I dream of the empty tunnels within the earth,
where once worms lived but now only their corpses lay in the poisoned dirt.
I dream that the sick earth gives away beneath our feet, that mankind slips down passing our equally sickened history as we go.
I dream there are trees forever preserved in plastic, bones of fish that twist in deformation, the hornless rhinos mouths are still wide in pain and in their blank eye sockets remains fear, small bones lay next to big ones.
Finally, we reach our ancestors alongside the mammoths they slew,
the only genuinely recognizable corpses.
I dream that we never hit the end, our bodies fall upwards as we pass our mistakes, our triumphs are few and far between.
Then I wake up.
I stand on the dirt that I dreamt of, waiting for the human race’s sins to pull me down.
I feel nothing but the worms digging beneath my feet, I do not feel the waxy plastic or the sharp bones of fish,
but it is then I realize I’m still dreaming.
if you're a student at all, please take care of yourself. you don't need to compete with your classmates for who slept the least or who drank the most coffee. eat breakfast and go to sleep a little earlier. lay off studying for a night and do something nice for yourself. your body and brain will thank you.
is there anything more fun than creating something and being able to say “this is how I feel”
“Step into my poem, I will be there for your heart, in this gondola of rain and hope.”
—
I miss you like the plants miss to be showered by the sun’s rays during the night
I miss you like the desert misses the rain during the dry season
I miss you like a child misses their mother in their absence
Occasionally, in the midst of the night I’m able to hear your cries or the sounds of your whimpering when you’d been hurt
I recall the misery in your eyes the day you returned home with blood dripping from your head the voices of agony haunt me when the moon replaces the sun at night
The image of the twinkle in your baby like moonlight eyes will eternally remain in my mind, body and soul
You’ve enchanted my shattered black heart with your stardust and even when it turns to nothing but ashes, it’ll forever remain besotted by you
You are irreplaceable
Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena
-5
Sandra Cisneros, In an Interview with Krista Tippett
excerpt from who cares if it’s a choice? snappy answers to 101 nosy, intrusive, and highly personal questions about lesbians and gays by ellen orleans, june 1994
Chavela Vargas − La Llorona