@bilal-salah0

Hello. Here is smthn written and posted on the same day. Tw: metaphorical violence and cannibalism. (I promise it's not that bad I swear) Please enjoy.

You know, i shoud really stop extending my hand to people. What do i mean? I mean extending it open palmed and vulnerable and stretching my muscles to their limits just to reach someone or have them reach for me.

It hurts. The stretch, I mean. Pulling my fingers apart, tearing the sinue in an attmept to reach someone who has barely moved their hand from the body at all.

Now stretching isnt all that bad. Keeps the body nimble, less resistant to change or sudden movement. The main reason i want to stop is because they cut a piece of my arm off each time I reach.

Not every time, but when the person doesnt reach back they keep a piece of me. As a trophy or to embarass me further I cant decide.

Currently im missing everything past my left elbow. But thats only bc the first person i reached to took my entire hand in one go. My right arm is missing everything a little before that point.

It hurts even more when i was expecting to leave that situation with the same amount of arm i began it with.

But no.

Instead these beautiful women take dull cleavers and aimlessly hack at my arm until the piece they want has fallen off. It takes a while for my nerves to decide they were tired of feeling that intense ache.

Ive gotten used to it. The first time it hurt. I squirmed and fought back and called for help but was disregarded. This woman had called herself my girlfriend, my wife, my love. For months ! And now here she was taking my hand.

But now, as i watch blood spurt out of my stump and land on my face and hear my bones cracking and tendons screaming as she takes her earnings. She took earnings for the girl she actually wanted too.

Whats left is my shoulder to above where my elbow was on both arms. It hurts, the wound hasnt cauterized and my nerves are remidning me of my loss.

My face is wet too. I think im crying. I havent done that since the first time. But, i will get over it. I always do.

The wound crusts over and falls away, revealing my new skin and shorter stump. The pain subsides but it returns for a body part i no longer have. Almost like my body misses it.

I learn to live without those things lost. I learn to eat, feed, read, dress, clean, please with my stumps. And im miserable. And awful. And anxiety ridden. Worrying about if someone will soon return and take whats left of me. What will they do once they reach my shoulder ? Keep cutting ? Dig inside the stump for pieces of flesh and organ from the source rather than bothering with my skin, a reminder that im human.

The only constant is that they or she or he will stuff their maws of my meat and savagley lick away the remnants of me with a hand over my mouth to not spoil the meal (or to hide from the reminder that im unwilling, displeased, and alive). Only to discard me with less than i began with. Which already wasnt much.

And yet. I always find myself reaching a short time later. Always needing something that seems to be forever out of reach.

My family and I are in desperate need of your support. Please don’t hesitate to contribute to help my mother receive the necessary treatment and to support me in continuing my educational journey. I am a master’s student facing the most difficult circumstances, but I am determined to persevere despite the war and challenges, as I am the sole provider for my family. Your support will make a significant difference 🕊️.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/amiras-story-between-hope-and-resilience-a-call-for-soli

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There must be smthn seriously wrong w me to continuously attract people who want nothing to do with me past the skills of my mouth

I call this one: makeup. I wrote it today. Please enjoy if u see fit

Every single day I cover up my eyebags with concealer and layer black poweder and liner underneath 

Its to express myself, ill say 

I just like how it makes me look, ill claim

When in reality, i lokk the same without it 

The deepness of my eye bags with mascara on top makes it seem purposeful

A testament and a statement on the consequences of an idealistic, capitalist society 

The reality is that i dont want anyone to know how little i sleep

I dont want them to know for certsin that these are not manmade scars, but the remants of a night spent working 

Authentic, non generic, carved from labor, red bull, and yawns 

I dont want them to know that despite my best efforts the eye bags are reaching farther than my makeup can cover 

Theyre in my muscle, bone, and sinue 

Four layers of concealer, setting powder and foundstion will never be enough to shake the fatigue from my skin 

