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 to Readers

it's late, i'll send out notifications tomorrow. if you're seeing this without a notification, kudos to you for being proactive!

june wtw highlights

July 8, 2020

FREE WRITING

43
there was a truly astonishing number of pieces i’d bookmarked for this occasion that had returned to me the cursed “error 404” screen. it shouldn’t be counted as a coincidence that a few of these were posts of blm solidarity and calls for justice. but no matter. institutions rarely want change unless it benefits them financially.
with the politics out of the way, let’s get into this month’s highlights.


mia_:)’s [ring] the bell always tolls the same
v. history
/ learn from your forefathers, child / history is flat, just like our blue marble gone through a fondant machine / study the front side only
 
fatpanda's a beast of your own creation
this is what he taught me: call me obsolete, and i shall 
prevail still, i shall feed as the rain pelts on, as the 
concerto is frenzied, as deadness rules.
 
jasmine_k's afterparty
i have to remember / this moment / mourning on my knees for all the feelings / i no longer have. they all know my name. and i / appreciate / this promise half-stuck / in their vocal cords.
 
sunny.v’s america spat on me last weekend
i bet your parents came to america to work in a california nail salon. i bet they probably cleaned my grandaddy’s toes.
actually, my mom arrived in ellis island, and she waved at lady liberty, and i bet she didn’t know that lady liberty’s a filthy snake and a liar
n. says:
a heartbreaking, powerful read full of anger and fire.
naomi ling says:
i adore all of sunny's pieces and it was difficult to choose but this one really resonated with me as another POC. so powerful and worth the read!
 
poetri's american unproud
navy tarred corners on chesapeake village boulevard, where
we the people suspend three by five draperies and call them
symbolic classes of red-blood-and-blue...
sunny.v says:
poetri flawlessly unpacks our oh-so great country of america with painfully vivid imagery. relatively short, but powerful all the more.
 
fatpanda's an old woman watches the sea
twenty years ago i 
liked the way my elephant bones rang when
i sharpened them with a knife, when i saved 
their remains in a box.
 
pouringoutthesun's and the night does not have to have sad hands, this has never been a hard & fast rule
and i want you to let yourself bask in the warmth that you find in the world//like a sun-drenched cat//like a creature deserving of every beam of light that has ever existed//and i want to live in magic and magic wants to live in you//(in all of us, please let it be all of us)...
 
naomi ling’s angel wings, and other fragile parts of humanity
i / dream of you sometimes, all curves & empty promises / but you are only a mirage in a lake of blurry visions & sleep deprivation
 
inanutshell’s at first, the colours are bright
eyes wide, you take the plunge into this brave new world with your hand in mine. our minds are clear and our hearts are full, ostensibly bound together by an intangible feeling. we are nothing but specks of dust in this universe, ready to become something more. 
outoftheblue says:
i absolutely adore the extended metaphor here, of lost friendships to colours that fade over the passage of time. this definitely warrants a read.
 
efflorescence’s bilingualism
my mother’s religion speaks a different tongue. 
        wrapped in lilting chants and torah pages, she 
prays to a god i do not recognize.
 
rat in a hat’s bird of the sky, i know you cannot understand
worms are a symptom of depression, i think
so far underground; they must feel everything much more deeply, more fully than we can comprehend
and i am overwhelmed when i am up here, lying on my bed, so i roll off onto my floor
but that is not far down enough: my room is on the second story.
 
|spectral|’s birthstones
waking you up late at night, beaming about the meteor shower in a couple minutes, begging you to get up and watch. taking care of a small city garden on her rooftop, appears so lonely and yet accompanied by a thousand ghosts we cannot see.
outoftheblue says:
honestly, just beautiful writing and excellent usage of gemstones to differentiate between personalities
 
rat in a hat’s blasphemy (say it out loud, it is sweet and melts on your tongue)
first,
i am in your cathedral.
knees bruised stained and damp, 
freshly cut grass
dried blood
dandelions
dew
i carry the scent of strawberries and dirt, and even that is a sin
to be godlike is to smell like nothing at all
 
m.b.’s breaking news: big business buys out the airwaves; dj chokes to death in third-floor flat
televisions talk too much
so I’m left with fifty radios instead,
satellites colliding and aligning to the batons of
steel-suited conductors in the opera above.
 
