Mia

♡︎ 15︎ | any feedback or advice is appreciated ♡︎

https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/thank-you/

Writings

Followers

Following

Mia

♡︎ 15︎ | any feedback or advice is appreciated ♡︎

https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/thank-you/

Writings

Followers

Following

the last whisper

Mia

1 min read

_The song of finality is never heard. _

..~•<*+*>•~..

She perched at the earthy ledge of the moonlit lake. Her porcelain legs, admittedly stubby, stirred the hazy water in a mindless rhythm: push, pull. Push, pull.

He watched her, uncomfortable in the silence, sensing the precarious threshold between friendship and sorrow: a veil of lacy gossamer.

Suddenly, she broke it wit...

the baby reaches for the light

Mia

1 min read

Mama told me he’d try

to uncover my rusty insides—

smear them all over with a warlike grin,

regret it not, for I would be dead.

But those hazel eyes are soft;

those eyes don’t belong to a killer.

Is he?

_Divinity. _

I see the gaunt, grave-dug craters in

his cheeks—

fit for a tombstone—

the red veins pulsing in his eyes,

his skeletal complexion,

his beady, voracious stare.

And… yet…

I s...

Poetry

My Mother’s Force and Her Vitality

Mia

1 min read

_ My Mother’s Force and Her Vitality _

_ (I Love You.)_

My mother is a force—an unyielding woman who protects only her own—yet her mortality humbles me. Those tender, timeworn creases by her tearful eyes, deepened by years of mirth and melancholy, make me cherish her vitality: her silly twirls, dulcet giggles, and shielding caress that remind me I’ve found home....

Grief is a Wave

Mia

1 min read

✧: ✧･ﾟ———🌊———･ﾟ✧ :✧

The wind blows my hair, as if nudging me forward. I’m standing on the edge again.

A mile below, everything awaits: sorbet rocks streaked with swirls glide into the cascading, coruscating ocean; diamonds sparkle in every wave.

My grief and the waves are sisters: each forever return, always in unpredictable forms—wayfinding back into certain depths.

I remember standing at ...

Your Chance At Living

Mia

2 min read

“Your hands, Boy.”

Dust sifted through the forest air, the only sound the old teller’s scratchy heaves.

“Give me them!” she snapped impatiently.

Ms. Melli turned over his palms, gauging them: dirt nestled underneath his nails with unkempt cuticles and calloused, sickly skin.

There they sat on a cobblestone dais; Rome watched with bated breath. For ten years, he had traveled through kingdoms...

Wesley, Wake Up!

Mia

1 min read

Wesley’s bare feet sifted through the morning grass, cooling dew clinging to his ankles. The lingering moisture from the rain’s fog left the air heavy, and as Wesley paced through the village’s fields, his shoulders slouched with an unsettlingly heaviness.

The fields seemed to wilt with woe: the type of sorrow that held mysterious depth, not often uncovered. The trees wallowed in their roots, tw...

dreamers and lovers

Mia

1 min read

_Every night, the architects shape the dreams of the mortals, but when one architect falls for a dreamer, the boundaries between their worlds begin to blur…_

…-~>^*!~-…

Landscaping is extremely intimate. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying!

Maybe it’s because I’m young, that I don’t have enough control over my patience. But you try spiriting away into someone’s dreams—a manifestation of th...

Fantasy

insatiable

Mia

1 min read

Young Victoria stood limply in the center of the onyx road, a huge bloody fissure pooling on her flushed knees.

It wasn’t anything unusual, though, not for her. Her body already began to crack years before she could even lift her wand.

_Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. _

Two chasms, charcoal black, ran jaggedly through her forearms until they reached her neck. _Lightning Veins_: a condition that ma...

THE SCARS ON OUR HEARTS

Mia

1 min read

She could feel it,

not see it—

that aching pain—

that corroded

and bruised

and twisted

and slashed

stars and diamonds

into

her bleeding heart.

Soon became scars....

Poetry

Blair’s Little Coven -*^•!

Mia

1 min read

Blair’s little coven

of wannabe witches:

potions of gnats and voodoo doll stitches.

At midnight they dance

then vanish to the stone well—

to convene their secret rite,

in susurrations laced with magicky spells…

_And, of course, they’re talking about you!_

When they come back,

You can feel their macabre little stares.

Don’t let them get to you!

You were meant to be here.

You await their ...

Poetry

Fantasy