Some days, i dont wear makeup as i have foolishly decided that hiding my emotions is a stupid decision and the world must know what its done to my face 

Yet

I always end the day covered in foundstion and blush because those around me can see right through me 

How are you, theyll say 

When was the last time you slept, theyll ask, meaning well, but all it really does is remind me that ill never be able to escape the hollow feeling inside of me that can only be filled with maybelline, a monster, ans maybe a warm meal 

born to be chill, forced to be overthinking and anxious and overwhelmed and restless

The ceasefire agreement was reached and joy is floating among the Palestinian people

I'm alive. Here's amyhn from tn.

Its abt me being sad or whatever. Spurred on by having a heart to heart w my roomie

My love life is like sitting in the windows of a coffee shop on Valentines Day. 

You watch the people walk by wearing splashes of pink and swinging their arms full of gifts and look with their eyes full of stars. And its a shitty coffee shop too. With thin windows so u can hear them giggle their love and the hushed murmurs of chatter. 

You csn feel their hearts race and their pupils expand and the thoughts of "this is my person" to the tune of a perfect pair by beebadoobee. And yet. Youre sitting in an ambiently lit coffee shop with a bitter iced latte that melted thirty minutes ago, but im-youre still sipping on bc y-i cant let it go. 

Its also like working retail on Christmas Day. The store is empty. The shelves are barren but im still there in uniform tending to what remains. Lovingly dusting the shelves and picking up barcodes from stolen items. Every once in a while someone will come in, flustered and red from the cold looking for one last thing. Hot chocolate. Ghiradelli. A stocking. And even though it was out of stock earlier when you looked to uplift your mood, the shelf has one left. And now its gone. 

Again.

Then you return home and the gifts are opened. Theres wrapping paper eveywhere and it smells like dinner. Everyone is glowing like a buttercup is hovering below their bodies. And im still dull, dim, and dark from the soul sucking flourescents. 

Then i see my gifts in the corner. They sit in a dark corner and once you put your stuff down you open them in uniform. And no one is paying attention anymore. You blew it. You missed it. The moment, I mean. 

The gasps and sounds of awe as you show off your treasures. The snickers at gag gifts. The sighs at sentimental ones. All eyes on you for the only time you want it. 

But instead. Its a little dark. And youre sweaty. And hungry. And the air isnt as sweet or welcoming. Its stale. Like a chip with the flavoring licked off and put back in the bag. But no one is looking anyways, so it doesnt matter. 

Its also like graduation, but no one is in the audience. Youre dressed up and pretty, but you know that no one you love is coming. For whatever reason that may be. And you walk across the stage anyway and for some reason you stay and wait like someone is coming for you while everyone around cheers with their loved one and you stand in the middle of it. 

In the mix but not a part of it. 

And after a while of standing around you get in your car and get shitty restaurant food. And have a few shitty drinks. Then a few more. Then more. Then a cigarette or two or three or four. Then you drive home, hoping youll get hit, and stumble into the home to see that everyone got done w their mandstory obligations early. And just didnt come. 

Thats what it feels like. Watching a tv show u love but can't understand even tho its in your language. Reaching ror your phone on the nightstand and its just out of reach. 

Wanting, waiting, watching, and not having.

Support a Family in Need ❤️

Mohamad has endured immense loss and is now burdened with debt while trying to protect his sister and her five children. He desperately needs our help to secure their safety and give them a fresh start.

We’ve reached 19% of our goal (€3,715/€20,000), but there’s still a long way to go. Every euro makes a difference. Every share spreads hope.

This isn’t about names, backgrounds, or beliefs. It’s about humanity.

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i think a lot of liberals need to confront the fact that they don’t actually believe everyone should have basic human rights. a homeless person could call me every slur under the sun and i would still want them to have housing, food, etc. the belief that everyone is entitled to basic human rights should not hinge on whether you “like” someone or not. at that point the entire ideology crumbles.