I write because I read. I read because I write.
heard it's bad to stand so longthink ankle hurting calves groaning but spine will also complain about sitting from first roosters call to the sun's departure ihave been standing stillagainst the wind ofvirus that killed my airplane-bound-homeuntil how long? — 08.04.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative Commons… Continue reading someone stood still on a globe for 50 minutes
november opened with a door of hope, closing abruptly. now i am again in limbo, unsure of what will happen, what will be. i write this today for my future-self, a written reminder of the patience, faith, and resilience you have learned and gathered for the past few months.
i wish i've puppy-pawsto dig through the muck of this year. i wish i've puppy-eyesto bend my Master's will. i wish i've a puppy-noseto smell happinessfrom a mile. i wish i need not to wish for a real, real smile. — 11.03.2020©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under… Continue reading wishes in the wind
Monsoon rain welcomes you, on my side of the world. I hope your crimson hair isn’t damp. You can leave your slippers out. I made some pumpkin soup, well, this lockdown taught me how to cook. Perhaps, aloneness teaches humans better than any book. I saw some photos of orange lanes, your touch is turning… Continue reading on decaying days and pumpkin soup
Come in, don’t be afraid, August, our blunt fists won’t bite your innocence, we just want you to please be honest, when can we taste the harvest of our last months’ chaos and mess? See, our nails are filled with dirt digging some seeds of winter hope to plant some spring fruit of faith, our… Continue reading honest august
Come in. I am sorry for the lack of energy, would you like some lukewarm tea? Well, we are tired zombies, avoiding (or wait- ing) for the wind of death, we are suffocated not by the unseen killer but the cruel knee on our throat for centuries, (we chose to close our eyes on) well,… Continue reading come in, June
if i should have a chosen pet perhaps it will be a little bunny, (i once had one, but she died just after day one choked on a loaf bread my dumb 18-year-old mind foolishly fed it; rest in peace, mogu, i still feel sorry for what i did to you) running around my beige-tiled… Continue reading hopping inside a wonderland
A Reading Writer 