Anha

Australia

ms. eldritch horror

"people often reveal their true colours when they are held accountable for their actions; there are those who want to make amends and improve their behaviour and those who don't."
- amalia costa (wtw alum)

Message from Writer

no longer active. those with words to say can reach me on prose.

pfp by sara kipin

just reminding y'all posting weird political propaganda: i'm sapphic, i'm pro-choice and anti-gun. so basically everything you conservatives hate :)))

may 2020 wtw highlights

June 8, 2020

FREE WRITING

43
i am called this month to bring your attention to over forty brilliant writers on this site during the month of may. i suppose being stuck at home had one good thing come from it - it has brought an influx of new faces (profile pictures?) to our doorstep, and they did not waste any time in throwing their wonderful words through our mail chutes. (would you believe me if i told you my initial stack for this month was 180 pieces high?) please join me in giving these writers and their amazing pieces some love.

(for easier navigation, control+f to check if a piece or writer you submitted appears in this list. if it's not, don't fret! there are plenty more gems to sort through while you're here. take your time.)


fatpanda's (in)appropriate responses to trauma
you’re more steam engine than human, running, running, running, but even so, you’re almost out of coal. but that’s just the way it works, isn’t it?
 
babybluelamentations' (lace)
i pray to belgian lace scriptures,
soft like roma and eggshell marble skin
under expert thumb and nail.
 
fatpanda's #thegayagenda
Not many live like you do; you’ve got Life in a chokehold, and any time it even thinks of going against you, you press down a little harder. 
 
oscar_locke's 15. euphoria
hell is the waiting 
that little god snuck
behind cracked screen
to tell why you can’t
call back
 
oscar_locke's 3. is anyone listening?
...the sacred place
    where wind slips into skirt,
        the shirt-sleeves, loose
    blankets and dried towels
        form their soft mouth
 
oscar_locke's 30. dusk
clutching friends like candles
a bonfire in his park
cremating a mistake
from dusk to midnight
 
crow_e's 37 ways you know you're being lied to
during the sermon, the preacher is full of fire about something. [he's baptist, you expected this but wow.] people wave their hands and raise their arms and cry during church songs. you feel very, very out of your depth. 
          poetri says:
          this piece is so raw and beautiful--a literary throat punch but like...in an incredible, i-needed-this type of way.
 
fatpanda's 5,524 / 789+1 / 15.123
...bulging pockets, close-mouthed achievements / fatehpur sikri at over a hundred kilometres / black marble as you cross the river / dark-skinned gods but we call them blue...
          crow_e says:
          both the imagery and the form of this one are, there's something about slashes instead of line breaks that draws me to a poem
 
poetri's a history of growing up
so you erase her. you put down a girl no longer there and
delete every picture from your mother's computer,
plead with your best friend's mom to get rid of the videos,
you hang your head in shame when she won't.
 
the campbell's kid's a love that i haven't known
We spread blankets on the sand in the pouring rain just to watch the world burn at our fingertips, feeling the splintered wood of the matches rub against our wet skin.
          rosemarywisdom says:
          [This piece is as] if love were to appear in solid form. This piece is touching, beautiful, extraordinary in every way. 
 
sunny.v’s actually, my name is
actually, my real name is of my mother language, of dusty mahjong tiles
and knowing this, you hold my name on your tongue like liquid lead
well: anything that an english-speaker cannot pronounce is fool’s gold
          n. says:
          one of my favorite pieces this month. there's too much to say about it to be succinct, so i'll simply say it was powerful.
 
pouringoutthesun's and they don’t care if the world seems too big. (you have two hands, use them.)
and she welcomes you, the earth she does. your father came from her after all, with green-tipped fingers and flowers tucked in the hollow of his collarbones and she is kinder than the sea! she takes things by halves and she holds you and she loves you.
 
pouringoutthesun's and yeah, the inside of your cheek is bitten to shreds but you’ve been sleeping better lately and that’s enough, isn’t it?
...and you said you wouldn’t do this again//pick up damaged gods that have taken to wandering in the corn fields by your home//(gunmetal eyes, viridian veins,)//but it’s always like they just look so lost and so; you like to take their hands and point them skyward again.
 
