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'Mosquito Field'. Robert Cumming. 1974.

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If there's one thing to know about me, it's that I could never be anything other than honest all the time. I spill my words everywhere, and they run over everything, corrupting everything. It's some sort of rotten pollen created in the pits of my stomach. It ruins everything.

My words have been getting louder lately. They now lack the silent anger they used to have. It used to give me personality. Instead, they are just bloodthirsty now. I have never been prouder of myself.

Because a girl like me could only ever find peace in the blood. Only in the thick, wet, dark red coating my hands and my teeth.

I call myself a lamb and I am. I create my poison only when provoked. That can't be my fault, right? There is nothing I can't forget, but my main black, dripping organs throw out my veins like a cobweb, trapping and holding onto every little detail so I don't forgive. That's why I'm up in flames all the time.

You can call it self-preservation, but I think it's really this blinding bloodlust from when I was a child. It just keeps growing with time. Because it's a fact that lambskin attracts all the predators of the wild, and I think they are all just naive.

I can cut through a neck with my words like butter, because my pollen is made of all the truths trapped in me. They turned to proteolytic venom in my tummy.

Now I'm this little monster from whom everyone turns away. But they only have to fear because I reflect the truth like Basil's masterpiece that captures every offence and foul play.

Now I'm this pretty little thing turned ugly. Yet, none of the things that turned me ugly are mine. Except for maybe my vampire's belly. But how could I be without it?

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are you Sri Lankan?

yess!

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Something in me is changing. I'm still full of rage, seething and overflowing as always, but there is also a strange sense of transformation in me. Like maybe everything will really end up alright. Like maybe I'm getting closer to the end of the tunnel and the early morning sunlight is waiting to kiss my skin again. I want to do things. I want to make this life worth living. When I go out tomorrow, I will do something that makes me happy. When I come home, I will clean my room, and help my mom and dad with something too.

– 8th November, an excerpt from my diary

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I’m attracted to safety. Coming home to the most beautiful person you've ever seen and you know however bad everything outside maybe, your person will be there to support you, no matter what. You know your feelings are safe as you lay your head on her lap. She listens to your vents and your sighs, all the while holding you gently in her soft, warm arms, stroking your hair. And you get to protect her just the same. There is no judgement, there is no danger, there is only love. Safety. That’s all I want. The romance of safety in my lover's arms.

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The sky is a perfect clear white–blue backdrop, but there is water on these rocks that we carelessly step on. My footing is not stable, and my knees wobble above bruised feet that don't really feel like mine. I'm only following you to be nice (and there was nothing else I was taught).

This road is not for me and I have half-cracked kneecaps, but I follow anyway. I need to be nice, and polite. I flash you my wounds a bit but they're only pink, and not that "deep". So, I should be fine.

Yeah, I should try to be fine. If I'm not good at taking your hand, I'll need to find a better way to make a stand.

I wouldn't take up anyone's space or time, though I'd let you take mine. I entertain people without faces that I don't even like. Everyday, by being kind, I lose more of my pride.

Should I take a stand? It will inevitably end in a blood bath. Should I care? I know they built me to do just that. But these tsunamis brewing inside tell me otherwise.

With every false smile, the storms and the organs grow in size. If we are not careful, this stone path will flood high, and like a washed-up whale, I might accidentally swallow everyone on this joyless little hike.

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October thoughts and questions spiral

my favourite word in English is ‘inappropriate’. what does that say about me? 

yin and yang. I've had a good share of misfortune in my life. think it's high time for the fortunes to fly in (please?) 

should I colour my hair red, or pink? (which suits my cinnamon skin?) … or should I keep it natural and let it grow out this time? 

the morning light is bewitching on my skin + wish there was someone to share it with

do I love enough? I don't feel like I do. 

I want to change my name and —

the universe is too big for any of this to matter anyway

how can I move on if I don't get my revenge?  

my horoscope says I'm destined for great things, but I'm 25 and I feel like I've done nothing (though I've done a bit over the years) 

I miss academia, does academia miss me? (sorry I'm trouble) 

need chocolate cake, but I promised myself to stop eating sugar 

it's my dad's birthday and I'm secretly sad. it's scary to see him get older. life needs to be longer!

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Chrissie Hynde helps Joan Jett remove her leather pants. The struggle was real. (1980)

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Eyes that will be used by a taxidermist

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got so much pent up aggression that sometimes the bloodthirst shines through every word I write. that is my happy writing. but sometimes it's just this peaceful melancholy. that's depression.

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Antonio Frilli, “Sweet Dreams”, Marble sculpture (𝟣𝟪𝟫𝟤).

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there is something familiar in your eyes. is it the chocolate or the wine or that ocean-like hunger? or is it a mirror for the deer who fears the light in the water? do you peer through the window to feel pretty in the evening? have you started loving the sun yet? do you want to start a fight? I wouldn't mind one either. this girl grew up suckling on blunt knives, I would be a match for you. or I could shield yours, and you could, maybe, shield mine? your eyes tell me I'm beautiful and I got that pretty wine in mine. I think you are beautiful and I could love that pretty wine in yours. 

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I earnestly seek your support for my family in Gaza. This fundraiser stands as our beacon of hope, our lifeline amidst the depths of despair. With profound sorrow, I implore your generosity as we endure this unimaginable ordeal. Your contribution can mean the difference between survival and oblivion for my family, and for this, we are eternally grateful. Please, help us to rebuild our life and pursue my PhD study as as there is no guarantee of safety here. kindly read my story, donate if you can, share if you could not.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/Help-Eman-start-her-study-and-escape-Gaza-genocide

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hi where are you I miss your posts and your writings :( sorry if this seems weird do you have a side blog?

hi! thank you for checking in on me. I hope you have been doing great! it has been a chaotic few months and everything is still settling. but I have missed this too and I can continue again now that the storms are subsiding ahaha

and yes, I do, it's @dykepoetics but it's just things I find interesting and want to save

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"have you learned how to drive yet" i have the spirit of friendship in my heart. the joy of lifes little things in my soul. the whimsy of magic. the beautiful enjoyment of nature. the answer is no though

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"I would never be like you," I used to tell my father, "I would never sacrifice mine for another". he never really said anything, that is what he wanted for me too. growing up watching jewels being stolen from a kind man, I worshipped villains in movies screaming for disaster, "good riddance if you're kind." I hated naivety with all my little heart.

but yesterday, I let someone steal from me. I gave it purposely. and I realized that for a few years now, as the adult that I am now, I have been giving. without expectations. shutting down my brain. depriving myself to satisfy the heart. maybe my heart grew differently and maybe it secretly admired my father. I realized I have become him without knowing. I can't help it now, but I hope that if I ever have a child, they wouldn't.

– an excerpt from a piece I wrote a while ago