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| Sana | Obunachilarni jalb qilish | Esdaliklar | Kanallar | |
| 01 Avgust | 0 |
Kanal postlari
Rise and shine each day,
Where sky are cloudy,
There are cats that need to be attended,
Dogs that need to be fed,
Lawns that need some trimming,
Buttons that need to be sewed,
Not one job that is too big,
B small things that are left unnoticed,
Busy birds chirp all morning,
And busy bee's buzz all day,
As do I - a busy person fussing over a lot of nothings,
And when the night is over,
And I'm on my own,
I find myself thinking,
I find my curious mind wondering,
Who is now left for me?
Who's left in my life,
That doesn't leave me questioning my worth?
That doesn't make me wonder if I am enough?
And I draw back to the emptiness of nothing,
And I make blankets out of the dark,
To make it feel like home,
So I can wake up the next morning,
Ready to shine my light gain,
And if I don't ,
I'll stay a little bit longer under the duvets,
Until my light starts flickering again.
#Penny_for_your_thoughts ?
| 2 | 3 Ways / 1 Thing
You feel 3 ways about 1 thing, how do you then feel?
Confused? If you say that, then maybe you're a rough person.
Maybe there's a name for it, or maybe it's nameless. It's maybe its own thing, like a tricolor color...
It's a weird color. Maybe you can't imagine it the same way you can't imagine new colors?
Either ways, Feel good
Author: @virtualmatter | 58 |
| 3 | Excerpts from my journal(just come home)
.
.
.
Growing up in Ethiopia means losing all the women you love to their need for men. Being abandoned for dead for the flickering love of a man and maybes. Even the self proclaimed feminists uphold misogyny in the hopes that if they play their cards right that they might get a good man. Roughening up gentle patches because of the narrative that men love bitches. "The meanest woman you know has the most devoted husband". Utter bullshit. But. It's hope. And it looks pretty on you. I wish you were who you are. I wish your desire didn't outweigh human connection. I wish you knew that my embrace was warmer than any man's bed or your thoughts of a future.
Even grown women believe that their miserable marriage is a misstep on their side. An inappropriate gamble on a man's behavior. That if you had played your cards right, if you were more coy, more secretive, more funny, more...but somehow you're too much? You project the game on your daughter, hoping and dreading she wins. Hoping so that you live vicariously through her and that all your efforts aren't for nothing. Dreading that if she does that means you didn't play good enough.
You center love but love is everywhere. You just want to feel chosen. Feel like you have something to prove for your existence. I won't say decenter men, that has been said enough. Center belongingness, giddiness, joy, want, not necessity. An understanding that you'll choose yourself everytime. You are for you. We don't outsource self care/care for self here. I love you, come home. We can be girls together.
.
.
. | 84 |
| 4 | āįØįį«įįįµ įįį į įįįį
įā
(į«įµį įµįØį³)
I want to hold your hands in mine.
I want to lick your lips and sing you songs I wrote in dreams.
I want us.
Heavens, I want us all the time.
įį į°į, I have seen impatience consume love like Greek fire.
I have seen Orpheus curse Eurydice to a world he cannot travel to again.
Where he will no longer be able to hold her,
Where all he has is her smile etched onto the back of his eyes,
Her laughter like a bow, wrapped around his spine,
Where his ears shall forever seek but never will find.
įµįįøį®į į„į».
Impatience,
Too eager.
Now an impregnable wall sits between him, and his eternity,
Impatience did this,
į įį°į„įį?
See, į„į,
I will choose another route and be patient forever.
į į į į į į!
I refuse myself his pain, I will not marry it willingly!
įį įį°įį½?
I will love you from afar until time takes you away from my unlearned fingers.
Iāll pretend to be selfless, for fearās sake, when all the while my unseen love lingers.
į į
į” į³įįį
į½ į„įį² įØįįį
į½į
į«įį©į½ įį į įį£į!
āįį°įįā įįį£į.
āįįį½ į įį įį½į!ā
But then again,
You have such a pretty smile.
I donāt mind having it etched on the back of my eyes,
įįįį įį!
į„įįį³į įį°įį³į. | 134 |
| 5 | She walks in to the room,
She need not ask where to sit.
She walks as her dress flails around her feet,
The folds trying their best not to get in her way.
She smiles in the direction of the man she loves,
The man who loves her back,
Often in quiet ways but in ways no one can deny.
She sits where she is wanted-expected-reserved.
She sits with no questions asked.
I watch her from the floor,
Where my imagination placed me,
The only place I know to look from.
He doesn't smile upon her presence, nor does he move about.
He sits there observing, taking in her warmth.Ā
She is loved and she knows.
She is wanted and she knows.
She is the girl everybody envied and he knows.
He would die for her if she asked and she knows.
Yet she offers up her heart on a platter for him.
It's what makes her a women of his choice.
And it is his choice that completes her as a woman.
#Penny_for_your_thoughts? | 138 |
| 6 | įįį įįµį (1)
įįį įį įØį įØįį įĆ·
įØįįį©į įµ į„į
į įØį«į
į°įµį įį į įØįįįį Ć·
įį°įµį³į¬ įØįį³įį
įį¤įµ įį įĆ· įØįį į į
į įįį¬ įØįį«įį
.....