aosora’s ao / sora
morning explodes in my chest and 
i have long since forgotten this
scent of soothing madness 
like warm kicks to the mouth
i awaken on the foot of my bed
 
ghostlyglory's at one point
In the mirror, stripped,
    you prayed to stand clean.
Washed-through and clear,
nothing but white
          in a face
you wanted so badly to know.
 
marsan's atlas pleaded.
his back is taut, it tenses under your touch, 
under the weight of everything and nothing and more, 
they call him atlas, and the fool, he believes it, 
the world keeps him in place, a glorified candle-holder
 
sunny.v’s calypso: myth of the nymph and the lies
She could leave him to die on the sand, couldn’t she? Pretend that she doesn’t see him? But then again, Calypso is a nymph, and nymphs are poor liars, and the gods ask so, so many questions.
          asta says:
          this piece is pretty long by wtw standards, but it flows smoothly, and calypso herself is just a wonderful character. i think, were it from any other character's point of view, she would come off as placid and agreeable. here, we are shown the bitterness and cynicism that she hides so well. it's a great take on a character i previously considered to be flat and unlikable, and i understood her situation so much more after reading it.
 
babybluelamentations' ceviche
mother tears the hems of her sleeves off
musky clove
she speaks in tongues
    not unlike wildfire gunshots over the flooded river.
          my comment:
          this imagery is exquisite, tender even. there's something so divine about the dissonance between working woman and debutante lady, and i love every moment of it. beauty contrasted with battle, this is truly an incredible piece.
 
purplepanache's churchillian depression
night, a sequined funeral sari, draped us in her lies,
our youth,
through dark, crooked teeth i see
the curve of a back, the grin of a belly
how broken, my dear, you looked in the sand
 
she’s-got-a-story's confession
when was the last time you took communion? he asked. i could see his eyes through the grate. even in the darkness they shone like glassy beads. we were dead men; empty, yet stuffed. taxidermied in our places. specimens pinned to our pews. 
          kahte says:
          short but shone with raw emotion.
 
asta's cool girl, but make her a victorian era lady
When he holds her tonight, she will become mortal, illusions broken and pedestal shattered.
 
agustdv's d u s k
this is an eulogy for the entombed masses;
coaxing bare sinew out into the cold
child of banal apathy
 
a breath into silence's daughter, son, and godkiller
Ariya also tells herself, in the dead of night, that she is too useful to be abandoned again. But sometimes even her own surety is nothing in the face of doubt and her own cursed anatomy.
 
and_the_stars_laughed's daydreamer
you are afraid of growing up yet you spend your days wishing yourself out of the silent middle-class suburb that your feet are tied to, spend your days tired and lost and alone.
 
isla-grace davies' digitality on a technicality
Countdown to those out of reach;
Sweet entrails cling to pits of peach.
They need to see it: friend or neighbour.
Photocopy, echo chamber.
 
norah's dissonance (or, two different americas)
What else could be said? I open my hands to receive the knowledge that the world has to offer. Here: here are the systems, here are the injustices, here is the way you can see, in excruciating detail how much we haven't changed. Look at the shadow of the past. Look at the numb future. 
 
poetri's do you remember summer '17?
white car lights shine into the navy blue bits of sky, you mistake them for full moons of their own, cars driven by stars in crisp starched shirts and ties and if your father has left yet you don't know but you'll see him tonight.
 
surly wombat's downfall of a gifted kid (and)
you need to try harder and
the way your dad asks why you no longer want to go to mit hurt you to your core and
you think of the way you were a child of stars and sea salt and
wish to be someone else again.
 
sunny.v’s everyone loves a fighter
i was a wild one, weaned on the slide of asphalt scraping the skin of my cheek
i grew up with my fists raised and a stone-cold cradle of concrete
and you saw me, heart held behind a million daggers and a million more questions
and you decided you wanted me, swore you could handle it, and oh, baby, were you punching well above your weight class
            a certain type of decisive says:
             It just seems to have a lot of raw power and energy.  It was submitted to my "phrases for Phrases" contest and I wrote a song for it and I think it might be my favorite one so far. It's blood pumping, punch throwing, heart racing and I love the take on "fighting to keep a relationship alive." 
            white mountains says:
one of my favorite pieces of hers. the raw, descriptive way she depicts a dying relationship is amazing.
 