poetri's burning things like trucks and my white privilege (tw for recent events and mention of dying/death)
who buried terrence who buried tamir who buried christian who buried george where can i find them
             over my white family i don't even know all their names.
and i wonder what their daughters thought, if they saw the casket or got ushered away first
because little girls shouldn't see gunshots or stab wounds or their father's collapsed lungs
      i wonder if they're afraid now.              (how when i was little i was never afraid.)
inanutshell says:
this perfectly articulates the anger i'm sure a lot of us are familiar with regarding the trump administration and there are so many amazing lines in this.
 
a breath into silence's burying the ghosts
If the god’s right - and who is Barat trying to fool, gods are always right, even when they tell you horrible things - then this girl is a fugitive, wanted by the government. It’s not like they could just waltz into any old town.
 
jasmine_k's buying myself a bra that fits right
think that i would like to understand
this mystical thing
elongated neck pulled into creams and orange milkweed
razor burns; such beauty,
crowded into measuring tape...
purplepanache says:
brilliant, Jasmine_K is a genius.
 
babybluelamentations' capriccio/psa in footnotes
and he's been pulling at a loose thread in my knitted blanket for a while now, or so it seems as his voice echoes down to me from atop an ambitious everest of yarn.
“that was my grandma’s blanket”
“nothing material contains true sentiment”
          my comment:
          believe me when i say this piece is not by any means appearing in these highlights solely for the sake of the important information in the footnotes. emi’s figurative language is expertly utilised in the extended hallucination of salvador dali in order to effectively reveal the fears and hard truths that the narrator is not willing to tell themselves outright. (and of course, important links for ways to donate and petition for justice and change in these trying times. please take a look.)
 
aosora’s carousel
this is a small dream / this is too cruel / this
is a solace for older days / for when crass sorrow
boards up in exhausted throat / no soprano 
in ghost orchestra / medusa world cracked in half...
aadit pahuja says:
PERFECTLY captures the essence of childhood and nostalgia along with that signature sad tone which is portrayed in the present times. Beautiful imagery, Great piece!
 
naomi ling’s childhood reminiscence
i can only wonder at what it means. grandma says
he’s wasting his time on poetry, that only
[the richest men in the world have time to create.]
outoftheblue says:
Filled with nostalgia and vignettes that are wonderfully warm. Even though she just joined her work is already incredible.
 
outoftheblue’s conditioning
so stand upon there, this  threshold of knowledge, generations and coarse,wooden desks now covered with stark graffiti
separate the disciple and the master, and in between lies a gorge of deepening fear, doubts like chasms in your shaky faith
 
jasmine_k's dark ethereal
is it too pretentious to 
say that i am burning a graveyard in my body? it is littered with garbage
and when they thump their bibles i will laugh and laugh and laugh. and are you
my guardian angel? because i have decided
that i am no longer interested...
 
jeily's days of being wild
the universe cradles you in its palms before smashing you down onto the table, so you shatter into all your puzzle pieces. it slowly starts to put you back together with gentle motions, and this is what you see...
 
chrysanthemums&ink’s dirty daughter of the middle kingdom
...the old man minding the mountaintop snack stand offers us water and cheap milk popsicles / sweaty fingers trembling under the weight of china's muted pollution and / comparing the red of the ancestral temple to the red of our cheeks / . / 
 
naomi ling’s drifting girl of the orient
i am the little girl of the atlantic / metaphorical raft at sea, adrift, adrift / swallow saltwater and chlorine-tinged hope, see where it takes you
 
sunny.v’s elegant daughter of asia
lunar new year makes you lonely / there is an old-fashioned watercolor painting on the wall / jasmine rice bags in the store / muddled languages on your tongue / look far: will you see yourself?
sunny.v says:
it’s my first community challenge piece that i’m really happy inspired some people to talk about the beauty of their own heritage/culture!!
purplepanache says:
a stunning piece, what intelligent observations and writing. way to go!
 
efflorescence's elegy for the gorgons
We’re still awaiting Perseus
to carry our sgraffito home.
A museum of dead girls lusting
for their postmortem rites.
 
naomi ling’s fish eyes
This so-called battle between my parents and me persists for years throughout my childhood, always ending the same way: I, the provoker of the skirmish, demand food that is adapted to my tastes... My parents allow this. [...]I had victory, but what exactly did I win?
 
