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anjle

@thefire_nexttime

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I can no longer bear to live with this fire shut up in my bones.
Tw for basically everything. I've lived a life, like everyone else.

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04/07/25 you were reading some mary oliver and thought the world definitely needed a poem about your neurotic lists. by @thefire_nexttime

Trying to keep yourself alive in your fucking notes app, which is already as embarrassing as admission as you could possibly make. by @thefire_nexttime

Palestine Goddam

Black smoke, black SEALs, black ops
This strange fruit hangin'
From the poplar trees
From the olive trees
Creaking boards, war planes, boot falls
Little girls write across time
"Who would ever think that
So much went on
In the soul of a young girl?"
Grandpa says "she is
The soul of my soul"
Kissing her eyes, walking for miles
Feet achin', bones juttin', fruit rottin'
Black bodies swingin'
In the summer breeze
Tiny bodies carried
through the Jenin streets
Numbered skin fades and glass shatters
Blood on the leaves
Blood mixed with oil
Black olives
witherin' on the vine

You wake in a room
too warm to sleep and think
Is she still alive?
Is she still beautiful as the moon?
Allah have mercy
On this land of mine
We all gonna get it
In due time by @thefire_nexttime

You were stepping on the dropped cherry tomatoes in the backyard because the pop made you feel something. The shit tomatoes that grew because your landlord let the sewage flow across the grass for months. And you think, there are children 6,000 miles away who could keep alive on these rotting tomatoes while your shithole country melts their skin off their tiny little bones. You feel it's pathetic to even try writing anything about this. You feel that it's pathetic not to. You feel it's rich to have the choice to think about it without the sound of drones overhead. You know that no one deserves to see one more day of peace for what they've done, what they've allowed, what they'll continue to allow. by @thefire_nexttime

One year, near Christmas
Grandma refused fresh-baked bread from my Mother's Arab neighbors
Said they'd probably poisoned it
"Because they hate us", she spat
But the only hate I ever saw was hers
She hated the size of my body, my cousins' bodies, my siblings' bodies
She hated my queerness, pretended a woman I loved was a man for years, condemned her gay sister to hell
She hated that I thought all people should have bread and shelter and healthcare
Even when she herself was not guaranteed bread or shelter or healthcare

(Cont'd on comments) by @thefire_nexttime

What am I supposed to say.
It's your birthday
And in nine days, it'll be one year since you stopped breathing.
Stopped suffering.
Stopped being a phone call
Or a road trip
Away.

Still wish it was me instead.
Still think I deserved it more.
Still argue with you like we always did.
Still love you.
Happy birthday, seester.
I lava you. by @thefire_nexttime

When the one-year anniversary of your sister's death is steadily approaching and it has you thinking about how much of a piece of shit you historically turn into when your heart is hurting badly. by @thefire_nexttime

03/25/22
you couldn't stop thinking about him and not being able to stop thinking about a man made you feel out of control and powerless, which you couldn't deal with. so you wouldn't.
his lungs, two moldering casks filled with thick red wine, bobbing against each other gently inside him like boats moored along a misty dock. you imagine sucking the wine out through his parted lips and delicate nose, his face turning cool and blue, the deep red liquid running down your chin in bloody rivulets while he begs for more. you've already pulled the tiny silver ring down into your throat, savoring it's metallic tang. maybe he has his entire fist inside you, but if anything, he's the puppet here, so with a grunt, you squeeze hard once and listen for the muffled cracking of his fingers, his wrist crushing to wet chalk. he coos like a baby in a safe warm bath and you feel like a feral animal, naked and growling, hair everywhere, and a dark, loamy scent wafting up from your blood slick cunt as you wrap your heavy dimpled thighs around his waist. you close them around him, slow and methodical, like a snake. his eyes begin to dull, begin to lose focus. good. you dig your claws into his round hairy belly and lie about how gentle you'll be, that you have been, that you are being. the gutteral sound of your laughter, which spits out like ocean spray, underlines the crunching sound as you bite through the knuckle bones of his toes and suck the soft skin from them easily. you climb his body upward and his lips burst like orange slices, one after the other, as you tear them from his skull with your teeth and let the juicy hot blood bathe you. this is exactly what you needed. you sit back, cradling your tremendous belly, sated and wine drunk, licking the last of him from the tips of your fingers, and nothing passes through your mind. not guilt, not love, not blood, just finally nothing. you drag yourself back and the wet heavy plop of his mangled hand being expelled from you and thudding onto the wood is surprising. his body slumps just out of view like a grotesque suit half full of wet meat, but it doesn't matter. [Cont'd in comments] by @thefire_nexttime