cressida’s how to get the girl
2. before i bury her beneath the glow of the crucifix
    between main & holloway street, i will think of you.
            (how you despise me, detest me like i'm some fowl 
            being, a desecration to this very earth, some heretic,
            some blasphemy i commit).
 
efflorescence's how to tame a wolf
I dreamed of wolves made of thunderstorms and a fire licking the edges of a cloak.
 
chrysanthemums&ink’s hurtling towards the deadline
CPR doesn't work on dead things, you learn, because you tried it on gaia.   
suck on the world like a lollipop, pop. 
and lick the salt from the seas. 
 
fatpanda's i placed her on a pedestal, so why am i surprised when it comes crashing down on me?
as she goes outside to tend to her plants, you plunge your hand inside your chest and pull out a heart, bleeding, but otherwise fresh. you can’t tell yet whether it belongs to you, or to her, but holding it firmly in both hands, you break it in half.
 
agustdv's i think of nothing at all
but if you want, i can lead all this
water to my lungs, seaweed bones
i like starfish blood cells
and the subtle surrender of
june madness
 
poetri's i wonder if anyone ever used 'jesus wept' as their confirmation verse--i wonder what their mother thought
and maybe something happened as you stood 
at the pulpit to read your speech, maybe you were 
touched by god, the angels, your hallucinations--did they tell you
to hate me?
 
weirdo's i’d say there’s no art in losing yourself but why else am i a poet?
i abandoned english and became
which tastes genderless like
peach jelly tie dyed polo shirts 
and katalia was never a color
velvet against honey brown skin
 
cressida’s i. oracles, oceans, and gods
Vanja trusted them, but Vanja was always overly trusting, especially with the oracles. She said that the gods’ blessings flowed through their sealed mouths, ruby red like the sins they carried. You said they were frauds marauding around in silken robes smelling of piss and donning gleaming chains of fool’s gold.
 
cressida’s ii. ice, death, and necromancy
(And still, when the sun rests his head on the warm, bloody pavements and the moon tilts her gleaming face up into the stars, you indulge in your revenge fantasies. Imagine their golden blood running dry and cold from their aristocratic brows, forming gold icicle crowns.)
 
agustdv's in this moment, right now, you and i are alive
The convenience store hummed. Each refrigerator sang differently, she noted. The tall, stern double-door monster of a fridge (housing anything from sodas to yogurts) only chanted in sporadic military tones, while the cheery ice cream freezer trilled like a reed warbler constantly. It grew on you if you tried.
 
jasmine_k's in which love and art are both cursed
these days/ i have been losing my diamond earrings/ in the back of your throat/ and calling that/ a revelation. you laugh/ and it sounds like streetlights/ at 2am. which is to say/ hollow and useless/ because the moon is already bright enough./
 
a certain type of decisive's infinity was never a number
The brain makes connections and calls it thinking, a highway of chemicals called imagination- there isn't a limit on what can be created- (once i called her a universe with skin) we are universes with skin.
          a certain type of decisive says:
           If I had any less hubris, I wouldn't describe what I like about my own piece but I don't so here we go! Indigo is my best character, my favorite story, and my longest string of ideas. This piece is a character study into her, but it also contains my ideas on creation and existence. It's something I'm very proud of.
 
van gogh's girl’s isn't she Darling
    so there i was, raised a wolf among sheep.
    a tearing sort of child, the type to enter
    a conversation with devastation. to seize
    the throne of any room for myself and only
    my blue blood self. 
            a certain type of decisive says:
            Okay I know this piece already got a lot of attention, but it deserves it! She's a pretty new author and what a thunderous way to come in? This piece created an emotion within me I didn't know I had- an anger, a defiance, and a hunger. There was something beautifully repulsive about it - I might say it scared me if it didn't also inspire a strange fearlessness inside me.
            dmoral13 says:
            literally she just joined WTW and i’m already in love.
 
agustdv's isolation
in this loathsome bleakness,
time sags like a pair of breasts—
severed milk ducts, threadbare 
mouths unbolted latching onto 
nourishing skin, thick with the
cream of human milk.
 
babybluelamentations' italian chapter
    i believe in fate
    when the last drops of milk in the supermarket gallon jug are still cold at the end of the night. 
    and i like to think that if i’d created the universe, 
    i would have let those drops fall through the stars instead of into my gaping mouth.
 
