I've Spent The Entirety Of My Life Trying To Fit Into The Cookie Cutter Of Someone Else's Ideal Person,

Helen of Troy (detail) c. 1867. by Frederick Sandys

Gaza, Palestine.

i love you fairy tales i love you folklore i love you myths i love you stories as old as humanity itself i love you oral traditions i love you characters carried through time on my ancestors’ tongues i love you story i’ve seen a million ways and want to see a million more i love you archetypes i love—

MAGDALENE BRIDE

There’s guilt that I retch onto the floor, and my rotting flesh stains the chapel, seeping into the cracks more than any of my prayers ever could. I gnaw at my own ribs, scraping them to pieces. The priest has remnants of me defiling his mouth, and the stoic eyes gaping at me from the pews—painted the same white as the walls, which have long forsaken me—don’t betray their dignity. Their postures are perfect, their suits well-pressed, and their expressions unyielding. The one awaited does not show up; he has become a prayer. Instead, he turns the bend and smiles—a smile that hints at quiet encouragement.

My body hits the floor, my knees bleeding—applauses are what reverberate. The space reeks of jasmine and myrrh, and the cold bite of metal from the cross stings my skin. The communion wafers lie long forgotten, and the sacramental wine dulls with the passage of time.I witness the priest standing a few feet away, his hands trembling with hunger."Young girls have corruption in their minds," he says. The horror of Jesus, hanging limply from the crucifix, his hands bleeding where they’ve been nailed and his feet rupturing flesh, gapes at me with open eyes full of helplessness and dread. A rag—grey with time, stained with his blood that is infected with rejection—hangs at his pelvis. The wooden framework encasing his heart of impotence and throat of meekness withers and cracks in the sun, but the dews remain cold. The congregation jitters and jeers, repulses and admires, devours and purges—they merely talk.

The stained-glass windows have witnessed men and women alike, with the eyes of its saints gouged out and their presence bleached by the sun. The children sink their nails into my skin as they taunt with their smiles, the candles serving them, delighting in the play they call their game. They like their toy. The priest prays at my hips, the altar cold and unforgiving against my back. He probes and digs at my flesh, tearing at it, splitting the skin—it does not tear cleanly. It clings because it lies. It pretends to be whole. The fibers, caught in clumps, wrap around his fingers, the blood soaking into his robes. But the sinews keep winding around his nails as he sinks deeper into the pulp. I witness my gaze burdening Jesus; he trembles, but his feet remain heavy with inaction, his body slack—limp, listless, beneath the weight of his own faithless mercy. It starts slow—a tear—but then my skin stretches and squelches. The audience gasps and gapes, the children laugh, Jesus suffers the terror of ridicule, and the rosary beads are made ever more maroon with blood spooling onto them.

appreciation post for @onlyswan <33

tysm for posting such masterpieces, ily 🫂

xiao wen ju for shushu/tong spring-summer 2021

PLEASE SPREAD AND HELP!

Ghada's campaign on GoFundMe has had it's transfers paused without cause. She relies greatly on donations to survive and now she is in desperate need of support. These are her words. Please donate and share.

Hello, I'm Ghada Mhasen, 20 years old, mother of a child born in war. She married shortly before the war and became pregnant a month before the war. The war came and killed my joy with my pregnancy and marriage, as we were forced to leave our house and flee. I left my belongings and things behind. I couldn't take anything. It was a difficult period with great difficulty. We found a tent to shelter my husband and me, because we had nothing. No one helped us. We tried to manage our affairs with the simplest and least things, but we also had to flee again, as we fled to Rafah. I heard the news of my house bombing and it was shocking news for me because it was all we had. My condition deteriorated and I was afraid for my unborn baby. Time passed and we tried to manage our affairs, but we almost died of hunger and almost lost my child, but thank God he remained fine. We continued to be displaced and our condition worsened. My husband and I were very tired until we visited Khan Yunis for the last time. It's time for me to have children and be born in a tent, a contaminated tent. There was no medical supplies. My condition was critical, but thanks to God, my child and I survived. Now I can't provide for his basic needs. We put below zero. I have now resorted to creating a Chuffed account to ask for help from you. Please help me, please. We need a tent to accommodate us from the winter and the needs of my child. We need food and drink. We need medicine. My husband worked hard to provide the simplest things for us, but while he was working, a wall fell on him and broke his foot. Now there's no way to help us live except for this donation link. Please save us. Please, every donation is important. It would have saved us from war, hunger and cold. We are not in one war. We are in three wars: the war of Zionism, the war of hunger and the war of cold. I ask you to save us. Every donation, up to $20, will save us from these wars. I am now living in a cloth that covers four sides without a roof. If winter really comes, we will die. Save us. Thank God, now after the end of the war, we are still living a very difficult life. I still can't provide for my child's needs or provide any of our needs from eating and drinking, even water with difficulty, we bring it. We always wait for any help to come to us, but unfortunately, my child does not come, he is exposed to a lot of infections because of the bad Pampers that we use for. I just want to provide what is necessary. I want to ensure a good life for him most of the time. It's rainy, uninhabitable tent. We always sink. I hope you to help us if in $50, please sympathize with us and my child. I trust you and thank you.

Chuffed

Help Ghada and her family rebuild their lives

Hello, I'm Ghada Mhasen, 20 years old, mother of a child born in war. She married shortly before the war and became pregnant a month before

i would be the best dead wife ever i love to laugh while laying in bed

babygirl i can be the one note on all your original posts