by passion. comfort
I pass by labs,
I peak in and see a student researcher pipetting something, wearing ppe and a mask,
I pass by a danger sign on a door,
Warning of radiation emission,
I assume that the multiple layered doors are very dense and heavy, because that is what it'd take to protect us.
I go into my meeting with my professor,
After watching a former classmate of mine leave his office,
Recall his patronizing comment to me while I was asking a general question to a lab tech standing next to him.
My prof's quick to get to business,
Handing me my exam and the answer sheet.
But as I ask him about how he's doing,
and I talk about wanting to put in more effort,
then ask him again, really, how are you feeling?
his face softens
We talk
He later tells me it's nice to talk to someone who cares, for the subject
And I think to myself, it's nice to talk to someone who sees that I do.
I update him on the research lab that didn't have space to accept me, I'll reapply again later in six months or so.
and he tells me I may have to apply to other labs, she may not have capacity for another couple years.
and I hesitate. should I ask this?
But as I'm trying to be braver, I go ahead and ask:
"Who do you reccomend?"
He then names me some faculty I have already heard of, but then forgot.
We end our meeting, I wish him well, his class was a pleasure,
I then start to look into what I can do;
I revisit this burning yearning of mine,
to help,
I want to be brave.
being afraid is why it must be done
7d ago
May 27, 2026 at 3:42 AM UTC
sleepiness is itchy
the hair touching my face is poking my cheeks with every bump in the road, begging to bother.
my long sleeve shirt and jacket is scrunched up together in the armpit.
after a long day in someone else's city, we journey back to fall asleep in our own.
im gazing out at the large dark body of water, whizzing past the sparse orange streetlamps illuminating the road,
dark blue and black shapes beyond.
dreamy acoustic guitar paired with hopeful singing playing on the radio.
mouth is dry and eyelids are heavy.
i feel safe enough to sleep.
such affection i feel.
i want to look into my friends' eyes when they make me laugh and hold onto their hands;
to show i care, i see them.
even if i cannot see past the foreground besides the deep aqua of trees and shrub,
i trust that it is all beautiful,
in the same way i look around at the shadowy outlines of my friends' faces in this dark car,
and know that they are beautiful.
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 11:50 PM UTC
// tw childhood abuse, violence
I still remember what it was like to be Her.
8 years old, being made to look after my little brother, 6 years old.
Vividly, the memories, good and bad emerge,
And she comes to knock every once a while to ask if I've forgotten her, asks me if it's okay if I hold her hand a while. If I can make her some food,
Whenever I find I have a moment to myself.
I remember,
i used to play in the trees with my brother, waiting for the morning bus for school, role-playing a life where it was just us, and no one to be afraid of.
Here would be the kitchen, over there is my room because it's biggest! You sweep up the leaves with this branch, and I'll go make the mud pies for us for lunch.
She always looked down when she walked sidewalks. there was beauty and strength, in everything, especially the smallest of things.
she'd see plants growing through the cracks in the pavement, from once infertile stretch of desert land. she felt connected to the plant. It must know how she feels.
she loved the moon and thought it sentient, following her, watching over her.
she'd speak to the moon, wishing that the people around her, and that all the people and animals in the world were happy.
I remember,
how much I'd hate being forced to wake up before dawn, pulled out of peace within soft, pretty sheets with the image of dark and bass of a voice booming with threat and irritation.
i'm sorry i took too long to wake up.
please don't hurt me.
now forced to wash with cold water. I hated being cold, I wanted it to stop. He was watching me though, I just needed to get it over with. I can barely reach the sink, I need the stool to do the final parts. Just do the morning prayer, Then I can go back to sleep.
I still hate being cold now, going into the freezer at work makes me relive those endless dark mornings.
when those pointless obligations were more important to baba than how I felt.
Rich inner world. yet didn't have the words, couldn't speak, couldn't express herself. Kept to herself. Poked and prodded at by family members. vulnerable.
Teased for being too quiet, and then also for speaking up and sounding too formal, touched when I didn't want to be touched. Hated hugs.
