a place to write your heart out. anonymous submissions when the time is right.
it doesn’t have to make sense. just write what you feel.
insecurities. inspirations. great hopes and even greater fears. memories and nightmares. moments that changed everything. friends that helped you dream of who you could be.
moments we let slip away.
this is a place to write about it.
inspired by my friend kyla at pure nowhere :)
March 2026
NOVEMBER 2025
•
NOVEMBER 2025 •
Songwriting
songwriting feels like the process you go through trying to open a new portal. try to take too much control of where you’re going and you’ll miss the best part. fariha talks a lot about decolonization in their workshops and in writing i think that looks like learning to detach yourself from forcing things a certain way. it feels better to let go of any certainty. to reorient around the feeling. learning to spend more time with your body. to listen to what’s already there. to listen closer. it’s not about ego or anything really to do with what you think you want at the start. the best part is learning over and over to open yourself back up again and seeing what you find behind the curtain.
APRIL 2025
•
APRIL 2025 •
What do you see?
how many times
can i sink to the bottom of the ocean
burying old memories
my eyes are too swollen to see.
looking for pieces of myself
lost in the dirt.
my memory’s not what it used to be
and my heart
won’t stop
like i hoped it would.
my body is revolting.
forcing me to look at
the lines in my cheeks
that have deepened
from a decade spent
learning to abandon myself.
39 beats per minute
a gesture of loyalty.
sometimes my heart slows down so much
i become afraid.
i realize i don’t know if i still want it to stop
like i used to.
we walk around as if
somehow
we’ll be spared.
as if
somehow
we’ll have enough time. as if
somehow
we’ll be here forever.
but we won’t.
i hope we get to stay
for a while tho.
even on the strangest days.
just a little longer.
i hope we find something beautiful
in the mess that’s been made.
JANUARY 2025
•
JANUARY 2025 •
Where does your pain live? What soothes it? What does it taste like?
i always turn the lock.
heavy handed on the porcelain and
i look different from the stories i tell myself.
brutal honesty is hard to come by.
and the years i’ve spent holding myself underwater
are catching up with me now.
i wanna see what it looks like.
the skin that doesn’t know how to repair itself.
the fatigue under my eyes.
i need to know it was real.
isolation is a poison.
killing the host slowly.
crushing dissent,
disarming,
unspeakable,
incorruptible.
i was naive for giving it a home.
for letting it leech the soul from my body.
for thinking, somehow, after everything,
i wouldn’t be so fucking alone.
i’ve been looking in the mirror lately,
where my fears become tangible.
when we are face to face.
i only look for long enough
when i’m high.
when my defenses crumble.
it’s hard to throw your life away
without guilt,
or swollen cheeks.
but the walls are beginning to
break down,
from neglect,
and carelessness.
from survival.
i think often of
the ways in which i’m not good enough.
the words with which I set myself on fire.
the poison that is killing me.
the poison that is the cure.
DECEMBER 2024
•
DECEMBER 2024 •
What part of yourself did you lose this year? What did you find?
everyone says, “i’m here for you”
but i don’t think i’ve ever really felt that in the city.
when i visit my mom she teaches me how to cook and i always ask her existential questions about her life.
she thinks laughter is the key to happiness.
but life is so raw. and heartbreaking.
but maybe she’s right.
everyone says “stay positive”
but how do i stay positive when the specialist is booked.
while my aneurysm is getting worse.
when the medications aren’t helping with the pain.
when my doctors are lost for words.
when my body becomes irreparable.
they tell me to “hang in there”
and i have a good attitude
while i’m having a stroke.
a calm demeanor
while i lose my vision,
while i make peace with dying.
when the surgery fails.
losing a part of me that won’t come back.
when my surgeons tell me i’ll be better suited for a desk job.
i let go of things that used to make me happy.
i stay positive when we talk about
amputation.
losing control over my entire body.
but i can’t remember the last time i laughed
since the procedure failed.
since they denied my insurance.
collections can’t wait to collect.
we receive another bill.
i see martyrs
on my phone.
in flames.
in Gaza,
i see zionists killing hospital patients.
and my blood thinners aren’t enough to stop the clotting in my arm,
but i’m out of network anyways.
and it seems all i’ve been doing is staying positive, but
i’m exhausted from having my heart prodded and stabbed as if it were invincible.
and i know you want me to smile more,
but it gets so fucking lonely
in my room,
in the gurney
in the OR
hallucinating off the oxy
on the bathroom floor,
at a party surrounded by all of my friends.
and i’m sorry that i’m not the same person i used to be.
that i don’t laugh as much anymore.
not how I used to.
i guess you could say i haven’t been feeling like myself lately.