the contrarian's just an important note on lgbt+ rights/discrimination!
You can brush this off your shoulder like dust. But your lack of wanting to understand - your ignorance that you could easily solve just by opening your mind - hurts more people than you know.
            the moving finger writes says:
            Something everyone should read, no matter who they are, with a respectfully given, well-articulated point.
 
n.'s lady of the storm and sea
she is the caricature of the untamed, a maiden unclaimed,
she is the dark horse every gambler loathes, morning mist
unkissed, she has no inkling in her mind to marry,
to carry children and love.
 
sunny.v’s love letter to the necromancers
perhaps the dreams of earthen soil, of six feet under, of a box lying horizontal
perhaps those will do, and perhaps i am just tired, and perhaps i am more than the corpse who managed to become warm
 
agustdv's m o n o chrome
frayed postcards of promised lands
and i, cracked in two; the rib heaves.
soliloquies in the pouring rain, there 
is much lost in those solemn, aching
days.
 
purplepanache's mama.
my heart beats within yours, 
my bladder bursts with poetry for your drunken sins and
dimpled dreams
did i drench the gods in your crown?
 
marsan's meet me at dewey's.
Listen, speaking isn’t what I usually do. If people spot me, they usually ask how and when they’ll die. They’re… curious, both about me and life. They think, what comes next? And it the end, it doesn’t matter much, but they still think about it. And I don’t answer. But then I go and see someone like you. You’re not entirely living, because you don’t think of death. You’re scared of it, but not enough to get on that bus. And until you do, you’re stuck in the middle of the road. 
 
fatpanda's midnight writing, compiled
i reach through the dripping wound on my head and drum my fingers on bone. what am i if not temporary; i’ve turned my body inside-out and still, i erode.
 
eaurora's monochrome
Sometimes I think she feels most at home
among old photographs. delicate
monochrome smiles, faded skin,
furling gently at the edges, soft and worn
from years of thumbprints
 
dmoral13's my body grows old before my mind wishes it so (alone, maturity hurts)
and i've started to ignore my body's natural craving for mortality and outlining my heart's drawing of infinity; childhood memories i've begun to cry (now i understood why my mother use to) and the itching feeling of wrinkles appear on my body.
 
dmoral13's my writing club teacher said this wasn't developed enough but really she doesn't accept this "type of writing" aka lowercase prose & other unconventional pieces (so i edited it to make it better, but ik she'd still hate it)
it's because of things like this / that make us write / tragedies. / ironic how / your novels are based around / characters under the age / of simply everything / and you still mock me / for trying to write my own / miseries & half-stories.
            dmoral13 says:
            self nominated because 1. feelin' vain this early in the morning & 2. if this get up there it's like a laugh in my teacher's face.
 
kate gardner's neighbor's bush, a drama
A red stemmed foreigner, bodily red
Like head trauma. The grass of warring worlds
Looked much the same
 
poetri's never ever thought i'd have to miss aunt b: a lament to quitting theater
idina kristin norbert christopher / riley but a voice like that / idina carole michelle / riley after all you’ve done / idina because you always liked her too, and me because / riley after all i taught you
 
weirdo's northern downpour send your love
moon honey melting on stone tongues,
flooding throats like hoary, shattered lakes;
she’s scraping glass again, dilating in
frozen sunbeams like silken blossoms
 
and_the_stars_laughed's obsidian | a poem based on "cleopatra" by the lumineers
you are older now, antiseptic coating through stale halls,
obsidian pulsing in halos round your head. death looms like a flickering 
candle.
 
jasmine_k's ode to all the things that taiwan is
taiwan is the kind of deity that feeds me zhu xie tang without flinching, without second-guessing my american girl tastebuds. taiwan is playing on the scrap metal piles in gong gong’s factory in shalu. taiwan is the soles of my feet remaining unscathed like the other kids; taiwan is my ankles exploding into boils from the heat. 
 
cressida’s ode to languages that will never pass your lips
and you, you say that you’re mixed as a pathetic, pious
grasp at something to cling to- a sense of identity, maybe-,
but there’s something canine about it- “Oh, she’s a mix-”
(and purebreds were always better).
 
rainandsonder's on huckleberry trees & the violence of forgetting
this is what i'm trying to say: everywhere in the world there are ghosts clutching pieces of you. there is something walking alongside you and there is something watching you as you sleep from the corner of your room.
 