naomi ling’s four colors of childhood
at birth, mama dips calloused fingers into pigmented rouge and smears it onto fresh, sweaty flesh. searing hot red, for the deep tones of blood and the unborn, on your sticky forehead. (wash it off, just like your sins.) when you grow up, you know, you will do the same to your child.
inanutshell says:
this nostalgia tinged piece was amazing!
iosane says:
this piece by naomi ling is amazing. i read it like three times and adored it.
 
ruthh's gaea
...and i could feel the grit and stone and debris
making a home in my lungs and nestling down for
hibernation but i found myself without fear instead
it felt like i had been adopted and had adopted love
and it felt like the song was a pained lullaby pouring into
every cell in my body and i was drowning but
liberated at the same time...
 
norah's geese
the mountain says: there is nothing and nothing you can do to stop time, I am in attendance at every funeral and one day this stone will be sand, the bone beneath me will rejoice, the sun will smell like nothing and like the land
 
crow_e's grasping at smoke
...you’ve been scrambling//shoving other people’s part words down your throat//but it’s like oatmeal//thick and bland and sitting heavy//and you can’t make anything out of it//you’re grasping at letters//and then you wonder//if this is what it feels like//not being able to breathe
 
and_the_stars_laughed's h o m e
chapped hands wedged between the window-panes and i,
air-conditioned shell of uncertainty, grasp green twixt my fingertips.
rainandsonder says:
such detailed, gorgeous imagery in this piece, you can not only see the places being described, but you can hear them and feel them too.
 
fatpanda's hey angel
and you, angel, out of control now (out of control always)-- do you feel the elegant handlings and unprepared stumblings, do you notice your tissues opening, rejoicing, a laceration that integrates whatever is thrown at it? fiery denouncements still sputtering out of your mouth without meaning? and for once, you cannot catch a hold of them.
 
fatpanda's how's this for a fairy tale?
Gretel kneels before me-- it’s a repetition of
flailing water wings, buttons unable to collapse, 
an unintentional ruse.
 
chrysanthemums&ink’s i knelt in front of a dead butterfly and prayed
a while ago, i buried a butterfly
kowtowed in front of a temple and 
pretended like i knew how to pray
 
chrysanthemums&ink’s i ripped a child out of my body
nostalgia is just another word for grief / life choked you until you were no longer a child / and hung your limp body on a Christmas tree / they say God beckons from the top of the evergreen and it seems / the only way to get up is to crush the skulls of your fellow ornaments
sunny.v says:
chrysanthemums&ink has a wonderful way of making dark, nearly grotesque imagery so lovely and poignant to read. she captures unsettling beauty so effortlessly in this piece.
 
chrysanthemums&ink’s i talk abt myself and it gets a little out of hand
i want to commit a sin / wash it down with white wine / bitter water / kindness forsaken by a / broken violin / i want to break my violin so bach can't kill me no longer / can you tell me what dissonance is?
 
sunny.v’s i think i cried for a desert mirage
i think she likes it, but it’s hard to tell with her: she calls it a souvenir. she kisses my forehead goodbye. she walks onto the dance floor. i think there’s sweat drying on the back of my neck.
inanutshell says:
this is one of my personal favourites on wtw, the yearning behind this piece and the contrast between coming-of-age & maturity really touched me.
chrysanthemums&ink says:
i don't think any of us can get enough of sunny's breathtaking writing and this piece is no exception. i love the personality she gave to the two characters, the fleetingness of a summer cruise 'fever dream' like ugh. this piece is absolutely glorious.
 
pouringoutthesun's i’m sorry i punched you in the face, it’s just that i hate the inside of my own head
and it fits upon that head of yours perfectly//and sure it scorches the tips of your ears to bits//but it also keeps all the bad bits of your mind from spilling out//and the heat of it is good, for that hardened heart of yours.
 
chrysanthemums&ink’s inside this bright red square | tw: triggering historical events/violence
of course, woven though spider webs and little red books, your homeland s̶m̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶d̶  protected you like a parent would to their child. "no, he isn't dead, just sleeping for a long time" 
you can't speak, no, even the western in you creeps away and you can only babble in your first language. the timer rings and the next in line jostles your shoulder because you can't
speak. 
 
