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2016
You're hurt.
You might not have registered it, but he hurt you.
Many more people will hurt you in the same way.
They will make you feel worthless and replaceable, but you will find friends who stay.

2017
For the first time
You’re mourning for someone you never got to know.
Your mother is hurting—
You feel everything but you won’t understand until till you’re older.

2018
You love him,
But not in the way you think you do.
It won’t stop you from writing letters and holding his hand.
You'll spend many nights humiliated by your actions
And the next six years running away.

2019
You’ll understand sacrifice before you understand suicide,
And realise that everyone becomes orphans
And feel guilt for not paying rent to your parents.
You are not a burden.

2020
You feel trapped and scared
Feeling your fear rise along with the numbers.
But the storm will pass and it will be nothing but a common flu.

2022
For the first 6 months you’ll say your goodbyes
Then you’ll start public school in the middle of the year
You’ll learn profanities you had previously been sheltered from
Papers will pile on your shoulders and you will scream and sob as your soul is shredded over and over again.
You will learn of self harm. You will learn of insomnia.

2023
You will finally be able to name classmates
And race against the boys in PE. You will become class monitor.
You will have demons who shriek lies but also friends who will cover your ears to protect you.
You will wake up everyday with the knowledge that the death of your class is coming.
You telling stories, and stopped writing them too
You will finally talk to him about your mistakes 6 years ago, and leave the scout group in his hands

2024
You will watch as the group chat falls apart.
With you tearing yourself to try and keep the rotting bonds together.
You will tear your throat open screaming, because no one understand why at it's like to feel everything through the screen.
You will try to replace them with your new class, only to be let down again and again.
You will start to write all the hurt in rhymes, spilling your blood over the paper.
You will finally understand suicide, and why people want to die
You will also realise that a friend tried to jump two years ago, and you knew nothing about it.
You will find a find a friend willing to be the harmony to your melody, even if both of you tend to miscommunicate

2025
You've will meet will want to leave school, but also want to stay
You've will meet wonderful people on this website
Listen to their stories; cry for them, fear for them, pray for them
Want to know them better but still be too scared to do so
You will be insecure and distance yourself from friends.
You'll be scared to hurt them.
You’ll hold back because you feel like you’re too much. Don’t go silent.
But the year isn't over yet, so you've got time
If I could write a note to each year’s version of myself

For those who actually read the whole thing you have no idea how much that means to me. Thank you, I appreciate you so much <3
Arthur May 12
Would you ever text me first?
How I'm doing and I'm feeling?
It was only me when you needed,
But the other time it's just repeated

So, that counts as a yes?
That you didn't wanted to text me back?
I could just ignore the fact,
That you were out with your other friends,
When I asked you to help my back,
I knew, kinda viewed but still I waited to see that's not true

And the message that I'm writing now,
With my tears not stopping flowing down,
" Hey, how are you? How your studies?"
The basic sentence to start my presence,
And then I see the "seen" sign of eternal silence...
Idk lol
Feathers fill an earthenware vase
                                         Tall quills  
Suiting ink wells
Scribing words beneath candle
Signing treaty’s  
                           Secured with wax
The Magna Carta
The Declaration of Independence
                         Momentous things

But these are simple feathers
Collected for aesthetics
For smudging
For connection
   For reasons other than to write
I was looking out my window, in the middle of the night,
A bright over powering moon, seemed to hypnotize my sight.
Then this thought, appeared in my mind, to see,
How long will our planet earth last, as we know it, to be.
The year, three thousand eight hundred, and twenty-three.
Through energy in the air, we all receive messages, over time,
We never know when, or where, most we forget fast, this one,
Inspired me, to look up, investigate, with my mind.
Our moon is approximately, two hundred, thirty- eight thousand, miles away, I was curious the same numbers, arranged,
In a different way.
Investigating more, as the bright light shined down from heaven,
Nostradamus, said, the world will end, in three thousand,
Seven hundred, and ninety- seven, a prediction he saw in his mind.
Twenty- six years, was the difference, that appeared in our sign’s, that does seem to be many days, not when you’re, considering, over four hundred years, have passed in time.
If either of us are close, my journey will have something else,
For me in store, I will always remember the moon,
At twelve forty- four, on the first day of February,
In the year of two thousand and four.


                         Tom Maxwell©2004 (rearranged 2021)
To my dearest monsters,

  I hope this letter finds you on the brink of your doom, rotting away in your sinister cave. Because it's what evil like you deserves. To rot and woe, to know the pain of fading, before you fade away. Because your longevity is short lived, for most of you will die come first daylight.
  I hope you know, there is no home for you here. But if you try and build one, It will be burnt down. Every scrapped cinder and discarded log crushed to black dust. The substance of your soul, you're made of cinders, burning away at the human you once were. And if no one else will stand against you, know I will. Don't mess with fresh fire, lest you get burn away too.