eaurora's one of the things i never told you
...I watch you going
from table to floor to window in reverse, as if rolling backwards
the years and lives that have torn you apart
 
purplepanache's panama
you slip off my shoulders these days
and i wake cold, cold
remembering the back of your teeth and
your hands in my conscience
 
r|a|i|n's photograph of guardian spirit of the waters
Here the sun is what we see, and the shadows run ink-black through the ocean, beneath the smooth lips of the waves.  My sails are bright wings, and my boat is an inkwell, and I watch the seagulls as they slip between shades, and the bright white tosses their slim bodies in and out of loose black threads.
            crow_e says:
            this is a quirky little piece and i love the use of capitalisation.
 
poetri's punishment/ocean/rain | ode to brooklyn and cities that break into shells
you have never been to Brooklyn.
spent a day in dc, a day in philadelphia, a day in bowie and find it kind of
sad that you’re almost seventeen years old and
have never seen the street lamps turn on at dusk in any city,
never looked out of a rainy window and saw still life paintings
moving
under black umbrellas.
 
poetri's r i l e y
but 16 is weird. it's like i know who i want to be, i know what i want finally, but i'm in a waiting period to get to it. it's like those last few weeks before christmas--you know what you want but you have to wait to see if you get it. 16 must be the november of life.
 
poetri's red red blood is red
   said red red blood is red we bleed the same, kneeling at a 
 baseball game don't hurt your pride more than it hurt their backs
    to bend down pick cotton for equal men. don't hurt to be white
  in a white world no sir no sir no sir don't hurt to be a privileged girl
        and until your blood shines into something more in the sun...
            white mountains says:
            this is an important topic, and poetri more than does it justice; she perfectly captures the voice of a young child with her articulate writing.
 
and_the_stars_laughed's roses
try to forget & forget & forget who you are,
what they told you as they mashed
wood chips whilst their sneakers, leaned to the playground poles and glowed
sea-foam green.
            anne blackwood says:
            The reader is immediately captivated by this piece. It's written so masterfully and mysteriously that one can't help but hold their breath.
 
efflorescence's samsara smells like carbon
        they say ashes to ashes
                                                        so i say light it up;
burn the snakeskin on a pyre
                                and watch the phoenix
                  rise.
 
norah's sedna & qailertetang
We putter around our house, bump into each other on purpose, eat together from our table, foreheads nearly touching. My lover sings in her sleep. She heals in the salt of the sea from all of her past lives. I take my heavy limbs to bed with her. 
            fatpanda says:
            wow. i was spellbound when i read this, and i am still spellbound upon reading it now. norah's subtle way of describing the gentle aggression of 'my lover' is beautiful, plus we love powerful lesbians, even more so if they are underwater.
 
efflorescence's sericulture mother
妈妈 hums to me as i drift to sleep beneath a latticed roof
    singsongs the impregnation of my name
嫘祖, she lullabies, calls me the princess who drinks herbal tea
         shakes cocoons from mulberry trees 
and weaves her misfortunes into silken cloth
            white mountains says:
            the imagery here is exquisite.
 
a breath into silence's she has no name
The lady you just saw between the trees is not the earth goddess. Her name is not Lady Earth. Did you know that? Her name flutters away, flower petals on the breeze, scented like lilac and morning mists. You will never say it quite right. This is not your fault, this mere slipping of the tongue, teeth catching syllables with stuttered stops.
 
efflorescence's sleepless sorrows
and i don’t know how to explain
that the earth spins pins and never stops
but what if it does? and what if the sun dies
and what if the moon falls
and what if this happens while i am asleep
 
sargasso’s soap
Write a poem they said, write a poem about the way you wake up, the way the sun is yours at midnight. Write about the small sliver of a soap moon in the corner of the bathtub. The early morning breeze, the open window, his honey lips, the haying field beyond the brook we're used to calling ours.
 
scripturience's something i might never tell my mother's mother
my mother's laugh sounds like yours: wild and beautiful and free. sometimes when i hear it i expect to turn and see you standing there, in all your graying glory.
 
avoiding the big bang’s suburban habits
I eat with crossed legs as shards of rain scratch my face, and when I stand much later pieces of paint stick to my thighs.  I find remnants of “old house” in the shower later.
 
