Welcome to This Week, a new feature series to be posted every Friday, showcasing a handful of the art that comes through my message centre. These pieces are chosen at semi-random based on several different factors, but everything chosen for TW is something I consider fav-worthy.
Due to unforeseen circumstances resulting in a missing TWF post last week, this is a double episode. Barring more unexpected surprises, we'll be back to regular size again next week!
how to stop someone from hurting youunlock the door. walk in.
deny it before it ever happens.
(it never happened
leave. walk 2 miles. freeze.
gag on the voice that fails you.
(vow to never speak
repeat this step indefinitely.
(spend all day
go home. shower. go to bed.
plan to sleep forever.
in 20 minutes.)
BuriedPerhaps someday you will understand it:
what it is like to back yourself
into a corner and then build layer
on layer of walls, floor and ceiling,
expanding backwards into
earth and rock until you
hit a fissure that makes you wonder
if the whole will come crashing down:
you cannot dig out, and you only
dig further in because it is what you know
how to do. It is not that you fail to fear
never again seeing the light of day, but
after so long building your labyrinth you
forget the way back out.
What you remember is
how long it took you to get here and
the last day you spent in light and
even ten years later
the thing that pierced your heart so deep
the knife-point touched the ground.
shanghai childshanghai child
you take a bike
and rust it with raindrops and humid
summer mist, and give it scars that tell memories
of reckless crashes and bike rack disasters
and dark windy nights pedaling above
the lights of the city,& you take a child-
frayed at the edges,
forest-born and you give her a book of numbers
which she must memorize—if she is to be anything.
let her sing,
a poor bird lost in paradise.
you take a soul
and slip it into a body too small to contain it;
watch the way her eyes shine&
you'll know it wants to escape.
maybe you'll see her twirling in the yellow spotlight
as even the streets
grow quiet to watch her.
she hears them hum, and dances to their
concrete rhythm; sometimes
you can hear the ancient bones of bamboo forests
creaking to her footsteps too.
(you gave her HB pencils&
put her in a cage; she sits, flightless.
why tell her to fill in the bubbles on the sheet?
10 minutes left—watch her curl up and cry.
you realize you should have given her wi
Feel free to comment and let me know your favourites, and of course please don't forget to give love to the featured works & their creators.