mothers

My mother wears her wrinkles
the way an ocean wears a wave

She is the only body of water
that has stopped me from drowning.

my mother is shipwreck and sailor
my mother is sink and plug
my mother is the start of the darkest parts of
myself, and then the light.

my mother is the last drops of
a bottle i cannot conceptualise
finishing
my mother is anything and
every
thing,
she is
the only chemistry that i did not fail
in twelfth grade.

my mother is a miracle of
science and god
of struggle and
strength
of
lived experience
and the power to shelter.

my mother is vessel: broken and
still letting me
take
my mother is fire: childhood
fascination and older childhood
admiration, my mother
is home:
where my closest friends are
from, where nurture is nature, where
i know. i know. i know.
hush, i know.
it’ll be alright. i know.

my mother leaped into every
ocean i found myself in
without knowing how to swim
my mother
refuses to drown even when her lungs
are heavy. full. enough.
my mother finds enough and
multiplies it every time
i do not have it
my mother carried me, and
carries me,
and carries me. home.

-s.c.o

(art by safina stewart)

to the one who broke my heart | honest letters #1

A friend of mine is posting a series of twenty-two honest letters to people in his life. I find the idea extremely brave, honestly, and I also really need to say what I need to say to some people, regardless of whether they can appreciate it or not. So. Here are some honest letters. Shall we?

Oh, love.

I remember falling in love with you hard and fast and with every part of myself. You are still the happiest time of my life so far. I remember longing to be with you when you left to get water, and I remember sitting in your lap hoping that I’d always get to see you looking at something from under your eyelashes. I remember the way that you thought your hands were too coarse to be good to hold, and I remember the silly half-mouthed kiss you gave me when I told you that I thought they were lovely. They are lovely.

I know you didn’t break it on purpose. I know. It was more of a civilian casualty: things were flying everywhere and decisions had to be made and the tornado that is my head didn’t help your balance either – and then you dropped it. It broke into three pieces that I broke further. With every drunk text and every “I just miss you” and every textpost and every “Just, call me if you miss me back, okay?” I dropped what was left. I shattered the fragments that you unintentionally left behind, and dissolved the rest of it in alcohol and tears and sweat.

I’ve come a long way from being the living embodiment of Tove Lo’s Stay High. I do miss you, still. I miss singing for you, and arguing about breakfast. You know this.

You know that I love you. You know that I always will.

You know that I have no sense of self preservation, and that if you came back with a piece of the broken heart that I left you with, I’d be on my hands and knees looking for fragments that had been missing for a year or three; that I’d dedicate myself to drawing up equations concerning where I can find exactly what we’d lost; that I’d cut myself down to size, again and again and again.

You know.

I can’t do that, though. I miss you, but differently now. The only science I was good at was our chemistry, and we both know that an attempt at complex mathematics would be better suited to you. You’re not too into maths, though.

I’m sorry about how things turned out. I’m sorry that nothing ended like we hoped; with off white walls and early morning espressos. I miss you indefinitely. I love you. I’m sorry that we’re finished, but we are. I know that now. My drunk heart knows it now. The pages of my journal know it. The Internet knows now, and so do you.

Stay well, and take constant care of yourself.

love and light,
shalom xo

good job, tumblr. | connect

Before I start this post, I’d like to let you know that my little sister decided today that “Draco would really love the game Whack-A-Weasel. I bet every Malfoy has a Whack-A-Weasel machine and laughs whenever they play.”

So, Tumblr. If you don;t know what Tumblr is, I would suggest keeping it that way. Because once you get sucked in, you’re likely to never leave. Buuuuuut it’s also possibly the best thing in world, and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t.

Tumblr is a “microblogging platform and social networking website founded by David Karp and owned by Yahoo! Inc. The service allows users to post multimedia and other content to a short-form blog.” (Thanks  Wikipedia.) In short, Tumblr is  a place where people are 980 times more offended by regular people, where everybody is the same age whether you’re twelve or fifty-two, and where you will literally learn enough to change the world. Tumblr has about 50 million users, who can know as much about you as you want them to know in a matter of seconds. Fair warning: 39 million of them are angry and get very, very short with people that offend them with anything (read: everything).

But why are you talking about Tumblr, Shalom? 

I ship it.

Well, today, Tumblr went a little crazy with a shipping marathon. No, the people of the internet were not packing fish into boxes and sending them across the ocean. Is it strange that that’s the first thing I think of when I see shipping? Possibly. ANYWAY. Shipping. Today.

Shipping, initially derived from the word relationship, is the desire by fans for two people, either real-life celebrities or fictional characters, to be in a relationship, romantic or otherwise. Tumblr is brilliant at this.  Today, a I got asks (messages from Tumblr) shipping a friend (read: giant. crush.) and me. And then I got more. And we talked about it, I guess, and we both ship the ship. I don’t know if this means I’ve outed my crush on my crush to my crush. Possibly. (Why crush? Why not passing fancy?)

In short: Good job, Tumblr. This ship may well sail.

love and light,
shalom