✨GIVEAWAY: DAY 2 ✨ Swipe to see prizes ☺️ To enter: 1. Follow @auroraraine_poetry and @rose_colleen_poetry 2. TAG a friend in the comments - each friend you tag counts as an entry!!! 3. For an 💐extra entry💐 share this post on your stories and tag me so I can see it! 🌹 Open internationally. Check back every day for a new giveaway! One winner receives a signed and hand-typed poem, 5x7 framed butterfly art, and a gorgeous Victorian lady lapel pin by @rose_colleen_poetry at @mybleedingheartdesigns 🌹Winner will be chosen randomly on 12/18. Good luck! 🥰
“I am a drug addict. It’s been two and a half years of trying to get clean and I’m still not sure I’ve gotten it right. I spent 11 years actively using—there are just so many bad habits to unlearn. I don’t know if I’ll ever be free of the need to get outside myself. But in a week I’ll have six months clean. I should feel happy—or proud—but I don’t. All I think about every day is what I’ve put my family and friends through. All the times I almost died. All the times I lied to them, or stole from them. All the times my need to get high destroyed their faith and trust in me. Six months ago I woke up in the hospital, tubed in my mouth, mom sitting next to me crying, being told I died, but they saved me. I’m not sure I wanted them to. I don’t know what happened when I died, I have impressions of going somewhere else, and my soul changed, I came back different. These days I have nothing but hope and effort and love. I will build a life I’m proud of. I will be a person those around me are happy to be around. I don’t know how, but I feel it within me. I was touched by God that day I died. I may feel lost—I may be confused. But something inside me propels me forward with an incredible love—and that’s all I want to share with the world.” #strangersproject#nyc#stories#strangers#whatsyourstory#participatoryart#streetart#storytelling#writing#washingtonsquarepark#sharing#storysharing#newyorkcity#connection#exhibit#publicart#story red
Happiness is a butterfly Try to catch it like every night It escapes from my hands into moonlight Every day is a lullaby I hum it on the phone like every night And sing it for my babies on the tour life Ah ah If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst That could happen to a girl who's already hurt? I'm already hurt If he's as bad as they say, then I guess I'm cursed Looking into his eyes, I think he's already hurt He's already hurt
Buona festa,amici meravigliosi.. Vi auguro con tutto il cuore di godervi quello che avete ,ovunque siete : a fare l'albero,il presepe oppure in giro per vedere i mercatini di Natale..Se siete a sciare o a sentire il mare.. Se siete a lavorare oppure insieme alla vostra famiglia.. Non importa quanto difficile sia il vostro o il mio percorso .Quello che conta è quanto noi desideriamo essere felice. Basta pensare alle persone che amiamo è tutto diventa bellissimo .. Accettando le inevitabili imperfezioni si conquista la felicità..ne sono certa!!!! Io, Andreea -una semplice mamma- sto imparando giorno per giorno ad assaporare ogni momento e sto scoprendo che basta davvero poco per essere felici !! E lascio che il Sole illumini di luce il mio viso e tutto quello che è intorno a me.. Vi voglio bene amici #igers..raccontatemi il vostro 8 Dicembre..leggervi sarà una cosa bella per me(il tempo passerebbe più in fretta😉) Vi aspetto in diretta alle 21.30 salvo imprevisti ospedalieri 🙈 . . #thewomoms#instamamme#festadellimmacolata#natalestaarrivando #bastapocoperesserefelici❤️ #igers#igersmum#story#storytelling#themoomins#amichemammacuore#aiutiamoelena#chebellalavita#followmemom#followforfollowback#mammacheblog2019#mammachepost#igersitalia#igersgenova#ospedalegaslini
*sound on* It’s been a few days since this documentary segment aired on @seattlechannel, and we really took each of those days to simmer in these six memory packed minutes. . . It took a long time for me to talk about my mother’s passing to our farmers market customers and on this platform, here, because of how palpable her spirit was in every corner of the business still and having to revisit the finality of it all every time I came to the stove top or picked fruit at the orchard. . . Watching this clip is a gentle reminder of how vital it is to share a story, not in spite of but because of the honesty of life and death in it, this acceptance of a very human experience so parallel to the way in which Ayako cultivated real beauty — something so life sustaining and joy inducing from what began as a box of decaying fruit. . . Thank you to Laila Kazmi for your perspective and direction with this, for capturing all of my memories of her and stringing them together in such a way, and to @seattlechannel for the platform to tell this story. Watch the episode via the link in our profile.
