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Like a concept I told him I dream of doing something mindless like being a waitress and making a modest life for myself. Dreaming of nothing grand. Believing in nothing grand. Just the small miracles of smiles and sunsets and childbirth and water. Of love and sex. He wouldn't have it. He wouldn't have a woman so simple. He had delusions of sophistication to dress me in. I have tried them on before I got to him. One by one. These cloaks and masks. I had a closet full of them. Collected through the years through books and music and words of people. Dead and alive. But I have loved you see. And I have erred. I have made beautiful mistakes on purpose that left scars all over my body. I look at them and they remind me. I only know what I have lived through. And that's why I move like this now. Depouille - Bare. With no decorations. Non performative. I know the cost of it. Being true with your intentions in a performative world. But I didn't have any other options. The cloaks and masks don't fit anymore

2	I lived like a dragon, with heaven behind my wings, untouchable, unshaken. but maybe I forgot... I am still a little thing, with skin that can tear, blood that can spill, a heart that may ache 💓 @abcd03590	40
3	Snippet of nothings I have been sick for a while now. The sickness wasn't too bad but the pills I have been given for it are horrible. I get relief in the night but each morning I wake up to a continuous suffering. There's a constant feeling of irritability and nausea coupled with a horrible metallic taste in my mouth. My appetite has gone away and even when I force myself to eat something, my mind couldn't be convinced this metal tasting ball of mush is food and refuses to let me swallow it. So I dropped weight fast. With my already skinny figure the weight loss was scary. My cheeks sunk, and when I stand naked infront of my mirror I can make out all of my ribs and my hip bone. I have no energy. When ever I get up to go to the bathroom I feel lightheaded and need to find the walls with my hands. This is bad! So, throughout the day, I lay in my bed and think. Mostly about death. I think about how it would be a relief if I were to close my eyes now and go to sleep for good. But there is music in my ears. A really good music. Beautiful melody enticing vocals one of a kind lyric. It pours into my ears like honey and gold. And I wonder if all of lifes suffering is worth it for this singular moment of perfection.	44
4	When the night comes, I drown in my sorrows and I think about all the nights that I could've borrowed. For one more minute, one more time. It eats me alive, the feelings in my ribs like I'm in that very moment like they're all in her lips. Is it fair to feel or is fairness just a facade? I do not know, perhaps it's all in my heart. The memories and the nights, they're all she left me with. Just longing, starving, aching for one more day with the beauty in the night.	51
5	The 2 kinds of people You'll ever really interact with two kinds of people. One, when talking to you, addresses you at a deeper level, your essence; the orb of unfathomable divinity and consciousness nestled within your chest. One, when talking to you, addresses the many layers that are stacked on you; your name, your race, your build, your background, your demeanour. I like to believe all things serve a purpose; the brain likes to be efficient and it will usually default to stereotypes and judgements, doing the alternative requires still deeper reckoning. All to say, I get the latter group. @virtualmatter	51
6	A Series of Serendipitous Events I had long since started heavily relying on alarms. I had grown tired and disgusted by being reckless about commitments. So I slowly cultivated the habit of alarming nearly every, commitment. I had set my alarm for checking on the electricity meter, then forgot to do it.... When even safeguards fail to guard you against your incompetences.... Lo and behold, the power went out. So I went out to the neighborhood and bought some bread and then saw a dog unsuredly walking into a buoy. Moments later, I heard some people yell at him (I don't like calling animals it) to get right out. Musing at dog shenanigans is one of my favorite pastimes, and so I stood there for a minute longer just looking at the scene. Then appeared this person of interest, right before my eyes. This was a person whom I had crossed paths with and sensed some hostility from a while back. He was intoxicated and said, " Hey you with the glasses." My default with anyone is friendliness so I was glad to talk to a stranger, said hey back. He went on to take out his ear phone and hand me one of them and said, " እንደራሴ ስለማይህ ነው።" I replied, "እንደራስህ ስላየሀኝ አመሰግናለው።" He was listening to reggae, the jovial kind. A little at odds with the late hour, might I add. Before he went on his way, he said "ፀልይልኝ" This, this confirmed to me that, people who appear hostile are usually going through inner turmoil. This is what I imagined was the case even when we crossed paths and I sensed that tension. At the end of it all, my breach of policy in not executing on my task led to a rather profound encounter with an individual whom I would've otherwise regarded as unpleasant. The trajectory of life is quite haphazard. @virtualmatter	108
