If This Pain Chooses Not To Leave Me

- sacrificial sinners by j rose

How the fuck do writers do what they do?

If you are so keen on hating me,

Please hate me only in the mornings.

For I know you dream of me every night,

And I would rather slit my throat every single day

than to be a nightmare to you.

at this point in time, the epitome of moral bankruptcy is engaging in whataboutism

especially when one side has food cut off by the occupier who also bombed the main bakeries

when one side has fuel cut off by the occupier who also bombed the power plants

when one side has had all humanitarian aid preempted by the occupier who also bombed over 15 hospitals

when one side is ordered to evacuate by the occupier who is also placing the whole population under a 16 year siege

stop inserting futile and absurd ~"counter arguments"~ and read the fucking room!!

Sometimes I wonder if I should delete this Blog when I get famous. It wouldn't be appropriate for a famous author to have a tumblr, right? What do yall think?

Or i could just go anonymous and this could be wll thats left of me <333

It's offensive how okay I am after everything I've been through💀

God gave me royalty to be at ease yet it's the thing I hate the most about me. He gave me good things to be grateful for but I hate them all. This is because there is something rotting within me. It was all assigned to the wrong person. I cannot be normal. "I feel scared Yusuf. I'm scared of you. Whenever you kiss my feet I remember how I was treated in the palace. You dont treat me like the servants used to. Why don't you treat me like the servants used to? Why don't you treat me like a slave? I am carrying every bad thing that has ever happened to me on my back like a sack of stones over my shoulder wherever I go. It digs into my neck and causes a rash that burns. Initially, I thought maybe I felt special. After all, I am a princess. I thought that's what separates me from the crowd. But when people flash a smile I feel offended. I hate it, Yusuf. I hate when people smile and compliment me. I hate anything lavish. I desperately need gold that is fake. I need to be clad in simple cotton kurtas. I hate the colour red. This is what I try to explain to you everyday! In the bazaar, you pitied me for the common stones on the rings occupying my fingers. I explained it to you then. After it all, you say I do not deserve the frail mattresses. What is that you mean? Are you trying to take revenge on me?! Though our hatred for my father is mutual, after all I am his daughter. How am I supposed to believe you do not wish to sabotage me when you threaten to put me in the same position I barely crawled out of? Do you even know? I hate the purple silk sheets and the grandiose bed chamber. When I lie on my back, I still do not get adequate rest because the light of the moon is caught by the very real diamonds stuck to the top edges of the chamber. It glints and reflects onto my eyes. It is blinding. I hate them, too. The royal stones remind me of the rotten marrow swimming in my bones. I hate when I look into the mirror and I look pretty."

They say the abused become the abuser. And you have gone through hell.

But what is standing in front of me is this beautiful, fragile woman that holds broken things so gently as she has never been held, who melts her energy into making them intact. Until there is no power, no more love left to give.

I keep waiting.

I keep waiting for a dog so hideous to pass by on our evening walks that you will not pet. I keep waiting for a sunset too plain that you feel it too futile to paint. I look around for a child far too overbearing for you to comfort— But whenever I inquire you, all I hear is that you've been all of those things, and you won't let it happen to anyone else. Too hideous—too plain—Too overbearing—

You love fixing broken things. You attract evil because it latches on to sweetness, sucks it until evil becomes a lovable thing and the source becomes sour and stale.

I believe, sometimes, that is why I am your lover.

But I am no different from when you first met me. You may not have noticed this, but even though you hold me, pour yourself into me, you never attempt to glue me together. You never attempt to fix me. You just bleed into my vacant parts, unafraid of the surrounding filth.

Who did I murder that was so bad, what days did I feed my hungry cat so well that I am held dear to a person like you?

My sweet, sweet Caroline. How could I ever repay your love?

-exerpt from my upcoming villian×hero book🤭💋

Nature within her Palms

"This one's for the leaves." She says, while squeezing out a warm orange on her thumb.

As she's scraping the dry colour off and onto the canvas, I notice her reach for the trembling, paper thin tube- The lukewarm Green. This paint- no, nature on her hands: it's blooming.

"Weird way to paint, no?" she chuckles.

This barren colour grow's ever so full of life on her tan hands, it could call it home.

She's speaking but god, how I can only stare.

I hope someday, I can, too.

-hana💋

That line from "because this is my first life" that goes like - 'Love is a Privilege in Marriage'.

Yea. That line.