Soul Writers

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.

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

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?

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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 ?

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

I'm sticking around for curiosity and not the good kind. He's a nice man, patient. Spoils me rotten as his predecessors. That seems to be the problem actually. I have terrible luck with men in that I attract the "good ones", the "ideal" men when I want no men at all. It's a rather shameful experience being desired and at this point seems like a not so humble brag. But it's terrible, walk with me. You're not allowed to reject The ideal man. That's the bitter truth. You HAVE TO like him, or else.The ideal man approaches you with no consent because the media around you and him has conditioned you to accept him with open arms. He is well mannered. He also, will not take your no as an answer. No? Ridiculous. Why would you say that to this handsome hunk? The ideal man has pretty eyes that do nothing for you. So what makes you stay? Simply because the women you idolise and aspire to be like are deeply intoxicated by him. It's actually hilarious. The model build, bright eyed, level headed, gorgeous gorgeous women seem to see something in him that you don't. They want to be with him while you want to be them so we're all staring in hunger. The man is blind or so I assume. He kisses my hands almost as a promise. He chuckles when I firmly state that I've always wanted to be alone and untouchable. I hate him for it. The man hopes I open up one day and in that his patience feels like a threat. But I'm envious and I want to be like other girls and if they imagine themselves with him maybe it's the normal thing to do. Stay. Maybe the women will stare at me longer, notice me, see me. Maybe they'll pick themselves apart trying to see what makes us different and the same and through that I'll be inside them. That's all I've ever wanted. To be in them. Is this penis envy? I hate that they want you. I hate more that it's not me.

A preview of what I'd look like when caught. 0 reassurance and I'm listening to Flirting in Space. I call you mine and you think of discard. I get chocolates on my way out. You think of annoyance and lack of peace when I'm comfortable but I'm the prettiest when out of your reach. Yes I compromise boundaries for belonging. Yes, I treat romance as an active threat...because it is. It always happens when you don't want it. A no is a maybe and you just don't know what you want, or so they say. You cry. I cry. Why does it all have to be so heinous. I reach, not for understanding but an objectification that feels worthwhile. The most flattering type of trophy in the room. I cry at promises of being held because I believe them. You love hugging me when I'm not there don't you lovey? I'm waiting for your call and I'm honest about it. I say I miss you and wish it didn't feel like defeat. But it always does, doesn't it? This is not natural.

“ሳቅሽን አይቼ, ሞቴን እንዳልተመኘሁ, ስጋዬን ከድቼ, ከጥርስሽ ተገኘሁ. ለራስ ይሁዳ ራስ, በድብቅ ጨረቃ, ህመሜን ዘንግቼ, መግመዴ ሳይበቃ, ከአፍሽ ተጠግቼ, በስምሽ ተቀኘሁ.” ስንቴ ልሙት? ኤዲያ! ግን, on the bright side, I recently found out that a caterpillar digests its own body while hidden in its cocoon, so it can become a butterfly. So I guess I’m digesting parts of me, ትንሽ ይቀረኛል ክንፎቼን አስከማይ.

05/04/2026 From the deck of tarot cards I'm your fool. I like to descend into thoughts of unconditional love and peace. Days I don't regulate or mother my mother. You always wait for the other shoe to drop and sometimes force it to. I cry knowing I have to comfort myself. My months of work and sleepless nights are wiped out by one blunt because apparently 2 puffs make you a stoner and a mother's love is fragile. I have to sit with myself because you'll try to force me into humiliation rituals I don't want to take a part of. You make it about you. You'd make my death about you if you could. I go back to tears only conditional love could get out of me. I never learn. Hell tricks you with hope. Why does being liked require sacrifice? Mother I went on a date yesterday with someone you'd be proud of. He's trying to negotiate my worth already and he doesn't know me. You'd be so happy. "You'll learn to like children if this continues" he said in your tone. I laughed in the way that gets on your nerves. Oh you'd adore him. I called and told friends what happened between you and I. They asked me to fake religion. Yes mother we're in hell and he won't let me die. My captor plays with me, makes me live in cycles. Teases me with warmth before leaving me out in the cold. I'll find joy in being away. But where's away? I know you'd come back when I find life away from you. That's how it usually goes. You'll come back to feel important(as most do) and make me choose between life and you. I'm selfish. I'll never choose you.

Ugly It's amazing how quickly someone becomes ugly. How lies and betrayal disfigure the face. How perfume begins to reek coming from the corrupted character. It was my love that painted his eyes so beautifully, molded his face and body to perfection like a sculptor. But once the spell of infatuation was shattered by the reality, I realised how grotesque he actually is. There is nothing uglier that the face of the morally rotten. Beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder. The face that I had once found beautiful is now utterly repulsive. - Bella

23/03/2026 I think all I miss is hope. It's being banished to the backdoors again. It's knowing you've done it once again and betrayed yourself. It ok Aki I forgive you. But it still feels suffocating doesn't it? I thought I had options, hope, whatever tf, but no. I wonder if you'll bond about me. Talk about how I'm a mess. And I'll be undesirable and ugly again. I'll teach myself to not get attached to validation as a way to cope. I'll find my reality a bit more dull, opportunities a bit more gray, and I'll be. I wish of us in Harar, I hope to sit in comfortable couches again. I dream of going on dates yet I feel like I don't deserve them. I like your jacket, it makes me warm. I don't rely on potential. Attachment is the root of all misery and the more you know, the harder it is to let go. Is the cost more than the benefit? I don't like the spaces I'm in almost as much as I don't like myself. What am I doing? Where am I heading? They say give love, life and the likes a chance to open you up to new experiences. I think I value control more than care. I'd stick to the same dull men, the same dull spaces, the same dull moments than be introduced to a new type of hurt. I hate being left in worlds I can't navigate. I hate promises of a life beyond this. I hate promises at all. Tell me I'm likable and you like me because I don't like myself. I don't. I don't like where I'm at right now. I don't. I hate that I'm writing this hiding in the bathroom. I hate imagining your jacket not on me, but independence. I have other shirts too. I hate you hope. You're making me teary eyed. I hate you hope, why do you keep me in hell? when's acceptance coming? When do I realise I did it all for nothing. I thought I was going places so I dropped out of other places, I started taking life less seriously and being more present in the moment. I hate you hope you ruined me. I hate that I clearly saw the tomorrow about to come. I hate that I talked to you on the staircase in my breaks. I hate that I do this to myself. Find hell in the office I refuse to work in where your presence was a comforter but will now be a pain. Where tf am I? That I do not know of but I'm out of my world and in your own. I've been stretched. Maybe this is not the place for me. I'll stay for a while, decide to leave for a longer while and finally regret it when I do, fantasizing all the moments that could've bloomed cuz that's what I do. That's what I do. Control over anything as I'll be shut out either way. Control above it all. My stubborness is visible in my resistance to fall. I'll fall on my own timing, on my own will, on my own. I'll drag myself on my own. I'll do it all on my own. Amen to that. Amen.

Was So much sorrow in such a small word. For a long time, I struggled to use the past tense when talking about you. As though you would come back to the present if I used the tense long enough. But, on a random Tuesday, I caught myself saying, "He was... " and felt the familiar ache in my chest intensify. Maybe I'm making peace with you remaining in the past. With knowing that there are no new sentences to utter when talking about you. But there is a statement that will always remain in the present. One I will forever regret not saying to you. I love you. Always have and always will. - Bella