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JAMEELA JAMIL by Chantal Anderson for The New York Times (2019)

hi :) my name is moona. I write (and paint!) and this is my poetry/prose blog. feel free to direct message me!! I am constantly in awe of love and how it has sweetened my life, which is why you’ll find a LOT of that shit here. I write about other things too, things that are personal to me and things I’m still learning to be okay with. I truly hope you find solace/healing/joy in my writing and if not, I just hope you can relate to some of it. I’ve found that words have the inimitable power to make us feel less lonely.

enjoy! <3

“Nemesis inhabited a dark paradise of her own making. She never held back. I loved her for her frightful hatred, her frightful love. I admired her stunning passion for revenge; the mercilessness in her eyes.”

— Lola Ridge, from To the Many; Collected Poems of Lola Ridge; “Hellish,”

I love the fact that you need to lean on me, a boy says. 

He loved my vulnerability and how big I made him feel, 

But would get annoyed if I’d call him in the midst of another anxiety attack, 

Begging to know if he still loved me,

 if he still wanted me.

He called me his broken little thing. 

Wrote a play and in it I stabbed myself with a blade.

I would write him a suicide note thanking him for his bravery and his charm.

He finds me on the floor, cries over me and goes on to be a doctor, 

It’s only now that I realise he never loved me. 

He just loved the control.

“Lips of honey, eyes of fire.”

— Meleager, tr. by Peter Whigham, from Greek Anthology; “Epigrams,”

my lover read this and turned to kiss me, said, honey, heaven is anywhere where you are. told me he fell in love with me when I danced with him to frank sinatra in his living room after our first date, hips swaying and lips turned into a crescent moon. if there was ever a moment I wished to repeat, I swear this is the one. this is the one.

my bed for one feels so empty without you here. come over, let’s eat shitty chinese and watch bad tv (which is inherently never a bad idea). kiss me. let’s dance to frank sinatra. kiss me again. sleep next to me, tell me you’ll be here in the morning. tell me you’ll meet me in my dream tonight. kiss me again and again. and again.

it’s getting colder and I miss watching the condensation of your breath form and disappear in the air. the iciness of your blue eyes, the chill in your stare. winter boy, you said you never loved me. winter boy, I have so many questions: was it all real? why can’t you look me in the eye any more? how did you forget me that easily? 

winter boy, how did our love get so cold?