letters unsent
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Will I stop stargazing and moon gazing? Or will I become more addicted to them? I asked myself while thinking about being tied to the wrong person, trapped in the wrong version of life. Will I still be able to cherish the first flower in my planter? Will I still be able to cherish rain?…
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I had never known resentment until
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7 min read
Resentment— I had never known this feeling until I saw my parents hate me yet love other kids devotedly. More times than I can count, I have sat on the stairs, watching them laugh and tolerate those kids—their most vulgar language, their unbearable moves—and thought: If only they had poured this love and patience into…
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For whom are you performing in the theater of life
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1 min read
For whom are you performing in the theater of life? Everyone’s got their own script, theater — everyone’s playing their own theater.
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In another life, in another world — astropoetica
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4 min read
In another life, I know love by its taste, by its touch, by its warmth, by its presence, by its aroma, by its pattern.
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I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry
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3 min read
How many times must I apologize for simply existing? Somewhere along the way, I learned that my presence was something to be excused. That my voice was something to be softened. That my feelings were something to be hidden beneath layers of “I’m sorry”—as if breathing too loudly was a crime, as if needing space…
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People were never my need — platonic love
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2 min read
People were never my need. Perspectives were. Hearts were. Souls were. People beyond people were. I always enjoyed people I could unapologetically be my true self with. I always had a desire for someone to be safe being human with. I always had the search going on for personalities that were not only intellectually but…
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I think that’s the problem. Either I love too much or not at all. Either I enjoy your company or feel disgusted by every moment. I live to the extremes. I think that’s the problem. Either I dream too much or not at all. Either I crave the silence or drown in the noise. Either…
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If I am visible, why don’t they see me?
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1 min read
If I am visible, why do they treat me like a ghost? And if I am invisible, then why does this mirror reflect the light scattered by my silhouette? Even a mirror acknowledges my presence but people won’t. — Sadia Hakim // Letters Unsent Read, I am a black butterfly poem, here.
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When you have shared your world, cut open with someone, a desire is born—a desire to see their souls, to touch their hearts by sadia hakim
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To obsessively and unnecessarily laugh at life
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1 min read
What they name dissociation, depression, anxiety, and emotional numbing is my life. Am I just pathetic, or is this what it means to be human?