it's been four months and thirteen days since your sister died and there's no way to explain that you're okay but at the same time you'll never be okay. but it's okay.

so you're fucking your boyfriend and you're pretty excited that it's happening because it feels like years since you've wanted to do this and you've become incredibly insecure wondering what it might mean even though it's obviously because you've had a hell of a year. it's been a hell of an almost decade honestly, but you digress.

anyway, you're on top and it's visceral and amazing until you smell something like peppermint that rips you out of your body. it's his deodorant, the one you helped him pick out because it smelled like those melty peppermint candies, but right now it also smells exactly like the sickly sweet spray the nurses used to try and mask the smell of rot coming from the gaping wound in your sister's lower back that grew larger and larger because they didn't move her enough while she was in a coma. you remember being nauseated by the smell and grateful for the mask you wore so your sister didn't have to see the temporary involuntary distortion in your face as you walked in to visit her.

you'll never be free of this, you realize. it is grief's business to make sure you never forget. but being impartial, grief makes sure the horror sticks in your craw just as stubborn as the delight. by @thefire_nexttime

One way or another, you'll know it. by @thefire_nexttime

so many stories never get told. are never listened to, never commiserated with, never let loose from blood-curdled throats. if you've ever fallen in love with a monster who's good at their job, you'll understand the extreme level of precision involved. a person diffusing a bomb on a shaky high wire over a gorge has nothing on you. a razor's edge is nothing to be shied away from, because you're not a coward. that sharpened edge is something to be caressed with bare fingertips, licked like an ice cream cone, navigated upon deftly like a bear on a ball at the circus. only you don't need a silly pointed hat in order to be irrevocably humiliated. she'll pull at all your most tender stitches, then tear you in half for crying. she'll delight in telling you she prefers white women with red hair like her ex whose photos hang in the bedroom where she fucks you, when your skin is brown and your hair is the color of her forked tongue. you've never seen her as gleeful as when she tells you she never loved you, like the last four years have lead her to the delicious crescendo of this very moment. she makes you feel like a backyard dog on a short leash in the heat and you lap up her venom like it's cool water. she makes you into a sad little piece of tough meat and here, almost fifteen years and a lot of wine later, your bed sores of her still aren't healed. you're still tender to the touch from that sweet but stinging love but not love you had with her. she's a phantom limb. a few of them are. the worst ones especially, and somehow you know all these hands will be with you until the end. by @thefire_nexttime

you remember one night, your boyfriend took you with him to buy a lot of weed. like, more than he'd ever bought at once. thinking back, you're pretty sure he brought you because he thought your blackness would lend him an air of legitimacy. he'd done things like that before, use the color of your skin to gain access to things like coolness, and the entitlement to walk up to the cashier at fye and ask for old dirty bastard's album nigga please, with a huge grin on his dumb fucking face. because he knew that on his own, he was just a gangly white dude with a mohawk who made you read Nietzsche and thought that made him really fucking smart and whose mom still paid his phone bill so no legit drug dealer would ever take him seriously. and he was right, they didn't. so you were waiting in the car and you heard one gunshot, then three more, and your boyfriend came running. you folded your whole entire body up underneath the dashboard as his big boat of a wood paneled station wagon ripped out of the parking lot of the projects they tore down a few years later. by @thefire_nexttime