It's one of my favorite things about nature: how messy it is. How branches and stems intertwine, how they form patterns, adapt and evolve their shape to cradle the things around them. How plants have ridges and valleys, and grow in different directions and in different climates. How they come in different colors and smells. How their saplings can break through rock and at the same time, how their roots can hold on through moving sand. They're multi-dimensional, complex, they submit to the elements surrounding them- and ultimately they're chaotically beautiful in their harmony with the world around them.
Nature reminds, that like all other things, it can't just be seen, it needs to be experienced. It requires all the senses. One cannot simply see it, one must also listen to it, touch it, smell it, respect it. And mostly, one must spiritually CONNECT with it- with the organisms which which we share our breath and the creation which, with every breath, speak of their creator. 🌿
I guess what's I'm trying to say in this long-winded caption is this: nature is cool and special and humble and lovely and magical. Next time you come across a plant, say hello :) 🌿
It’s 24 degrees outside today and the summer weather is still upon us in Denmark ☀️
All I can think about in this weather is, how much I miss my friends and fellow writers at Brønderslev Forfatterskole, and how much I hope to be accepted to the summer camp one last time this year (Next year I’m too old to participate). We learn so incredibly much at the school by professional authors, and we all live there together for a week. You go to school each day for several hours, but it doesn’t feel like going to school at all. Everything is exciting, the people are amazing and you learn so so much in just one week!
This year I’m applying to the novel class, where they teach you how to write a novel, and I really really hope I get accepted! It could be so helpful and useful to learn a lot about that particular genre, because I’ve discovered it’s just my kind of thing more than short stories and poems were (The two genres I wrote before I started on my novel). Sending so much love and happy energy to all my fellow authors from Brønderslev Forfatterskole and to all the fantastic teachers and staff behind the camp, especially to my wonderful teacher through the past two times I’ve been there @sanne_munk 💕
The blade again seduced me today and drove me wild with lust until all I could think was about the numbing sleep I would fall with every drop of blood. Yes I do that. My thighs often tell different stories, stories that people cannot manage to see behind my blinding smile. Do I not crave somebody to rock me to sleep? Do I never want to sleep when sleep drives me crazy and the unbearable pain is its only loophole. And yet that shakes off early and I wake up panting and crying, and mostly alone. There were no poems written or no playlists made for the desire we feel for friends because honestly sometimes you do not want a lover’s hand but a tight slap. A slap to bring us back to the giddy place we came in. Self harm is mostly selfish, and it has ulterior motives like the desire to sleep, loneliness filled lifestyle or anything but its just temporary lust. Because at the end each mark on the hidden part of your arm or the completely scratched upper thigh, they bring you back memories because nobody ever forgets the reasons, nobody. Self harm is destructive and there is no way anybody brings you back from there, its you, your will that seals the deal for you. So until I do not find the courage of stopping I may loose some blood, drop a few platelets because at the end, not everybody have same methods of living, of accepting pain. But to everybody reading this, its nothing but regret. Because had I been courageous enough, I know the nerve, I know how dee my blade needs to go, but I want temporary relief and obviously, we all have somebody to go back home to, to cry infront of, and its the recklessness taking over right now.
Thank you @ for letting the whole world know. You are not alone.
Comment with #MeToo if you're a survivor, or comment with #SupportSurvivors if you believe us. Survivors: If you feel safe enough to do so, please disclose the names of the heinous monsters who assaulted you. Their power lies in our silence so when we name names, they can no longer hide.
I post daily quotes to inspire you to own your trauma, embrace your story, and make your voice heard. Our voices are our swords. Never back down from speaking out. .
I'm a repeat rape survivor and for over 13 years, death threats by one of the criminals bought my silence. NoFuckingMore!!! .
In my memoir, I disclosed all the names and known details of the monsters who raped me: Harvey Bell (paternal uncle), divorced, last known locations are Alder, Montana and Alaska; Enos Bontrager (paternal uncle), married to Barb (Stringfield) Bontrager, last known locations are Friesland, Wisconsin and Fond du Lac, Wisconsin with a furniture shop business, Pride Originals, in Cambria, Wisconsin. @TorahBontrager
My memoir, An Amish Girl in Manhattan, is about escaping in the middle of the night at age 15, learning to feel safe again after recurring sexual assault and Stockholm Syndrome, and becoming the first Amish person in history to graduate from an Ivy League school, Columbia University in New York City - www.torahbontrager.com/book
Cosa Ci serve al mattino?
Un cornetto con un cappuccino?
Perché a volte per un po' di felicità
Bastano i piccoli gesti, la quotidianità.
Vorresti svegliarti come nel mulino
Bianco magari con qualcuno che ti fa l'occhiolino.
Ti guardi intorno e capisci che
Quello sguardo è indirizzato proprio a te.
Corri in bagno per darti una sistemata
Ma ti guardi allo specchio e ti basta una pettinata.
Il viso va bene, e già truccato
Semplicemente perché la sera prima di struccarti hai dimenticato.
Quindi ripensi al mulino e capisci che forse quell'occhiolino
Fa parte del sogno che ricordi al mattino
E allora ti alzi dal letto e realizzi che
Il mulino te lo devi creare da te! G. Balbo