7	October 23, 2024 I woke up to a notification. It was a Wednesday, my least favourite day of the week. I couldn't sleep it through ; I had to make an appearance at a class I'd chosen to skip a few too many times. It had been exactly eight months. Eight months since I became best friends with insomnia. Eight months since I had forgotten what it felt like to exist without a heavy heart. I opened my eyes and reached for my phone in hopes of seeing "CLASS CANCELLED" on it. But instead, there it was—his name, casually making an appearance. My heart sank as my entire nervous system went into pure shock over a text message from a person I was certain I would never hear from again. He said he saw me in a dream. Dancing at a bar, wearing a yellow dress. He said I was drunk and singing along to Arctic Monkeys' "I Wanna Be Yours," stating facts that were a little too put together to fit a dream—an unaware brain somehow captured perfectly. But he didn't know. Yellow wasn't my favorite color anymore. I hadn't had a single drink after that night. And most importantly, I no longer wanted to be his. @liya_dereje	158
8	He gave me two roses.One red and one yellow. He said it represents the flag of your people. But for me it represented our relationship - forever stuck between love and friendship.	172
9	Animated Are you alive or animated? When you're alive you move "yourself" but when you're not the universe moves you? But the universe is always moving you (You're animated)? So what is it that differentiates the universe moving you and yourself moving you? What's the difference between being alive and being animate? By: @virtualmatter	163
10	Hey, I have a question, can I ask you for a favour? Not a loan me money kind of favour either, but a loan me your time type of favour. Loan me your thoughts type of favour. Can I ask you for that? Hey, I know you dont know me but I, didn't know who else to ask. The peope that already know me have already failed me in that. I'm embarrassed to ask them with my words again, when they failed to see the question mark itched into my eyes, when my silence filled the room with more question marks. But you... you haven't seen my eyes. So I am forced to ask you with my words for a favour I've never asked before. So, can I ask you for a favour that will potentially affect your life? #Penny_for_your_thoughts?	208
11	Shadow Man 2 I like summer. Sunny days, the light, the hopefulness. Winter, Not so much. I only like it for one reason—winter understands layering. But the peculiar thing about winter is it speaks to the soul when the soul refuses to feel joy. When it drowns in greyness and prefers stillness over everything. No movies, music, parks, friends, books, food. Nothing but stillness. Winter embraces and consoles then. When the chest tightens and it's harder to breathe, the legs weaken and start trembling, when the only thing that stills the shaking hand is holding on to the cross for dear life, the crying season consoles then. As I stand in the middle of a winter, my black overcoat on top of my sweater, my red scarf bundled around my neck, desperately wishing the storm won't knock me out, not wanting to live doesn't sound too audacious then. Almost like giving you the right to think so, the weather. Horrible. Not because you actually want to die, but because you don't want to feel anymore. It is even worse because you know you want to live. Plath would probably tell me not to let the winter convince me it is the truth. And she would be right. Because, unlike how it came—slowly, suspiciously, insidiously, without permission or warning—it leaves in a hurry. In a snap of a finger, between one breath and the next, the winter season passes and the summer is here. The shadow dissipates, and you can look at the five-year plan again, and it doesn't look so ludicrous anymore. Plath would then continue: keep writing the summers down so you can remember them in the dark. I never would. Not in the rush to the sun. @EthiopianwriterM	205
12	Ghost in the Man-chine I believe in Ghosts Because unresolved things, ideas, passions are ghosts. They haunt me nearly everyday, and I visibly wince when they thrash in my mind. They're literally abominations; undeveloped and decaying, they float in the void of the subconscious and occasionally break through into the conscious to take a gulp of air, and then they sink back again. Sometimes they escape the gravity of the subconscious and come as a band of headless men and women, launching themselves against the inside of the skull. For the sake of my sanity, I should probably give them good closure; it's not fun having a haunted mind. By: @virtualmatter	246
