“Khalid! ”my mom screams from the kitchen. “Come here!”
I roll out of bed, grinning. I should be angry, I guess. And also scream something like “Fuck you, mom! I don’t want to!”. At least, that’s what teens in American movies do. I’ve been watching a couple of those lately and I love them. Rashid showed me a secret entrance to the private cinema, and we have been sneaking in there, silently chilling in the back seats.
But I don’t feel like screaming “Fuck you!” at my mom; I’m just grateful that she is strong enough to shout.
I won’t start this article by saying “I’m not gay.”
Even though I’m just beginning to realize that — in a way — I did. Or maybe I am gay, and I’m just afraid to be labelled as gay. The latter being a foolish thing to fear, given the fact that being gay is officially the second coolest thing you can be (don’t ask me what the first is. All right, I’ll give you a clue: it has to do with living in a freezer on the north pole).
But let’s face it: being gay is not generally viewed as…
She visits the Graveyard every day, slowly carrying her tiny frame over the hill and through the thicket of tall shrubs and oak trees, where — just over a tiny slope — the grassy fields break out into the knee-high, muss-covered stone wall.
It’s always at night, just after sundown, leaving only when the moon is nothing more than a spotlight in the inky untenanted sky, only when the stars have swept through the night, washing away her sorrow in their infinite spirals.
I keep watching her until she reaches the padlocked iron doors of the Graveyard. As she totters…
Trigger warning: Suicide
The hurt doesn’t hurt anymore
the water isn’t cold anymore
nothing hurts like before.
Anxiety-ridden, that’s how I’ve been living
all the places I went, they've been unforgiving
My pain never stopped digging
Will I ever find something relieving?
Why is the world so bleak?
Why am I so weak?
Too much pain, too many chains, too many sins
That’s how it begins, till everything out of control spins
too fast to seek, too confusing to speak.
Thought I’d be safe here
thought that God my prayers would finally hear here
But if my pain doesn’t, then I’ll be…
They are finding Biden votes all over the place — in Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, and Michigan. So bad for our Country! Donald J. Trump (twitter, 04/11/2020)
I know sometimes
Thin’s may not always make sense to you right now
What we always tell you?
Straighten up little Donny
Stiffen up that upper lip
What you cryin’ about?
This is how every election goes. You did everything you could to make sure your supporters wouldn’t vote by mail. That’s why for the most part they are for Biden. And here you have your results. …
Tonight I’m catching a Dragon
By its tail, I’m pulling it back
without fear, I’m going to attack.
Tonight I’m conquering a mountain
Straight to the top, walking non-stop
until my vision becomes black
and the cold wind smacks
the air out of my lungs.
Tonight I’m fighting for my life
Against a thousand warriors I’m going to strive
The only one to stay alive.
Tonight I’m swimming across the seven seas
whether on my hair
blows the summer breeze
or the furious winter storm
that to the bones, a man can freeze
Tonight I’m running a thousand miles
|PROLOGUE, The Ultimate Manual to Witch-Hunting (Revised Edition, Written by Not-A-Woman)|
Is your village haunted by demons? Do you have a problem with ghostly apparitions? Do you think that the woman down the alley is a witch?
If you answered affirmatively to these three questions, then you stumbled on the right book.
I’m Bartolomè de Sepuevelda, Not-A-Woman, and you are reading The Ultimate Manual to Witch-Hunting (Revised Edition, Written by Not-A-Woman).
Now, before we start, I want to ask you two simple questions:
I can only hope you…
Water running down
the river, a view that couldn’t be prettier
flowers flying up in the Summer sun
didn’t I tell you, my love, to run?
When Autumn first came
it slowly took away my flame
Even kids know that
when the leaves die
Love, in the blowing wind, screams its last cries.
Winter always comes late
one snowflake falling straight
down the misty fog and all the way to the top
of a red-tile roof
No, my love, Cupid its arrows doesn’t shoot.
And then — when everything seems lost and cold
is that a new root?
Are those hanging from…