įįį įįįµĆ· į įį įįµį
įįį į°į«įĆ· į į„į¾į
įµįįµį
įØįįį“įĆ· įį½ į įįį
įØįįį įį«į Ć·į į„į įįį
įØį„įį£ į„įįµĆ· įį«į½įØį
įįįį¬ Ć·įį«į°įį
į„į įįįĆ· į„į į°įØįį©
į į„įį£ įį įĆ· įį¤į į įØįį©
įįį įį“įĆ· įįįįį³į
įįį įøįį Ć·į įįį³į
įįį£įµ įįįØįµĆ· į įØįį įµį
į°įįįį©į į„įµįį įµį
įįįįµ įį Ć·į„įį£ įį„į
į įįįįµ Ć·į į°įµį³ į„į::
įį³į
https://t.me/yegtmalem32 | 185 |
| 7 | Chilling in the Chilly
I go out and there's wind outside. To me it is tame, but others they are in dis-ease.
Tonight, I welcome the cold, because it beats against me, and I need the beating. Tonight, I want to fight with the wind, I want to see what it's got.
It started raining, almost as if to say, "You asked for it..."
But I was chilling tho, I wasn't hostile or nothing.
@virtualmatter | 157 |
| 8 | Tietle (A tie shaped like a turtle? I kid)
How about if the world did it this way? Giving attention to things of huge import first and then once those are resolved, giving attention to trivial things?
Or is it that one will never finish giving attention to important things cause they are so many, and be left with no time for the trivial things?
Or is it that the trivial things aren't so trivial? That they are almost as important? | 218 |
| 9 | I can feel my heart beating on my skin
I feel my ribs open like arms seeking your pretty name to hold within
įį«į
į²į į įį°įµį©į½ įį°įį
Mithril | 244 |
| 10 | When the world itself falls away from the innocence of my lips,
When my spine wishes to invite death into its essence,
When love fails to seep through my meninges,
I will burn my self at the stake for you.
So you could feel warmth, and be less hungry too. | 211 |
| 11 | I have,
(As a person who is not at all fond of)
I have had the universe melt on my tongue before,
Iāve seen the most greenest green unfurl from her palms,
I have written psalms in her name in insurmountable amounts,
I have also kissed her feet many more times than I can count.
Iāve seen her dance like candle light, lit in a dark room real late at night,
Iāve seen her paint stories with her shadows while we lay in bed, and that pretty memory refuses to lay down dead,
My only soul, still it taunts.
Yet, more than everything else, I remember still that I have kissed her feet many more times than I can count.
I have seen her pour daggers from her pretty mouth and Iāve received them with my chest bared,
Iāve licked her lips so they would not dry, hugged her tight so she would not cry, and when my turn she did not care.
Iāve immolated parts of dear old me so she would feel warm, my warlord queen, my Amazon.
I have been hurt by her silhouette, and I confess, my soulās reprieve will not be found,
Time and time again she has drawn blood and I have fallen out of sight without a sound.
And yet, while in a sea of memories, the one bright spot that stays with me, is that Iāve kissed her feet,
Many more times than I can count. | 234 |
| 12 | įį“
į„įØįįį į«į“į į į£į„į¬
į„į°į°įµį į«į“į į½į¬
įØį„įį³įµ į į įį± įį
į įį°į/į įįŗį į įį į„įį°įį į„į¬
įįį į„įį«įįį£ į°įµįį įØįįį į°į£įį
Like a cat in the wild,
Who has yet to be tamed,
I curl up in the dead branches,
hiding from the wind-oh-pains,
I strut in the dark, sniffing out mice,
Ready to dine, to add salt to my life,
I wait for submission,
As if i will not run,
As if my history doesn't show,
In the very way i walk.
My fingers itch the pen to paper,
As my mouth would paint with blood,
I am a fierce wild cat,
Waiting to be tamed.
#Penny_for_your_thoughts ? | 159 |
| 13 | I have had the universe melt on my tongue before,
Iāve seen the most greenest green unfurl from her palms,
I have written psalms in her name in insurmountable amounts,
I have also kissed her feet many more times than I can count.
Iāve seen her dance like candle light, lit in a dark room real late at night,
Iāve seen her paint stories with her shadows while we lay in bed, and that pretty memory refuses to lay down dead,
My only soul, still it taunts.
Yet, more than everything else, I remember still that I have kissed her feet many more times than I can count.
I have seen her pour daggers from her pretty mouth and Iāve received them with my chest bared,
Iāve licked her lips so they would not dry, hugged her tight so she would not cry, and when my turn she did not care.
Iāve immolated parts of dear old me so she would feel warm, my warlord queen, my Amazon.
I have been hurt by her silhouette, and I confess, my soulās reprieve will not be found,
Time and time again she has drawn blood and I have fallen out of sight without a sound.