She kept me safe. Screamed, fought, baring teeth all the while. She acted nasty and like she hated everyone when she didn't. Hated lying so she tried to convince herself that she actually did. Mama called me heartless.
She loved me. and often thought of what I'd be like, wishing she could meet me. What would this older, more responsibile person be like?
I know she'd be so happy with me.
I remember so vividly what it was like to be her, the stillness of the mornings, still needing a light to sleep at night for a long time, my brother grateful I'm keeping guard of the bathroom to make sure he was safe to use it in the middle of the night. baba and mama's voices passing by while I pretended to be asleep, reading my comic books.
I am blessed with her memories. And I grieve her loneliness and broken dreams. She was always Fantasizing, wishing for a life she can call her own, not have to worry about endlessly noticing patterns, baba's footsteps approaching the front door nor the inflections in his voice, unless it was for the purposes of marveling at the world.
I carry her deep sadness she dared not to speak out loud. Days felt long, and endless. I have felt every minute. The pain was unfathomable. I wish I had someone to hold me while I cried,
instead of escalating things.
Did it make you feel all big and mighty to have hurt me, "just lost control", but just careful enough to rarely bruise me, always 'missing' my face?
Did you feel oh so powerful, to smack a small child "being difficult" about taking gross medicine into tears, and then again, into silence?
I didn't feel like a real person for most of my life. dissociative state. stoic. everything needed to be pushed down, invisible. I can't be seen or found.
Then, after years of screaming, fighting, and appearing violent and dangerous like a rabid dog, I have finally rewired my nervous system and found the words to the crippling fear and pain she felt was real, but unnamed.
I see her perspective. I close my eyes, I am myself now, but through the eyes of being 10, double digits. Being small, the kitchen table being taller than me, climbing to reach the dinner chair. Need to tiptoe to brush my teeth, too small to see my hair's a mess and that's why the other kids made fun. Small enough to have my whole head grabbed, and shoved into the lowest level of the fridge. I am still her, in essence of thoughts, only now, I can reach the cupboard behind the top of the fridge.
I still share the skin she had that was hurt by someone who was supposed to protect her. but I also share the same skin that held hands with friends, running and pulling them along, that offered lunch when somebody had none, that pet stray cats, and fed them plenty otherwise I'd cry. The same skin that now trembles when a loved one rests their head on me, or lays their hand on my shoulder. slowly starting to let the moment of it settle, finding comfort in the touch, how warm it feels. Instead of being too trapped in my head.
She was so scared to be touched, and to be seen at all. Wanted to ***** if so happened. So young, so full of Spite and blind hope.
Knowing the love I have felt since, the 'blind hope' then is as all hope is, embedded in the grand wisdom that things will always change.
I will always remember her, every detail I burned into memory, even the ones that hurt. Because I know her the most. Her bests, her worsts, her strengths, her why's. Her secrets. Hiding a deeply poisoned self- esteem and repressed feelings. It needs to be me who will always honor her.
I find myself today, at 23 years old. my body is mostly mine, I am alive, and I am breathing. I've been hurt so many times, have hurt others many too. Yet,
I carry her joy,
her spirit,
her love for the world and everything in it, a love so strong that it will hold you, make room for you, and envelop you in feeling that it'll all be okay.
I became the hope she prayed for, the person who saves her, the streak of sharp, warm white light that lets out through a gap into the cold, dusty room, splattering a spectrum of colors.
I want to hold every person who had been hurt like how she was, and protect them with all I have. I want everyone to be well, still.
I look at the world with keen eyes, her eyes, with a much taller body.
I still hug trees, kissing their leaves. I want to be friends with every squirrel, ballet dance, sing loud, joke with strangers and make my loved ones laugh, be my friend's shoulder to cry on.
I still feel happy to watch the sunrise, hearing birdsong, feeling safe, like I did when I was 9, when anyone who could hurt me was asleep.