13	I spent the night with love. Love has beady eyes when she laughs. Her whole face scrunches forward and her nose seems to be her prominent feature next to her smile. Love doesn't snort. She finds that to be the most disappointing thing about her. Love has immaculate taste in music, or so she tells herself. Love is blind, partially. She struggles especially in the dark. Love likes gentle kisses and feigned neck bites, makes her feel like a victim. Love likes grabbing noses of the people she adores, it's a comfort thing. Love is deep when calm. Love looks balding under street lights and so so pretty. Love wants comfort and warmth. Love is desperate. Love likes forehead kisses. Love has a new found love for chocolate cakes. Love has attachment issues. Love is very sentimental. Love is a light sleeper. Love follows everywhere if you're ok leading. Love is honest. Love is teasing. Love likes void days. Love likes existing beyond reality. Love likes spending days in people's worlds. Love is childish. Love is kind. Love would read this and want to cry. Love is inherently love. Love is sooo beautiful. Love is probably sobbing by this point. Love is so soft, very soft. Love is hurt by misunderstandings. She is trying not to be. Love is. Love. And I get to say I spent the night with love, like every night. I feel warm. I spent the night with love today.	223
14	In wanting sovereignty, your biggest enemy will also be your laziness. Shackles to a certain lifestyle that drains you don't have to be metal and cold. Your shackles can be warm and comfortable and make you feel in the specific way that a shower does when you get the temperature right. You are always employed and loyal as long as you're alive whether it be to your parents and being their pleaser at a young age. Self employed when you think and act on freedom. Employed to your provider when you've settled just to get a break from fighting your way out of this life. Should I settle down? What does that entail? Why? Humans are terrible gods and even worse devotees...atleast I am. "I want to be left alone" until someone can give me everything I want materialistically. Damn.	276
15	The only seed that flowered to reach for the skies while in constant dark. A tempered mouth that would otherwise whisper the heavens into being A flaming heart that secedes from needing eyes for the very action of seeing, Nearing Apotheosis, are we? Ascend then, Ascend! I promise to start to pray to thee! My common heart will sing your name. While blindly binding its arteries to your hallow rib cage, Singing praises as you take the only center stage, Your white dress flowing free, Burning bright in front of your many versions of me. Perform sincerity, you sacred thespian, You emissary of the gods, Sow lies into your words and preach them in tongues at us to put yourself at odds. This throne is made for you, Melt us all like candy, Bite down on our bones, grind us into dust, your sharp teeth shall come in handy. We will marvel at your lips and it will not be from fear or the demanding nature of lust. But because you’re beautiful, and all your versions of me simply always must.	249
16	I always been the loving kind, the one to do more, feel more. Despite the open gash of flesh in my being. I was one loving kid. I don't know when it happened but I've lost the side of me that felt enticed by the feeling of affection. The blues turned white and gray, somewhere along the lines of feeling absolutely heartless, to spirals of heartaches and misery. I have stopped writing, I enjoyed poetry alot though. I can't draw anymore, artist's block they call it? I feel lost, within myself. I sometimes feel everything and everyone at once, like I'm one being with the whole globe, their experiences flush through my disarrayed memories like I share it all, the burden to be. Then it stops, and I find myself just one pitiful being. Irrelevant to all and maybe important to some. What is it that I want to become? Questions! Questions! Questions I can't answer. I think about the souls I connected with, the one I've known inside out. And the one's I've exchanged words of eloquence with. Nights of chatter, endless conversations and friends I call family. But then I remember I'm still trapped in my own body. I don't feel alive, I feel rather imprisoned. My nights are painful yet I claim to feel nothing, What a hypocrite I know. Is it weird to feel it all and not at the same time? Probably. I was never ordinary, one fucked up kid. But the extent of my self loathing is undeniable, I can barely stand myself. I wonder if everything means something. At least one? Worth the sins, the prayers and agony alike. I know it, I am everything and nothing at the same time. Such nonsense I know but I feel it, yes I feel. I exist. I was once something. Maybe I will vanish, nah not maybe, I know I will vanish with all my half-assed thoughts and writings sure but the burden to be. Oh the burden to be. One bad feeling it's. Cloud_born	213
17	We will dance in the empty city we make out of our bones, Just you and I, in a barren land made from our trash. We will twist our limbs unnaturally until we hear something pop, We shall make music out of that pain, And move like time doesn’t exist for you and I. While words whizz by and melt the air around us like bullets, I will deafen my ears even more and cover yours with kisses. I will smile a fake smile, I will promise you that I’ll always be there, You will shrug off my contorted spine, While you dance with me with flowers in your hair. We shall abandon this world that we know and melt into eachother’s presence, An unnatural nebula, Unmade to be made anew. We shall dance, you and I, When we meet in the city made from our bones. But until that day comes when we finally get to, I shall continue on to bid you a constant, and a progressively less hateful adieu.	199