And yet, while in a sea of memories, the one bright spot that stays with me, is that Iāve kissed her feet,
Many more times than I can count. | 17 |
| 14 | Being grateful is a paradox.
It's said that you should be grateful for what u have, for others wish to be in your place. but then again you deep down desire things, things others have for human desire knows no limit. It's a loophole.
There is always someone in desire of what others own.
There are homeless beggars who wish for a house.
And sick dying people who wish to be healthy enough to even be able to beg
And it goes on and on
Of course be grateful for it will bring you peace of mind when hardships befall you but desire isn't so bad either. There are some of us who wish to know what they truly desire in life. Those who can't find joy in fortunate situations.
Those who can't find solace within their souls no matter how hard they try. So I guess I've to say be grateful that you have things to desire. | 198 |
| 15 | Tourte du jour
(į„įµįįį)
I saw you in a dream last night.
I think I was alone at a restaurant somewhere,
Looking out itās frosted windows,
When I happened on the sight of you holding on to the very earth with your pretty toes,
Clawing to not float away into the nothingness above that awaits us all,
Grinning with itās teeth sharpened and snappy,
Itās grubby hands incessantly seeking to pluck,
įØį į„įį,
įØį įį„.
Anyway,
I felt I saw your desire to mean something to someone,
So desperately so.
I havenāt figured out if that someone was you or someone else entirely though.
Regardless, I saw you garbed all in sincerity,
As much fabric of it as your soul could muster,
While still trying to fit me and all near thee into dresses made of whispers and villainy.
įį I also dreamt that I no longer felt an imbalance within me,
Not a single fibre of muscle constricted at the thought of you floating away,
I weirdly dreamt that I had little to nothing to say.
į„į» I dreamt,
And dreamt,
And dreamt,
While you enveloped your body with a slice of the night sky,
You were a truly beautiful sight, I promise.
But, see, I dreamt that I felt more for the thoughts of what could be that dayās pie. | 188 |
| 16 | I felt the structures buckle
I saw the momentary flash on the dashboard
My attention slowly reared its hydra-esque head towards that disturbance in the fields.
The place where it emerged is left singed.
The observers are gathered and investigating it, proding it.
Life continues, and the tape keeps winding. The sky has morphed many a times. | 164 |
| 17 | If only a moment of Calm
The metaphysical grounds are shaky
The literal grounds are shaky
The universe itself is shaky, for matter emerges out of the quantum vibrations
Do you like shakes or smoothies? Personally, I keep forgetting the difference. One has milk in it right? The other is just shook?š
The shake is shook, we are all shook, it is a shaking.
Thanks for coming to my TedRant | 163 |
| 18 | It's my bedroom so every song fits.
For now it's Chris Isaak's "Wicked Game".
I'm sitting here wondering why you've had such an effect in my life that there is a notable before and after you. There's a precursor to all this.
I was reading encounters of a journalist for the New York times and chewing on her take about listening. She says it's active, like most of the manuals we've read about Business Communication. She elaborates further into a book. I'm on page 34 telling me I may not be a good listener though I could be a good reader.
Going back.
I think you're the only person I've properly listened to. Gathered the hems of my attention and fully sat with your words. It has cost me a lot, I won't lie. For one, I can't find it in me to hate you. I've tried. I've tried everything. You're my doe eyed awfully corny boy. I still freeze when I accidentally see you in public. I guess your features are ingraved in my mind too. I water people down to features of yours that they represent. I saw a man with your nose, another with your hands. I can't tell you any of this of course. There were times where I could tell you everything. I wanted us to be friends as a last ditch attempt to have you in my life. Oh well.
There's nothing poetic about all this. It's flat and matter of fact. I miss listening to you. | 1 |
| 19 | A lonely life
It must be a lonely, this thing we call life. If so, what a beauty it is when two universes cross each other's orbit and collide for a brief moment.
When they catch a glance at the multitude in the other, recognize humanity, and marvel on the shared experience.
Then they wonder, "Maybe we're not completely alone in our thoughts and emotions ā the only things circling the orbits around the stars of our selves." | 156 |
| 20 | It's my bedroom so every song fits.
For now it's Chris Isaak's "Wicked Game".
I'm sitting here wondering why you've had such an effect in my life that there is a notable before and after you. There's a precursor to all this.
I was reading encounters of a journalist for the New York times and chewing on her take about listening. She says it's active, like most of the manuals we've read about Business Communication. She elaborates further into a book. I'm on page 34 telling me I may not be a good listener though I could be a good reader.
Going back.
I think you're the only person I've properly listened to. Gathered the hems of my attention and fully sat with your words. It has cost me a lot, I won't lie. For one, I can't find it in me to hate you. I've tried. I've tried everything. You're my doe eyed awfully corny boy. I still freeze when I accidentally see you in public. I guess your features are ingraved in my mind too. I water people down to features of yours that they represent. I saw a man with your nose, another with your hands. I can't tell you any of this of course. There were times where I could tell you everything. I wanted us to be friends as a last ditch attempt to have you in my life. Oh well.
There's nothing poetic about all this. It's flat and matter of fact. I miss listening to you. | 165 |