As a writer, I always seem to be drawn to one type of story setting: an old house full of shadows and secrets. I like winding passageways, paintings whose eyes follow you down the hall, rooms full of ghostly draped furniture, and lingering traces of music in the corridor.⠀ ⠀ This past summer, I got to wander through half a dozen castles in Europe for inspiration. I took this photo at Holyrood Palace, in a corner of the abbey that looked like it was hiding some stories. Maybe I’ll find them eventually ☺️⠀ ⠀ What story settings are you most drawn to? ⠀ ⠀ #authorsofinstagram#writersofinstagram#inspiringplaces#wanderlust#holyroodpalace#storytelling
I know how forgetting & photography make grief possible. How memory or loss bores holes into your eyes, but backwards like projectorlight. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ - from ‘the Book of Whispering in the Projection Booth’ by J.M. Wilkinson ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
ROMANTICS - Megha Rao (@_megharao) . I've a confession to make. I'm not the typical hopeless romantic. I mean, yes, you'll find me doing all those silly things fools in love do. But when they talk about us romantics they only talk about grand gestures and dramatics and cheesy pick-up lines the candle-lit dinners and box of chocolates and red balloons and flying lovers to Paris for Valentine's. They don't tell you who we are without the lovers. They don't tell you about falling head over heels in love with life. How we re-enact the scenes of sad songs while looking out the window of share cabs how we write poems about Bombay monsoons despite the dead rats and the traffic from blocked roads how we've romanticized places more than people, living more than loving and so if you ever find me sitting next to you in an old taxi driving on the sea-link, ask me about my favourite writers. I'll tell you about how the last kali-peeli through this cable-stayed bridge on New Year's Eve had Orhan Pamuk and Kiran Desai discussing Istanbul politics in it. Tomorrow morning, if you stop by at my little apartment for tea, don't laugh at me when I tell you I imagine Freddie Mercury playing the piano for Mary in a private studio somewhere in Versova that Robert Allen Zimmerman changed his name to Bob Dylan nine seconds after stuffing his mouth with a vada Pao at a roadside stall that later got shut down to build Pali Village Cafe. And if you stand close, you'll smell overpriced perfume from some department store, but I'll never admit to it. Instead, I'll tell you stories about being the love child of shiuli and gulmohar trees how I was born when they recited Tagore's Gitanjali to each other. So the next time they talk about us romantics tell them we are more than daydreams about finding soulmates about wearing our hearts on our sleeves at first sight like in the movies tell them we see love in everything but most importantly, in ourselves and so every time I bring you fresh flowers,
. . Lo ammetto, ieri ci è proprio partita la brocca e non abbiamo idea di dove ci porterà questa febbre del cappelletto fatto con le nostre manine sante. Comunque sappiate che l’entusiasmo non basta per affrontare certi orari e ritmi di lavoro, bisogna anche averci un fisico bestiale tipo operaie delle filande di due secoli fa, ma chi preferisse pensare alle mondine faccia pure. Sempre in piedi (o quasi), senza soste (a parte tre o quattro), niente distrazioni ché sennò la pasta si secca (però dai, una telefonatina qua e là non si nega nemmeno ai carcerati) e soprattutto è essenziale procedere ognuna come un sol uomo! Ehmm... come una sola donna, ché i cappelletti devono essere tutti uguali! Così si comincia: e stendi la pasta, e taglia la pasta, e sistema le palline di ripieno, e chiudi il cappelletto... “Sì, ma come lo stai chiudendo?!?”, chiedo allarmata alla Mirella, detta la Lella, l’intrepida rossa di Marzabotto nel cuore pulsante dell’Emilia (nonché madre della @la_fumagalli -per sapere chi è la_fumagalli aprire lo Zingarelli alla lettera C -“Come una sorella ma senza le traumatiche esperienze infantili-“). La Lella mi rivolge un benevolo sguardo di compatimento, io ricambio con una rispettosa ma ferma occhiata del tipo “famo a capisse...” e infatti lei ha capito: siamo già all’inevitabile scontro Emilia Vs Romagna. Già, perché io, forte di una nonna materna del forlivese, perciò romagnolissima, rappresento l’antico nemico. Naturalmente scherzo e esagero :)) ché il campanilismo ormai è solo un ricordo, e poi Emilia e Romagna insieme fanno un’unica regione (sempre che non si cominci a parlare di tradizioni e di “come va fatta” una qualsiasi cosa)! A questo punto si leva un’altra voce dal fondo del tavolo, è l’Annamaria, emiliana, ma di un’altra Emilia, credo addirittura a una ventina di chilometri da quella di Marzabotto: “Ah, ma la Lella non li sa mica chiudere bene, fa un pastrocchietto tutto suo che