norah's introduction: the worldwide web
and you watch from the shore
as music pours from the sky
with no one, no one to tell you 
how history stretches and stretches
to meet itself
 
jasmine_k's is this poetry
and you are rippling, head submerged underwater,
catching floating flowers with your tongue, you, rose boy, you,
look how soft you are, moments before the wind picks up.
 
purplepanache's leaving behind parts of your soul on airport seats
no, this is home. this is
a reverie of everything green
everything that survives
and everything that ever will.
 
jasmine_k's leftovers
have u seen my body? u cracked eggs against the sycamore tree
asked me to pick out the shells with my teeth. take the A train at 10pm, 
bus across the bridge
+ into the river. the water is always ice cold.
 
the contrarian's let's talk about: internalized homophobia and compulsory heterosexuality
“Gays are okay, as long as they don’t shove it down my throat.” Oh, my bad! I never meant to offend you by showing affection to my good friend, who is also female. But when a man and woman do it in public, it’s okay, right?
 
the contrarian's lgbt+ history 2: the lavender scare
[The] United States government perceived homosexuality as a lurking subversive threat, just as they did with the impending threat of Communism. Rather unfortunately, due to the Red Scare, homosexuality became somehow interrelated with Communism, thus leading to what we know now as the Lavender Scare.
 
rainandsonder's lost, without a home?
are you lost, without a home? have you found yourself following a path for years, pushing even when you felt entirely drained to follow this route you have chosen? because it felt like a flame? because you felt like a moth? because you needed to need something?
          my comment:
          rainandsonder’s "experimental" form is absolutely stellar. their pacing is excellent - the questions don't trail off into oblivion, even with the extra details they add to the repetitive "are you lost, without a home?" this piece is almost philosophical in nature, begging the question, "what is home in the truest sense of the word?" it goes without saying that i absolutely love this.
 
sunny.v’s manila memoirs
there’s a dragon in you, probably, indefinitely, but you don’t think it really likes you all     
    that much since you’ve never really looked good in yellow but again you’re just
a second generation imposter, mỹ trắng, walk a tightrope between two worlds
 
lady’s march 20- june 26
i am but skin 
                                           clay breaks, body screams
packaged glory
                                          when the nitrogen embraces me,
                                           i know it is lying
 
oscar_locke's math exams
pens scratching
at midnight
house after house in the
black ink, graphite
housing-estates
smudges the sleep under their 
eyes
 
and_the_stars_laughed's milwaukee
If you take the southbound interstate past The Falls; Good Hope,
broken cement freeways and cracks pooling with dust,
if you take the southbound interstate [keep going, almost there],
you’ll snap between the walls of this city, 
it’s crumbling facade.
 
chrysanthemums&ink’s murder of the mind
the oceans would look prettier in red, lipstick can taste like wine, there's a reason we prefer the taste of each other's mouths over meat. prick your fingertips on spinning needles, suck the blood off and savor the burn of iron on your tongue.
 
purplepanache's my grandmother told me about a man she'd once loved
as i screw bottle caps,
there’s a poem in the pit
of my stomach,
sinking its teeth into
a skinned, plump memory of amorphous youth...
 
jasmine_k's my piano teacher's halloween party
i catch my reflection in the mirror down the hall, pull out a few curls from my braid because i look lonely. at ten pm i have decided i will slap my left hand into the punch bowl and ruin the tablecloths because i am thirsty for something other than small talk. 
 
asta's one a penny, two a penny
Lured by his call, children swarm to his rusty bicycle to pick off a few pieces. He is generous with them--they will be loyal (and more importantly, paying) customers in a few years, and the Goan poder is nothing if he isn't in it for the long run--his bakery's been standing for generations, passed from father to son to great-great grandson, whole families dedicated to protecting this precious culinary tradition, through occupation and political unrest, through recessions and rebellions.
 
jasmine_k's photograph of my nǎi nai in her youth
in my poems, my nǎi nai swallows god
and curls her hair. she is the dragonfly
that flew into the mosquito net three times
 
aosora’s portrait of a gas station at 3 am
hallucinate between hostile aisles of
convenience stores, stale bread and part-time workers
holding back three gallons of tears; drown this
lust for sorrow in coffee grounds. in beer cans.
 