mortabeille’s swallow. you’ve ruined your life trying to fix it.
The Forest’s mouth is large and it bears no canines.
It lacks a body of white or yellow to make sense as them, there, 
hasn’t the lips to smack and twist and deceive,
so it can’t smile or lie or play pretend.
Somehow, it eats anyway; graceless, without chewing.
 
n.'s the art of forgetting you have a boyfriend
and now my teeth clench when I sleep at night
yet you’ve been nothing but positive so
i blame it on you, because who would know
if i never told them and it’s all the same
when the cup is empty.
 
ruthh's the devil who came to tea
I digress. The devil is sprawled like dying fire on my carpet,
and all I can worry about is whether or not he’s going to burn through
the fabric or leave a ring of decay,
like a coffee mug irresponsibly placed naked, raw.
            autumnrain says:
            Ruthh has taken the classic tale of ‘The Tiger Who Came to Tea’ and has adapted it to an older audience using darkly humorous references and it's just such a fantastic read!
 
purplepanache's the elephant and the dove (diego on my mind)
my head on the meadow of your lap. sweet grass-spring bluebell breath on our flushed faces. one thigh fuller than the other. the religion of your body that swats away a wandering hand. a drunk mosquito. wandering mind asleep on your soft, supple skin. 
            crow_e says:
            the imagery in this piece is incredible.
 
fatpanda's the house on the hill is painted red but the paint is peeling off
cement starts crumbling just as white
eyes begin shrinking into skull sockets. the house is a silent
spectator, it cannot move in the middle of this destruction.
 
raehyosthe iceberg in the northern sea
The sun hits the ice in a thousand different ways. Soren squints at the polar ice cap with the air of an unconcerned scientist but in his heart there is nothing but screaming and falling, soaring and throbbing. He has never seen so many shades of blue.
 
pouringoutthesun's the moon? she loves you!
slip down the slate of your roof and laugh out into the night//you’ve got flushed knees and teary eyes//tarnished knuckles and a tangled up chest//this is okay and the moon smiles//headily, you are alive
 
jeily's the persistence of memory (but in real life)
spilling wine down our shirts
stains forging angel wings from your shoulder blades
hands melding into one another
memories mixing together like the raindrops that chase each other on a shop window
 
norah's the planets make their entrance
and so you haven't found the last wild places, instead dreamed of birthing seals, sat with the ghost, waited in line because 
                you stand and it hurts to stand, you, pinned to the earth
                             anger after birds 
and yes you will stand in lines and yes your feet will hurt and yes, soon, the earth will swallow you whole.
 
a breath into silence's the shadows have eyes
The tales spread of a boy who does not die, and the world begins to whisper of Barat just like the village once did. But now it is so much worse, because the shadows with his father’s eyes might strangle Barat but the men on horses plan to do so much worse. 
 
anne blackwood’s the skies of tennessee
my skin tingles listening to acoustic guitar
playing through my earbuds with one side that doesn't work
i close my eyes and imagine i'm there
standing in a crowd of music fans
singing along to songs of heartbreak and pickup trucks
 
inanutshell’s the song that never ends
rummaging through my consciousness, i find a memory seemingly untouched, neatly enclosed in its cassette tape. gingerly, i place the memory tape into the player, and hit play.
 
flo’s the sun at the end of the sea
FREDA
Are you ready?
EVA 
Is anybody? [Pause, reconsiders.] Yes. I have seen this view a thousand times and every time I see a new miracle. Perhaps if I lived forever it would not be a miracle no more. But I should like to see it once more.
            a certain type of decisive says:
            So it's got a couple formatting issues, whatever! The content is there and it's amazing. The subject matter? Wild. The observations? Profound. The characters? I don't even know how to begin describing the love between the two of them. The take on death and dying is unlike anything I've seen in a very long time. The idea that Death is not Death, but Dying? A journey? That's so radical I'm going to call the hazardous material association.
 
raehyosthe thing about legends
Bara maybe - just maybe - mutters something about living several thousand years and never seeing something so stupid for a greeting, but Ellie is trying to be better about the whole fairytale business so she ignores it. It was definitely the wind wrapping itself around the school buildings, and nothing more.
 
poetri's these are the homes we've forgotten get lived in
out of bounds, i was out of bounds. met sidney halfway up the street and we walked through the mystic haze i'd been confined to seeing through a windowpane. sometimes i think that's what made that morning, our conversations birthed through the clouds spitting phrases around us--don't tell me i shouldn't be here, darling, let me live.
 
