What Ifs That Hold Us Back From Our Most Magnificent Selves.

“We want ‘poems that kill.’ Assassin poems, poems that shoot guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys and take their weapons leaving them dead.”

— Amiri Baraka

tumblr is so quite. all other social medias have this chaotic loud energy and here is like "shh dude, calm down", i think is because nobody really cares about going viral, no one cares about their toughts being shared, they just write them anonimously, kinda like a coping mechanism

turkey and azerbaijan are attacking armenia right now, and it's 1915 all over again because the world is distracted and people are too busy wondering if they're gonna live or die, and who gives a shit about my country anyway? my mum told me to tell my friends and explain to them what's happening and that we are the victims in this war because azerbaijan is spreading lies and people are believing their lies and i told her, what good is that going to do? do you think anyone's going to come to our aid? is russia going to help us? is america? is england? erdogan said they will finish what their ancestors started, and he means genocide. he means ethnic cleansing. he means to massacre every last one of us. and in doing so admitted to the very same thing turkey has spent 105 years denying. i don't know who to tell and what good telling people will do because we're a small, insignificant country, and we have nothing to offer to the people in power, the handful who rule the world. so i sit here with my pain and i feel helpless. i know there's twitter threads and links to petitions and people being urged to contact their senators, and sorry if im being pessimistic, but azerbaijan has been attacking us for the last 22 years, and though we defend ourselves, we can't do anything to stop them. they've violated ceasefires (and geneva conventions) multiple times. i don't think they'll rest until every last one of us is dead.

we just want peace. we just want to live peacefully. we're not asking for a lot here.

The fear of what ifs holding us back from our most magnificent selves.

We are afraid of vulnerability, of what it may do to us. And this fear is what keeps us from moving forward. The things we set out to achieve, now lie only in thoughts. What could have been, if only we embraced our vulnerabilities. ~Wedarkacademia.

Evermore: Taylor Swift’s new album is a haunting lesson in kindness | Lifestyle News,The Indian Express

https://indianexpress.com/article/lifestyle/art-and-culture/taylor-swift-evermore-album-7108478/

I've listened multiple times only reputation, lover, folklore and evermore, so I don't think I qualify as a swiftie. But this woman is truly a poet. This 4 albums are so different and they give each this very specific vibe.

reputation

reputation feels like driving around at 4 am. Are you angry? Sad? Happy? You don't know, you just feel. You want to be numb, to ignore the pain, but you're so fucking alive. Every emotion gives you this energy that just screams at you: "Live. Live even if you'd rather be dead. Live just to spite them. Live because you can, you breathe, you sing, you scream, you feel". Reputation is the rush of life when darkness suffocates you.

Lover

Lover is returning home, after you visited your grandparent or parents. It's 3 pm on a Sunday, you're walking and you just have this skips in your steps. You should be sad, tomorrow is Monday, but you can't. You're just so happy. That kinda happiness you had or dreamed about as a kid. It's something old , but so new. A forgotten emotion that you scream at the world.

folklore

folklore is sunrise. It's past sadness, past heartbreak that doesn't hurt anymore. It's melancholy, it's remembering that pain, that anger in the light of a new day, of a new life. It's sad, but it's the past. You fall, you hurt and you survive. Life has an end, so does the pain. It's reminiscing just because you could go through everything, and you can remember. You'll live despite or with that sadness. It's you choice.

evermore

evermore is the evening, that red light painting when the sun is setting. Just like folklore it's reminiscing of past heartbreak and sadness, only this time you hold on to it. It's not a new day, it's the end. You can't let it go. It hurts, oh how it hurts, but you just can't, you don't know how to live without that pain. It's the evening, you're alone and that gentle piano leads your mind down a path of despair. But that's alright. Your bleeding hearth is panting the sky.

Virginia Woolf, The Waves

I collected a bunch of “haha I don’t have 2020 vision” “oh God not like that” posts

There might be beauty in the wait unless The wait lasts forever

“If we wait until we are ready we will be waiting for the rest of our lives.”

— Lemony Snicket