crow_e's quiet oppression in five acts
i wonder how it feels 
to see a symbol of your oppression,
standing over you, every day,
i wonder why statues that recall greek mythos stand in a fountain
on the spot slaves were sold, after walking through tunnels under
a street now called Commerce Street
n. says:
i wanted to throw my support in because this piece was poignant, powerful, and eye-opening on what subtle and non-subtle racism in america is like.
sunny.v says:
crow_e has such a knack for talking about what he believes in without sounding cheesy or overly redundant. he unpacks several issues and otherwise “hard to swallow” pills for the privileged so elegantly, yet so succinctly, that it makes you want to go toss a confederate war hero’s statue off the deck the minute after you finish it.
 
purplepanache's reading to my little brother one night
we lie like that in the quiet
till your fingers find mine
a wet kiss on my chin
'i wish we could die together'
you whisper to yourself
 
pouringoutthesun's rebirth can be so hard, won’t you hold my hand tight while i force myself through it twenty times?
...your heels chapped but strong//the twist of your ankles a maze for the ghosts//just, take a moment and breathe//the feeling of being meant for something more will pass in a moment.
 
rat in a hat’s red string lost summers and a city (it calls and it is ours for the taking)
are you love itself? do you know what it means?
i am older, not old, and i do.
[...] a knock on your door when you're crying
i have warm drinks and i have two arms, as well
 
jasmine_k's reflection on being the older sister
mary magdalene has been a whore and a nun. this is to say i no longer trust men. my mother had two daughters and does not wish that fate onto me. i tell her not to worry; i have learned to hold my car keys at a 73 degree angle and shove them into my back exactly six inches.
 
naomi ling’s refuge, in definitions of us
blurred vision meets open arms and glassy tears; i have splintered. you stitch me up piece-by-piece with time, as minute- and second-hands do. life does not give up easily, but neither do your patient hands; in midnight reflections, this i realize: refuge. 
eblinn says:
The imagery is wonderful! I love the format and how everything ties together.
 
jun lei's renaming: reclaiming.
you are not choosing blood family over legal family. you are a feng, you are a lost child, a left child: this is a reminder that you belong to no one but yourself. you are jun lei, the girl who ached for ancestors across the sea.
chrysanthemums&ink says:
left me speechless and strangely melancholic. i almost cried.
 
jasmine_k's riots
...the men are
falling at the altar with mouths full of maggots, poet drowning 
at the bottom of the yangtze river. and the angels take them by the hand, lead
them off of the cliffs and laugh at their bones rolling down the rock faces.
chrysanthemums&ink says:
the imagery in this... god i love this piece to death. it's a little darker, but i suppose it's fitting. beautifully grotesque. i'd save this to a playlist if it were a song and listen to it over and over again.
 
rainandsonder's roadrunner/coyotes/god/you
woke up with the coyotes screaming this morning like
            the world was burning, like they found it
    hysterical, the way there's something
            just a little hysterical about watching a 
car go up in flames...
asta says:
i genuinely don't have any words to describe how much i love this. i think it's probably one of my favourite pieces i've ever read.
fatpanda says:
poems need to have powerful beginnings to draw you in, but rainandsonder gave us powerful line after powerful line after powerful line in this poem. i'm in simple awe of the way the piece flowed, it almost felt like the poem ended just as it started, but in a rushed, adrenaline-inducing way, where you get up from the ground with a headache, because what you just witnessed was phenomenal. this piece showcases that sentient madness we all have so well, and its tone is very convincing, i just-- wow. each reread isn’t enough, let’s go burn some buildings together instead!
 
crow_e's self portrait as a man
why? is the     body    too much     for you    ? where it curves,          does it frighten you?
where my body curves,     it frightens me,     i’d rather it not...
 
chrysanthemums&ink’s set the table for two
i leave to the sun your body to cremate / my house / a sea of dust up to the ankle / the fragrance of your awaited arrival / rusted cutlery, broken porcelain plates / escargot and aged wine / napkins, i slap the worms away from the cloth / set the table for two / and wait / 
 
marsan's shadh.
She had more talents than you could count. Painted portraits of beautiful women and sold them in the market. She was clever, far too clever for a place like this. Shadh sweetened her Basbousas with rose water, always burned incense around the house. She wore earrings that sounded like bells, and played the guitar.
n. says:
i was hooked by the first paragraph and read to the end; a lovely sapphic piece, perfect for june, with wonderful imagery and an engaging narrator.
 