fatpanda's they found us in the woods-- silty water
how mighty must you feel to be called creator & creation, to watch salt
rings increase is size yourself, but still shrinking, shrinking &
shrinking. to know that when an embrace pulls away, so do your
granite cells. to be compared with the three-toed stomp. to choose 
to know & behold & ignore.
 
fatpanda's this cycle
sweet decadence had never been so tasteful; here, come remind me of our misdeeds. our love is a forgotten scabbard; some traces of my lost benevolence float around in their tethered shreds but you deem them no notice. 
 
agustdv's tldr; someone dies at mealtime and i write a poem about it
someone dies oceans away. the waves clatter
on our doorstep, bearer of unwelcome news,
and i imagine what she was— fractured 
life miles apart.
 
jun lei's to ache for the home you've never known
you heard it in the gentle drum of your mother's heart before it was drowned by anxious murmurs, in the song the stars spun before they were swallowed by the smog of the city that never sleeps, in the lullaby of the whispering palms before they were cruelly decapitated.
 
jasmine_k's translating diaspora for my chinese relatives
i tend to attribute the fading of my inner monologue to the summer months. it is muscle memory to switch into my parallel tongue come july 3rd. and yes, this is to say i have no mother tongue at all, that if heaven were a thing
i would pray i understood the language.
 
jyotsna.r.n's venezia
they say get in, get inside, acqua alta is approaching
soon the  streets will turn into the canals, cobblestone swathed 
by the embrace of the adriatic , get in , quickly now
 
dmoral13's we fell in the making
and i know death,
                i know him well;
we met when i was
younger and he offered
me his hand, said he wore
                eternity as a wrist band.
n. says:
            it had some absolutely stunning turns of phrase and concepts and the format was engaging.
 
poetri's week of
but my god, you all must know every crack on my ceiling
by now, my best friend says they tell the triumphs and falls of my 
father when he painted it, i wonder if she's forgotten me yet. don't let her
                               forget 
                               me.
                               please.
 
a breath into silence's whale songs
will you sing? with your sorrow / i see clearly once more. and when i wake
with deep holes / in my chest i will ache for your voice. i will sing that
hey did you know / space is so small after all.
 
abijoy’s what you see isn't all there is
Out beyond the reaches of our telescopes and radio transmissions a baby is being born.
A fire is burning.
Another moon is forming on a planet where the people can’t see except for the glowing of each other’s souls.
            a certain type of decisive says:
            AbiJoy will always have a special place in my heart for her strange, surreal storytelling and unconventional but important messages. This piece is unlike anything I've ever read and the idea behind it is even better. I don't pretend to know everything she meant by it, but I was in awe nonetheless. She isn't saying exactly that all these things are true, but that if they were, you would never know. She artfully explains the oldest philosophy in the book - the more you know, the more you know how little you know. Most take this idea cynically, but she uses comedy and a hopeful tone. I just love it.
 
elisa's wide-angle lens i
can’t you see something sweet up there? i called out 2
god tonight, he was dead but i spoke to his secretary.
it was her son’s eighth birthday, she was
sorry i had wasted my time.
 
sunny.v’s wings, once broken, eternally clipped
my bones are hollow; they barely made a sound when they were crushed
ironically, they groaned a funeral song when i became a flightless thing, a lifeless taxidermy trophy
 
n.'s wonder woman complex
no, no, because  a white german boy can only talk about world war two for so long. a white german boy can only name guns and bullets for you until his words take on another meaning.
just like icarus could only fly so high before he too yearned
to feel the breath of earth once more.
 
jasmine_k's writing about brokenness in third person because my body feels like its been hit by a truck
today it is worse than usual.
the crows are scattering after being anointed by acid-rain,
and you are diving under their wings to catch him before his insides spill.
            poetri says:
            no words for how gorgeous this is.
 
