A poem and illustration I drew for my story
(Sorry for the poor pictures lmao)
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So I have this glass.
It, in its unbroken form, was one of the few things I got from my grandparents after my grandma passed away. I was so afraid to use it and I absolutely wouldn't let the kids use it, and if I did it was with a litany of pleas, like - "PLEASE don't break this, it's one of the few things I have of theirs..." And such.
Who broke it? I broke it.
Trying to hand-wash the damn thing. And my reaction was actually calm because I realized at that moment that sometimes by overprotecting things we can cause them more harm. Which is kinda life changing. Use the damn glass. Let people in.
"Family Heirloom" in charcoal
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They say that your heart
Is the size of your fist
I can tell you first hand, I know how that glove fits
It takes your whole life just to teach it two tricks:
It beats and it attacks
And in between is all of love and loss, attraction
You live your life between contractions
-Dessa, Half of You
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fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am an observer, but not by choice.’
[text id: my fist has always been clenched around the handle of an invisible suitcase. / i am always ready to leave. / there is not a single room in this world where i belong.]
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