jhaynewe

there are few things i hate more in the world that nonsense white slave owner classical music theory

my biggest opp is the fact i never got to see stevie nicks live...

your my fav author rn love u !!

we have all fallen at a point in human history where each day must become an active and deliberate searching of our own humanity

a small token of kindness [ 01st september, 2025 — monday] 
          
          words plated in heirlooms, heavy with light,
          tinkling cuts, dazzling wounds —
          weaponry forged from childhood gloom,
          wars cradled in a mother’s stolen womb. 
          
          windmills bow above folded clothes,
          grandmother’s peach crumble cooling on the sill.
          cottages lean, tethered with ghosts —
          growth a gamble, memory the wager. 
          
          tender hearts rest in greasy hands,
          coloured proses, begotten rhyme.
          measuring the gaps of fleeting hours,
          tidy rooms against the storm of rest. 
          
          roads of chemicals, an age of hearts,
          souls displaced, refugees of home.
          effervescence rushes, skeletons mist-bound —
          a tale as old as precedents. 
          
          labyrinthine dashes, nuance permitted,
          olives of faith, olives betrayed.
          a marathon — glass slippers sublime —
          and all of life becomes a floor for dancing,
          a garden for incitement,
          a bloom pressed against time. 
           #adropofhumanity 

i think being a good lyricist is harder than being a good poet.

a candle that cradles the amber-burned dusks of late summer

a token of kindness [ 24th august, 2025 — sunday ] 
          
          where comes the chaos? soar and sin, the culprit,
          from the lodging inns. surrendered and sought,
          beavering, bold— a little of the timid, a lot of the known. 
          
          swinging with pride, doors left unknocked,
          a guest invited under intoxication’s hold.
          forging, jeopardising, guided by homely apple-pie servings; bruised words swept beneath the rug of humility. 
          
          barks and bellows, odours, open wounds,
          entangled chairs and a single creaking move.
          whisper, then wait, tremors that carry
          a mouth of screams— beginning and dying
          in a parched throat. 
          
          kalopsia and kites— a guest like ropeburn,
          pricking like wine. mindful maps, mindless routes,
          sanctuaries like lies that bury the truth.
          shadows stumble, shoes fade—
          a blessing strikes a menace, transforming a paper cut into a prayer. 
           #adropofhumanity 

this is the new lost decade

goodnight america