asta's some small, uncharted star
you're both older now, quieter, and this is a fuller life, a softer life. you wish you could tell that young boy that his life will not be spent angry and aching, that someone will warm him on cold nights and rub his feet when they ache, that you will love your husband all the more now, for the wrinkles in his eyes, for the softness of his belly. 
 
the contrarian's somewhere, a child of god is held at gunpoint and their wings grow from the soil of bullet wounds in their brown skin. (tw: gun violence/police brutality)
So when she hears the news that you were shot on the way back home, she drops to her knees and lets out the loudest, heart-wracking sob, and God hears it and cries too. She thought the gunshots were just those families setting off fireworks and firecrackers for the Hell of it, and the butterflies in her stomach were for nothing. 
 
vinter vejen’s striking daughter of eurasia
there is an old-fashioned sword on the wall / greyhound racers conquer the dunes / muddled languages on your tongue / look far: will you see yourself?
 
babybluelamentations' summertime babeyy
the open road beckons like a carrier signal
and you are a mailman to the west coast tides
stirring up tears and the salt of the sea,
painting lovers though you know not how to love
in oils with your fingers like you can cut through young nostalgia...
 
sunny.v’s take your courage and rip off the tape
tell me, and tell me quickly, because i have worn the shackles of a country that has scorned my people and has scorned my siblings of color and has scorned those who were anything but a different breed than them,
and i am out of patience, and you are out of time.
 
sunny.v’s the flutter of a butterfly’s wings
i looked into a crystal ball and saw a kaleidoscope of milkweed fields
pupae rested on every leaf and warned me: little girl, don’t you tamper with the future just yet
so i shut my eyes and ran to the garden and waited for the butterfly effect butterfly effect 
 
rosewater’s the gastronomical misadventures of a not-so-happy camper
I thought back to warm fires, hungry stomachs and a bunch of teenagers who barely knew each other bonding over our mediocre creations. I thought about how if such a phenomenon could happen again, I wanted to be the one to see it. And how I wanted to be the one to create it for others.
eblinn says:
Not only was this hilarious, but you will be able to picture every single thing because of the rich imagery of the author. I love the story-telling, the atmosphere of warmth around the bonfire and the message of bonding with their camp mates. Absolutely brilliant!
 
n.'s the girl from previel
she used to dread on the street of streets. 
she’s still too human to be true, but we can fix 
that as well, indebted life-blood for life-blood;
(your womanhood is gone)
(it’s for the best)
 
sci-fi’s the little habits that fail us
She made her bed every day, without fail, school day or weekend, sick or well. Her little habit that no one really understood, since she was otherwise so messy. Even with random objects rolling across the floor, dust bunnies huddled in distant corners, and cobwebs stringing her LED lights, the bed was always immaculate.
 
and_the_stars_laughed's the thing about dandelions
Máma turned away from us, tears slipping down the nape of her neck. “The Dvořák’s will only talk, only stare. Rumor ‘ill spread, you know it. So we can’t keep ‘em, we can’t.” She paused, scooping us up as water continued to stream down her cheeks. “They’re cursed, the four of ‘em. We can’t let ‘em curse us too.”
 
a breath into silence's the thing about fate
And over that way is the hero, or her corpse - they never mention that part in the stories, the bit where the hero dies to save the world. Her hands are still clenched into fists,  as tightly as possible, like she expected even in death to have to fight for everybody else.
 
raehyosthey don't talk anymore
And Ellie doesn't know - can't know, as much as her brother wishes to tell her - that he doesn't actually hate her. Because sometimes you grow up and lose the ability to say what you mean, words tangling up, a hairball of syllables in a dry throat, and this is what has happened here.
 
n.'s this piece exists because of your retaliation
    am i a good boy now, i said my prayers,
    yes sir, yes sir, you killed your god!
    see him, there he lies! felled by wayward eyes and
    the institution you defend
 
eaurora's truest crime
Maybe it is the same reason I watch 'Top 10 Creepy Unsolved Mysteries'
at midnight with my phone torch on; or why my sister
loves horror movies but is terrified to step on a scale.
Maybe it is why she only flirts with boys online. It is easier to love something
when we know it cannot touch us.
 