                                                                                    Sincerely, I.
I refuse to be fooled by one of these again, I call to the writers of HP, let us make this a safe space for all writers.
Anais Vionet Feb 19
I was listening to roller skating tunes.
Yes, I am shallow, sir.
And though thou may say villainess or mistress,
I am content to be who I am.
One noon, we were over dull
and our hearts we serviced
like two thieves there
in the kissing place
where breaths are both as one
and the first of many kisses doubles.
He made vows in mine ear.
He has such hands and lips
and his fortunate nature fed mine eyes
oh, nothing was scarce.
Our horns locked together
with the intensest chutzpah
and we well-made our match.
We sparked feelings we all ascribe to heaven.
I would not tell you
I can serve a man
that by slow designs
men can melt.
He swore oaths
and dropped
half won.
Later he paid
the sweetest
after-debts
—he did owe it.
.
.
songs for this:
Find Me the Pulse of the Universe by Laetitia Sadier
Stormy (Bossa Mix) by S-Tone Inc
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 02/18/25:
Chutzpah = audacious boldness paired with reckless self-confidence.

**We saw a production of Shakespeare's "As you like it," last week, those rhythms were stuck in my head.
Kacie Nov 2024
No evil shall enter in sacred space
Powers move, one thread in chase

Hands of creation, electric flow
Held captivated with eternal glow

Luminescent band, another dimension

Binding words weave within
Secrets of past woven in pen

In the shadows, in the light,
Forever hidden in plain sight


RepeatedNap
Anais Vionet Oct 2024
Why do the texts keep on coming?
Why does my phone have to chirp?
Don’t they know,
the election is over..
It ended when I cast my vote.
.
.
Songs for this:
Bring Me to Silence by Fievel Is Glauque
The End Of The World by Skeeter Davis
Anais Vionet May 2024
If you’ve read any of my delicious, hand-crafted vignettes and listened to us talk, you’ll know that my roommates and I are critical thinking swifties who spend hour after hour talking about anything and everything, all at once. We’re full of niche feelings, lukewarm takes and sometimes, we’re in direct conflict with one another about pop culture, politics and life at Yale. I usually avoid the strikingly controversial - here - believe it or not.

There was an anti-Gaza-war protest encampment, briefly, at Yale. You could walk by it or sit, on early spring mornings and watch the goings-on with a cup of coffee. It wasn’t big. It was easily avoidable. They weren’t threatening and they didn’t tear things up (like Columbia). There were 200 students at most - the times I was there (out of a student body of 14,776). Passerby - students, professors, counter-protesters and casual observers would be asked to stop for a portrait - a quick picture taken against a white backdrop.

If you said “yes” there was packing tape and markers to write your own, individual message that you would affix to your clothing, temporarily. This went on for a few days. Many people I saw were apprehensive about being documented in that environment — fretting about the repercussions of being doxed — if so, they could turn their backs to the camera or covid mask their faces. There were well over a hundred portraits (my guess) taped up on walls, placards and tents.

I found the pictures to be a cross section of humanity - all races and ages. The messages were as diverse as the authors: The opposite of war is.. creation. Free Palestine. Everybody chill. There’s enough empathy for everyone. If we don’t protest genocide, our education is useless. Jews 4 Palestine. You admitted me, now accept me. Faculty for free expression. Let students teach you courage. We’re sitting on the lawn. Unsuspend my students. Divest from death. Do more. You wanted engaged students - I guess you have them. What does my 80k per year buy? Peace. Bring the 203 home.

The contrasts were fascinating and the pictures surprisingly moving. The people in those photographs, no matter the message, seemed beautiful. They stood taller and seemed prouder than normal. Free speech, like voting, is so American and so empowering. I found my heart going out to all of them - I’m proud of them.

I didn’t protest. Am I flawed - probably - but my work and volunteer-load is egregious. Were the protest subjects serious - yes, were the protestors serious - yes, was there an air of holiday excitement and escape from ordinary burdens - yes. I carried on as usual - so did my roommates. We're in scientific disciplines - we’re logical and surprisingly serious little-miss-Spocks - not easily distracted from our goals.

Every night, growing up, my family discussed and debated the particular issues of the day. The Israel/Palestine situation was seldom far from the headlines. It’s one of the most complex situations in world history. I ken this - there are no easy answers - the problems are un-TikTok-able.

In my family, you were expected to join the school debate team. You were expected to think. As the youngest, I was soaking it all up before I could participate. In high school, my debate specialty was extemporaneous speaking - so don’t get me started.
.
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songs for this:
A Man of Great Promise by The Style Council
Do You Realize?? by The Flaming Lips
That's Me Trying by William Shatner
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge: Ken: someone’s range of knowledge or understanding.
Spock = Mr. Spock was a logical, unemotional alien on TV’s ‘Star Trek.’
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