a breath into silence's you used to choke on pills
and it is gone, gone, gone. where did the
eternal summertime euphoria go? stand on the ledge,
scream at the sky and the clouds, and it is summer again.

~~~

congratulations to all of april's amazing writers! all of these pieces are worth a read, a like, and a comment if you feel so inclined (and you should), and i'd suggest checking out some of the other pieces of mentioned authors as well. (rules are rules, i can't accept pieces that didn't come out this month but there are some really good ones that were released a while back.) hope this brings a little more recognition to those who deserve it.

on a side note, keep an eye on writers of the world. nominations for may must reads are still open for a few more days, so get your favourite pieces in quick! writers of the world do great things for writers (aka giving them actual reviews for spectacular work). they have a much more organised system than i do, and give prizes for the top pieces in each category. go check them out!
an additional piece that was nominated that i'm going to hide in the footnotes:
n.'s advice no one asked for
poetri says:
i know, i know, but hear me out here. she phrased this beautifully and unproblematically and the poem at the end cracked me up. more people should see it and it deserves to be in the highlights :)

(you got your wish, in some capacity at least.)

check out previous wtw highlights:

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24 Comments
  • Isla-Grace Davies

    Thank you so much! This is such a huge boost to my confidence <3


    3 months ago
  • Kahte

    This is so professional! Thanks for putting so much work and effort into these highlights each month!


    4 months ago
  • babybluelamentations

    and you’ve done it yet again! these highlights are basically the essential wtw master lists. there are so many gems that go unnoticed each month, and it’s wonderful for these pieces to get the attention and praise they deserve. thank you so much for the shoutouts too! you’re more than amazing, darling <3


    4 months ago
  • jyotsna.r.n

    aah thank you so much for the shout out ! It made my day :)


    4 months ago
  • Jasmine_K

    I say this every month but thank you for taking the time to put this together! I'm so excited to read through, it's always the highlight of my month :) And thank you so much for including some of my stuff, I know I didn't write as much in May but hopefully, June will be better for my creativity haha


    4 months ago
  • aosora

    Thank you for featuring me!!


    4 months ago
  • chrysanthemums&ink

    oops i meant to comment a long time ago but forgot. as always, thank you for your hard work! ily <3


    4 months ago
  • A Certain Type of Decisive

    Thanks so much for compiling all of these!! What would we do without you?


    4 months ago
  • Anne Blackwood

    Thank you times infinity plus two!!


    4 months ago
  • jeily

    oh you're incredible. i say this every month but you're truly a blessing, thank you for all your hard work <3


    4 months ago
  • avoiding the big bang

    wow, thank you! i cannot imagine how much time this must have taken - i admire your dedication.


    4 months ago
  • mia_:)

    Thank you so much for taking so much time to put this together! <3


    4 months ago
  • asta

    aaahhh thank u, icon


    4 months ago
  • fatpanda

    thank you, again, for doing this!! you go goddess <3


    4 months ago
  • The Campbell's Kid

    Thanks so much for including me in this month's highlights! And also a big thanks to Anha for hosting them! You guys are so awesome! <3


    4 months ago
  • Dmoral

    my darling, Anha, you're a blessing really. thanks so much for the msg on Prose about this lovely piece! you outdid yourself again & i'm grateful to be up there among the rest <3

    p.s
    glad my piece inspired by your piece is up there, feels like we post got a highlight really ;)

    xoxo & wishing u the best!


    4 months ago
  • sunny.v

    le queen strikes again,,,thank you so much for doing this!!! 180 pieces high?? that’s just so much effort...*standing ovation*. you truly outdo yourself. <3 we’re lucky to have you here. and ty for the nominations y’all congrats to everyone else who made it!


    4 months ago
  • agustdv

    thank you bbg, for all you do!!!!


    4 months ago
  • Cressida

    Anha, you are an absolute gift :)! These highlights are always amazing, and you put so much time and effort into them. Thank you so much for doing this every single month; WtW clearly benefits so much from your presence!


    4 months ago
  • purplepanache

    ohhhh my god, i am overwhelmed! thank you so much for doing this, you are truly a gem of a person!


    4 months ago
  • N.

    it’s time to sing the praises of the resident eldritch horror again! your dedication to the highlights is incredible(!!!) thank you for being a queen <3


    4 months ago
  • poetri

    thank you, thank you, thank you for putting this together every month. (and thanks for granting my wish lol)


    4 months ago
  • And_The_Stars_Laughed

    Thank you so much for putting this together, I appreciate all of the hard work you do!!!!! :)


    4 months ago
  • PouringOutTheSun

    i love u anha :,))) ur so great, and i am always ecstatic when u do the highlights


    4 months ago