18	On my period Lights are out and I'm bleeding. I've never been one for pretty words. You've smoothed me out in your awkward ways. I still think of trimming your beard. መነኩሴ ያስመስልሃል. Nothing against them, I just don't imagine fucking one. I bully you during your intimate stories but my God one hits home. I'm in bed covered in tears and snot thinking of your suffering. You don't know this. I wish I could find ways to make your life easier for you. You also don't know this. I've missed the mother in me. The effortless way I'd say "my beautiful boy" and mean it. My beautiful boy. I see more than your eyes now. I'd want to give you the side of the bed I've already warmed up, the cup that is more full, the ጭኮ you question me buying which I don't usually share, the ugly snicker I've learned to surpress, stories about me likely having endometriosis while you walk me to the car in absolute disbelief, renditions of my inability to twerk, so on and so forth. We can pretend our fingers are not laced together while you run code and I hear your friend's rambles about the Soviet union. Have you eaten? Are you getting enough rest? Your ears are ticklish aren't they? Give me your necklace. ልቀንድብህ(I beg). I'm having drippings of your vocabulary enter mine. "Indiviጅ" እግዚኦ. I think I'm starting to have love for you and your patient ways...ዳር ዳሩን ሄድኩት እንጂ I love you. I really do.	216
19	I'm sad again. It's not the music ringing in my ears. It's not the missing text from the interesting guy I spoke with yesterday. Not even my favorite neighborhood auntie asking me when I’m getting married. It's the lack of having things to do at the end of the night. I had a good day today. It's been a while since I have had one of those. I even got my period without being bothered too much. My body finally feels relaxed again. Even getting my period didn’t send me spiraling this time. I felt light. Excited to create. Happy to explore. Not overwhelmed by fear or inadequacy or the constant need to shrink myself so I don’t become “too much.” I can just be me in my current job. And that's been nice. Freeing. But when the day ends. After I have done all that I can think of. I have nothing more left to do. No one to call. No one to text. No one to cuddle with. It's not lonely. No. I've been lonely. I know what that is like. This is just alone and sad. With very little to no hope of seeing a better day. I never wanted to live a long life. Now, I don't mind if I die alone. I just don't want to live that long alone. I wonder what it's like, to die. Will it be an experience full of pain? Relief? What will await me afterwards? Will I finally get to see Mary and her kind face looking down on me or looking out for me? Will I get to see down at the world in a way I never saw it before? Will I be happy? Excited? Nervous? Scared? What will it be like? But then i also wonder what it would feel like to kiss the one you know in your heart you want to marry. I thought I had that once. On the days my doubts subside. Now I wonder if I did, and I gave it up for the lonely but peaceful road I am on. I don't hate lonely. I hate alone and sad though. So no. I am not lonely. I am sad and alone. Truly alone. With no one by my side. #Penny_for_your_thoughts ?	213
20	How Does it Feel? How does it feel knowing you are welcome, but not wanted? The door stays ajar for you and you are allowed inside but you are never invited of their own accord. You make conversation and the host laughs at your jokes but never makes any of their own. You always make excuses, "I was in the neighborhood, I'm just stopping by," and you need a reason to come inside. Because you feel your presence itself is not desired, not because they ever said anything but because you feel at odds, like you must tread with caution. You are welcome only conditionally. You are allowed to come inside but never to stretch your feet, the host listens to you intently but keeps an eye on the clock while you speak. The rabbit waits in the corner with the pocket watch in his waistcoat while they both stare at each other. It's a painful place to be in, inbetween a yes and a no. The host is not rude but the disinterest still stings. I feel like a stray dog you fed once, showed affection and then show up everyday with devotion, loyal to an owner that wants little to nothing to do with them. It's painful to be tolerated and not desired, you are allowed inside but there will never be anything to eat, instead you are the one to bring the snacks and the gifts, with nothing in return for you. You try to stay longer, you put on your best dress, spritz some perfume, hoping that if you looked better they'd want you to stay- it never works. It never works because you cannot bargain your way into someone's affection. How does it feel knowing that you are welcome, but not wanted? @cafemidnighttt	240

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