Who I am now at 23, is the same person I was at 14 in arabic class, when asked to write about our life so far, one theme kept coming into mind, أمل.
I carry her with me. In my heart, and on my shoulders, pointing at the patches of flowers to make sure she sees what I see.
I am endlessly proud of how much she's fought. But I will be who grants her rest. A peace and safety that she's always wanted. I love you. Always, and forever.
Now that I've seen you, I won't let you be alone.
Apr 19
Apr 19, 2026 at 6:46 PM UTC
my prime motive,
revolutionary action,
is to contribute,
any desperate way I can..
to conduct research for the environment.
I want to help,
But I feel so powerless.
all this destruction of land, this deep hurt, this pollution, this cold-blooded ******
FOR WHAT?
For money, for greed?
For NOTHING, really.
HOW CAN WE COURSE CORRECT?
WHEN ALL THE BIG PLAYERS DON'T KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON, nor THE CONSEQUENCES OF THEIR ACTIONS?
WHEN THEY DON'T BOTHER TO LEARN HOW THERE'S IMMEASURABLE AND ALMOST IRREVERSIBLE DAMAGE BEING DONE TO THE ENVIRONMENT, OUR UNIFYING SKY?
Using our planet as a single-use waste container for purpose of profit and then die off to leave us with the exponentially worsening impact
they don't know how out of balance, how out of touch they were and are with their surroundings
and nobody knows how shaky with violent emotion I feel
I don't know my individual impact on the world around me,
Now that I live in an imperialist society.
I don't know,
I can't quantify it.
I can't quantify it.
How would I do that? How could I begin to keep track, and assign a numerical value to this damage? MY damage?
It feels selfish to do my laundry every week
using products that will harm the environment
Using power, wasting water, using plastic
Throwing out excess food after every shift.
I'm contributing to the problem,
I'm not above it all.
Disgusting waste and
spoilage integrated into our culture.
Every coffee, every to-go, every sandwich that needs it's own wasteful home that only gets used for 5 minutes
I feel as if I'm about to be sick.
How every little thing adds up,
compounds,
contributes,
to producing toxins in a self-sustaining cyclical fashion.
How much it's all connected.
Theres a heavy disgust that stirs and pushes in my chest.
I feel that I'm contaminated.
And I can't clean what's wrong.
I can't fix this sickness within us.
I can try to be hopeful.
Specific,
passionate about changing and contribute to change.
But that will take time, and hard work,
my life is already feeling relentless.
When can I ever rest?
My life requires a level of discipline I wish I could dedicate to
AND attend to basic needs.
In general, I just feel powerless.
And that I am,
Less than a person.
A number that can be manipulated into working to the bone; spending as much money as possible, staying hungry and unwell.
Trying to take up space makes me jump through mental hoops,
My guilt is immense.
I want this to hurt.
And it does.
It feels as though with every repeated ache to my heart,
It might eventually match the inward; how intense, sharp, ebbing,
Shouting to me, THIS
IS
R E A L .
I feel that I am simply
not.
good.
enough.
to help the world.
As I am a human that can't constantly be working and studying.
As I need rest.
It feels as if I am not reading the room yet again.
I am losing time, they need the solutions NOW. Before the point of no return.
I look at my sleep as a time sink.
I've taken naps to substitute for bedtimes this week to get up early and finish lab reports.
Only even doing so because I couldn't continue to focus from physical exhaustion.
What if I let this **** me?
that.
would make it easy. No more fear. No more anxiety, powerlessness. Nothing.
Living is harder.
But.
If I want anything to ever change,
I need to survive this, and
live.
It would be such a waste otherwise.
It would be playing exactly into what they want.
Loss;
of life, of kindness, of hope.
We will all die someday.
And my talents would be wasted if I didn't go into scientific research for the environment though this gift of lifetime.
I am dedicated, observant, attentive, passionate,
and above all,
Relentless.
I will keep going.
I don't have any other choice.
It's hard to live just for me right now.
As I have a complicated relationship with my physical body; getting in the way of my goals.
But I need to stay well.
