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i have so many hobbies and interests but each day the four horsemen (instant gratification, shortened attention span, procrastination, exhaustion) grab me by the throat and shake me until i collapse in my comfy bed
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most days i wish i could grab my own head and hold it, hold it to my chest the way a mother hugs a child. or the way a lion holds the head of the young gazelle in its mouth, teeth stained with blood soon.
you know, if you squint, those two things are the same. does a mother hold her child in love or in hunger? does she yearn to fill that ache with me, fill me up with tears like a jug to be sealed and forgotten in the winter, found in years forward shattered from expansion with freezing?
i don’t know. but some days i wish to hold my head to my own chest in love and in a predators way one more time before i plunge a knife into my own chest, and hold myself in my arms as i watch them bleed out.
does a mother love for her own greed?
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Chess of the Wind (Mohammad Reza Aslani, 1976)
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Ada Limón, from “I Have Wanted Clarity in Light of My Lack of Light”, The Hurting Kind
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AND I'LL NEVER GO HOME AGAIN // YOUR CHILDHOOD HOME AND THE PAST INSIDE OF IT
Maya Angelou // @filmnoirsbian // BoJack Horseman (2014-2020) from The Old Sugarman Place dir. Anne Walker Farrell // Tennessee Williams The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore // Anne Sexton A Story For Rose On The Midnight Flight To Boston // Noah Kahan Paul Revere // pinterest // The Woman in Black (2012) dir. James Watkins // Ariel Gore We Were Witches // Katherine Fabrizio A Poem From the Good Daughter to the Difficult Mother // Marble Hornets cr. Troy Wagner // AroarA #6
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