eblinn’s unfinished sentences
violins don't count as tragedy foreshadowing/ no, not according to my quill of fate/ under the moon gates it invites you over/ ignore the dark scales under my eyes/ sleep is not my friend/ in this universe it only brings me closer to death/
          sunny.v says:
          there is not one line in this piece that isn’t a beautiful mini tapestry. there’s a gorgeous eerie mood that makes this piece chillingly intriguing, and once you’re sucked into the piece, you simply won’t stop rereading it.
 
kate gardner's untitled #1
When you were small and I was just a thought
The Old Man of the Mountain pitched into the night
And late I saw the scar where he had been
 
aosora’s vignettes of a drive-in cinema
nothing feels like nothing/ between gold plated molars and/ the glint in the smile of airy teenagers/ that birth the weight of loneliness in open graves/ they say the wound does not hurt/ in cold blue flesh/ in the decay of dead dreams 
chrysanthemums&ink says:
all of aosora's pieces are actually gorgeous but this one is my favorite. they have such a way with words but i can't help but to feel underqualified to even comment. there's something a little sorrowful with this piece, but in the best way.
 
marsan's waxing crescent.
"It's everything because... because I know you won't come back. You're too bright and too smart, the world will love you. And I'll just stay here, and wait. It's just, you're the fucking Sun, okay? And I'm the Moon trailing behind you. I swear I'm not jealous, I've never been... but I'm better just being by your side," 
 
norah's what happens when we assign blame
and brain is malleable, eats video for dinner like nothing could ever be wrong in the world. it's been decided by the woman who lives in the computer and whom I love to kiss like I might be drowning. tongue and cheek, flailing out the portal to the rest of the world.
 
efflorescence's when the universe relapses
The earth is in retrograde, / can’t you feel it?
The fireflies blink their songs backward, / just for us.
When I outstretch my arm, yours / is no longer waiting.
Time / has spooled you into the wind
and I cannot touch / what does not exist.
chrysanthemums&ink says:
this piece is simple but packed to the brim with a delicious monachopsis. things seems to run in reverse, and it's amazing.
 
pouringoutthesun's why are you wasting the good wine? has she been asked back home again?
 they come back from the cliff-side with the wine drying sticky on their hands, and it’s like they can’t get enough of the stuff, scarlet liquid coughed over their fingers. you kiss their temples with tear-wet lips and memorize the curve of their cheeks. you call this gesture a fit of sentimentality. i call it remembering what’s worth living for.
 
asta's word and meaning, united
...english steals
from you, has always stolen from you,
and it curls so well around your tongue, 
is there room for another in this romance?
fatpanda says:
i don’t know whether or not this piece resonates with me simply because i too am indian, but in its short and purposeful way, asta’s writing made me feel a blood-thumping type of rush. it manages to pack a great amount of emotion into just thirteen lines-- sorrow, guilt, anger, desperation, amongst some more. this piece came after an unfortunate incident in india, and i feel if i had not read it, i would be a lot more all-over-the-place (if that makes sense) right now.
 
raehyosyou can be gilded in gold, if you want, but it's never going to be enough
“I hope that when I’m nothing more than a legend, when this is all over, I get draped in lies. I hope the storytellers turn me into something incredibly fake and glorious, because I want to be beautiful at least once and I don’t care if it happens after I die.”
 