In order to dedicate myself to something bigger than my own personhood.
I am not a genius; but I am persistent.
I can be trained to not present bias in thousands of experiments; understand the inner workings of instruments, what they can measure for us, method-optimize.
I am powerless right now but I cannot turn away now that I've seen it.
I wonder how many generations of scientists have felt this way.
Voluntarily wanting to go through these horrible, lonely, mental trials,
humiliating, humbling, shaky crises.
Not for status or monetary gain,
But simply just to help.
That's all I've ever wanted to do.
I want to help.
Feb 8
Feb 8, 2026 at 2:31 AM UTC
"What beautiful flowers!"
Unaware of how much death & decay took place under the soil, right below.
Oblivious to the pain.
The speaker was a girl with long black hair, walking with another, a person with brown and golden hair, at the base of the hill with a weathered grave on top.
She smelled the fragrant jasmines & plucked off a handful to decorate her hair, now walking away down the hill.
Her companion lingers at the top, gazing at the gleaming white petals, contrasting with shiny ivory.
"Come down!" She calls. But the blonde has seen the engraved rock, secluded by growing vines. They decide to have a moment of silence.
The black haired girl looks back, then rolls her eyes before abandoning them.
The person left standing next reads the epitaph,
Their sunkissed, freckled face turning into gloom.
"Now that I've seen you, I won't let you be alone."
She gently kisses the keen flowers that are curious about her words.
Then turns to lay and nap in the grass and foliage for hours.
May 11, 2024
May 11, 2024 at 5:32 AM UTC
when she leaves for work,
i'm left in the absence of wonderful wild spirit.
i tidy up the covers we slept on together peacefully & arrange the stuffed animals.
they look happy that we no longer dominate the bed with our talking and laughter, they watched us enviously from the floor the night before.
i wipe down the counters lightly, coated with dust, & vaccum the floor. i assume my mother would be surprised at the sight of me after i proclaimed "i will never fall in love!" as a 10 yr old.
i go downstairs and wash our dishes from the dinner the night before, remembering how each cookware served us, & how goofily we waltzed in the kitchen ballroom.
the day is bright and sunny, even if it isn't.
as i take out the trash on my way out, i commute to my house
where she'll be for the rest of the week.
May 11, 2024
May 11, 2024 at 5:20 AM UTC
it didn't sneak up on me
i fell slowly
with every act of kindness where she'd go out of her way for
i could lean on her.
she loves me unashamedly.
but i was afraid and stuck in quicksand
but she pulled me up
again and again
no matter how many times i mistook the sinking death trap as ground
our mutual sacrifice for eachother
out of concern, out of care, just because;
is what love is
May 11, 2024
May 11, 2024 at 5:09 AM UTC
she grew up with a beach of sand next to lake
i grew up near a beach with jellyfish & sweet salt air; home.
so one day i will take her to where their eyes remind me of
a honeyed landscape of granual sediment,
millions and millions of years of erosion,
just to look soft & warm to the onlooker
the tide pulling in and out. the seagulls flying above, cawing, while a cool, sunny day shines upon the sparkling waters frothing with movement.
her voice is my ocean breeze.
May 11, 2024
May 11, 2024 at 5:01 AM UTC
the lights turned off & everything was black
but for that millisecond, i was not afraid of the dark
the dark moved as if it never existed
a void abyss, yet it didn't consume my vision
because i trusted that my eyes
would adjust to the darkness
And it did.
May 11, 2024
May 11, 2024 at 4:49 AM UTC
i lose my placement on the feeling as soon as it leaves
i tripped over my own words and choked on them
misspoke my truth
left out so many important details
everyone around has it somewhat figured
because they had roots.
i grew up severely unaware; didn't know the names of places, only the abstract feeling.
the feelings i can't quite place now
everyone growing up seemed to be grounded
i played into it; welcomed jokes at my expense
i knew more than i was letting on
but i wanted to blend in.
(it worked)
May 11, 2024
May 11, 2024 at 4:44 AM UTC