Effort won’t betray you – and neither will the shapeless beasts hiding in the periphery of your vision that swims in shadows during dusk or dawn, because they’re only here to eat what dares come close enough to harm you.
Tag: prose
More plants, more softness, longer talks, bolder actions, kind to animals, wild to the world, head upright, and voice that is heard.
It’s very likely that my art will never change anyone.
My writing may never be published. My poems may never be read. My songs may never be sung, my lyrics never hummed on lips other than my own.
Maybe everything I’ll ever create will be forgotten and useless as soon as I’ve birthed it. Because it’s bad or it’s the wrong time or it’s unloved or a million other reasons.
But still, I must. Still, I have to make art. It could be the worst, the most terrible piece of art that the world has ever seen, but I have to. Just like breathing. Some art has to be made so you can consume it and make it part of yourself, and other art has to be made so you can finally rip a part of yourself out.
ghost towns that sell honey
That’s not an offer for sale. That’s a request.
Even the oldest creatures of our ‘verse sometimes need help with the harvest. It’s hard work and they’re not used to it. But if you push up your sleeves and approach the golden chickens gently, run your hand along the moon cow’s fur, they will not hurt you. If you show them the way, without mocking their abyss-deep voice, without flinching at their hundred eyes and the long claws, you will walk away with more than honey and eggs. They are peaceful, tired after millenia of war against things we never learned the names of because they were defeated before we knew they existed.
So if you are kind, they will make sure that you never go unfed, never without warmth, and always find something sweet in your pockets. They are fond, these giants, of small things like us, young souls like ours. So if someone threatens harm to yours, the wrath of a monster that has experienced kindness will find them.
Sometimes when people say “you shouldn’t hold grudges”, it actually means “you should let the person do it again” and believe me when I say that you may stab me once but I would rather take the dagger from your hands that I already forgot the scars of and ride into the horizon on a horse named Never towards a nameless land than let you cut my bread at my breakfast table when I’m sleep-drunk and warm ever again.
the moon is wild tonight.
if you take a walk in the forest tonight, please leave the vaguely human shape with blood all over their body alone. they’re old and strong and their ritual is important to keep the earth warm and trees rising. walk past, do not blink, and the birds will visit you in the morning.
if you sit alone tonight, please watch the stars as well. they may be small and weak as the lanterns by your house but light is light is light and they hold immense power. so nod at them and the fireflies will visit you in summer.
if you work magic tonight, please let it out of a window and into the icy night air. there may be wrath or mourning in your spells and I do not know if you scream because you were left by someone, because you never got something you went to war for, because you shiver from all the terrifying change gripping you. speak it out loud, make the dark listen, and the cats will follow your every way.
the moon is wild tonight, just like us.
When someone I trust – and who trusts me – rests their head on my shoulder, their world may tilt, but mine gains a little bit of its lost balance back.
Something is always going to happen. No matter what went on before. No matter what will go on after. Isn’t that terrifying? Isn’t that beautiful?
All I do these days is write and hold onto hope.
The world is wicked anyways, so why aren’t you too?
Moami 