sunny.v’s your judge, jury, executioner
he comes in the form of a guest pastor on chapel day, every thursday, the inevitable
you sit next to your teacher in the church pews and bare your neck to a gospel guillotine
hymns are sung


~~~

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 worldnominations for june 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!
BONUS ROUND:
going ahead and breaking my own rules again. anyway, here's wonderwall.
poetri's plagiarism, citations, and other fun things you may have forgotten in english class
    this piece is too important to wait for next month’s compilation:
the contrarian's the murder of elijah mcclain | 24 august 2019 (tw: police brutality, distressing content)

special mentions:
avin’s "all lives matter"
Saying "all lives matter" as a response to "black lives matter" is like walking into a surgeon's er and saying all surgeries matter. Like going to a breast cancer awareness parade and saying all cancers matter. Like going to a funeral and saying all deaths matter.

the contrarian's what is juneteenth? and additional information
If you’ve already got the privilege that BIPOC have been fighting for since the colonization of the United States of America, then there should be no reason that you shouldn’t still be using that privilege to fight for those who aren’t so lucky.


check out previous wtw highlights:

Print

See History
  • July 8, 2020 - 5:05pm (Now Viewing)

Login or Signup to provide a comment.

22 Comments
  • avoiding the big bang

    i also think it's hilarious how you took down every piece of yours except the social pieces. well done


    3 months ago
  • avoiding the big bang

    holy fuck, did your wRiTiNg-bAsEd communication effort get taken down?????? seeing you go inactive makes me so sad; i've been thinking about you and your highlights and how hard it is to maintain any kind of contact now. i'll see you on prose but it's just not the same as write the world, you know?


    3 months ago
  • avoiding the big bang

    did wtw take down your july submissions piece? i swear to god


    3 months ago
  • Jasmine_K

    my gosh, you're a champ for putting this together despite a) everything going on in the world and b) all of wtw's new guidelines. *rolls eyes* ANYWAYS!
    thank you for featuring me this month, and thank you for putting in all this hard work. i can't wait to read through all these pieces! you really are a cornerstone of this community, and i swear to god if wtw tries it with you-
    *coughs* right. okay, lemme calm down. thank you queen :) you absolute legend ily


    3 months ago
  • avoiding the big bang

    i'm wondering - with regards to write the world's new measures to prevent social pieces, what are your plans with the highlights? i'm asking as someone displeased with the new measures. write the world was already an absolutely writing-based community and this attempt to completely staunch all manner of community bonding is harmful to the lifeblood of the website.


    4 months ago
  • N.

    i am behind!! lovely list as always Anha, thank you for all of your work and time :) a whole queen


    4 months ago
  • Eblinn

    This must've taken so much work. I really appreciate what you're doing for this community! Thank you :)


    4 months ago
  • fatpanda

    https://rb.gy/h2igsn
    THANK YOU for doing all that you do, you're a treasure <3


    4 months ago
  • sci-Fi

    Wow, I never thought I would get this! TYSM!!!


    4 months ago
  • And_The_Stars_Laughed

    Thank you so much again!! I appreciate it so much that you take the time to put these together each month!!!! Have a wonderful rest of your day!! :)


    4 months ago
  • Anha

    just noticed several formatting errors, and the end notice saying "april" instead of "june"... you can really tell i rushed this. sorry, gang. next month will be more organised. (hopefully.)


    4 months ago
  • naomi ling

    this has been reiterated by many other writers (for good reason), but thank you anha! these highlights are such a blessing to the community. it is such an honor to be featured :") <333


    4 months ago
  • asta

    thank you so much for doing this, you're a blessing. it's an honour to be here, and congratulations to all these lovely writers! i can't wait to read through these!


    4 months ago
  • spectral

    thank you so much! i can't imagine how much effort this takes just for the benefit of the community.


    4 months ago
  • chrysanthemums&ink

    ah, thank you for putting this together! probably been repeated a ton of times, but you always do so much for us on here, and i'm so grateful. congratulations to all the brilliant writers featured on here and thank you thank you anha for compiling this! <333


    4 months ago
  • mia_:)

    thank you for compiling this, anha! i can't wait to read through it! i've never been in the highlights before, so this is a huge honor! thank you so much!


    4 months ago
  • sunny.v

    literally just woke up but i am sleepily honored to see some of my pieces here. what a way to start the day. as per usual: thank you for going out of your way to compile this. it is by no means an easy feat (especially with that error 404) but you do it without asking the community for something in return, anyways. your work ethic is incredible and trust me when i say it shows! take a rest: you deserve it <3 you’re the writer we need, but maybe not the one we deserve. what’re we gonna do when you age out? okay bye my gay is showing LOL


    4 months ago
  • purplepanache

    anha, you're a sweetheart for all that you do for this community. thank you for making this experience so much better. i am honored to see some of my pieces out here, among other brilliant work <3


    4 months ago
  • Deleted User

    Oh thank you!! This must have taken so long to work through. You go, Anha! All the works here are so lovely, and I was surprised to see one of mine. That really made my day! <3 You're almost at the one year mark! gg, girl!


    4 months ago
  • outoftheblue

    thank you so much for compiling this!
    i'm so honoured to be among all these lovely, talented writers. <3


    4 months ago
  • inanutshell

    thank you for compiling this! so many intriguing lines here, will def check out some pieces :)


    4 months ago
  • poetri

    thank you, dear! the fact that you do this is for us every month so amazing <3


    4 months ago