WEATHERING US - Shreyaa Deori (@shrenanigan) . Maa says, no good comes from letting people know too much about yourself. So, you can say, that all the verses I ever wrote were nothing but carefully weaved lies, a young girl's obedience to her mother. But it's 3:33 am and our song is playing on the radio. The night is warm and the mood is near perfect. So for the first time in forever, I'll write about a piece of me. I'll write about you. One of the novels we are doing in class is Wuthering Heights, a story about Catherine, Heathcliff and the love they shared. No, it doesn't have missiles and army men, so it's far from your interest, but there's underlying necrophilia in it, which you might find amusing. In the story, Heathcliff claims that he and Catherine would have been inseparable if she herself wouldn't have separated them. It's a cringey, far fetched comparison, but doesn't their situation sound a little like ours? Fate, destiny and all the other fancy reasons of favourable coincidences seemed to have conspired for our union. They were on our side. We would've been inseparable. But I separated us. I am sorry for that. In the quest of loving myself a little more, I ended up with no love to spare for you. Who knew I was capable of so little love? It's been a year now and we are miles apart. Are you doing fine? Are you still the same? Do you still hate love stories? I hope you do. I say you keep hating them. Hate Wuthering Heights. Hate us. Change the ending of our story that vaguely resembles Catherine and Heathcliff's. Be happy. Extremely. Unconditionally. Don't let us resemble that damned love story more than we already do. That will be all. The list of things I ask(ed) of you, has finally come to an end. If I ask you for something more, if I ask you to love me again, tell me that you replaced the semicolon with a period. . #terriblytinytales#writersofttt#brokenthings#storytelling#stories#ttt
The World of Dark Legacies: The Scavrats . When the last clank of club on shield rings out over the battlefield, and the last mortal scream startles the eager carrion birds, all wait for the inevitable thump and creak of the Scavrats’ ancient machines. Before the vultures even begin to circle, Scavrats are searching through sites of destruction and mayhem to feast on their remains. They gather up whatever might yet be useful – be it steel or flesh. Survivors watch for the Scavrats’ great red flag set with a black crow, a signal to both sides that the conflict is at an end while crews troll through the carnage. . As often as not, the Scavrats sell still-functioning weaponry and armor back to both sides of the battle – an odd arrangement, but one that has proven over the years to be beneficial for all involved. Before the Scavrats, scouts that attempted to retrieve either their dead or irreplacable equipment were themselves killed. Most armies now consign the Scavrats to work their fields in the fading light of day when continued fighting becomes next to impossible. . Most outsiders believe the Scavrats to be little more than carrion beasts themselves, barely one step removed from beggary. The Scavrat name itself is an epithet that has long since superseded the organization's proper name: The Union of Scavengry and Recrafting. Some also call them “the crows,” on account of their foreboding insignia. They are, in truth, a well-organized group that makes a decent living in the aftermath of chaos, and are much more than mere grave robbers. Not even the Sisterhood can match the deep knowledge that the Scavrats’ finest mechanists possess of the old world’s great machines... . Well, I’m almost ready to close this chapter. Wanted to give them their proper world building due. Hat tip to @firstorderlego for the baseplate design. . #afol#lego#legomech#legomecha#legorobot#mech#mecha#robot#legomoc#legomocs#legopostapocalyptic#legoapocalypse#legowar
ДАШУ-СПАСАТЕЛЯ ВЫЗЫВАЛИ? Давайте поиграем?😉 В моей биографии достаточно неожиданных фактов, которыми я хочу с вами поделиться. Но чтобы было интересней, предлагаю игру: ниже собраны 10 фактов обо мне, 9 из которых - чистая правда и только 1 - ложь. Угадаете, чего не было в моей жизни? ⠀ Тем, кто ответит правильно, разберу профиль в Instagram, и подскажу, что улучшить🥰. Погнали! ⠀ 1. Одну из первых зарплат потратила на кота. 2. Училась прыжкам с шестом вместе с нынешней чемпионкой мира. 3. Рисовала на стенах граффити. 4. Училась танцевать брейк. 5. За мои проделки за мной приезжала полиция. 6. Я никогда не курила сигареты. 7. У меня были туннели, а ещё проколот язык и кольцо в носу. 8. Свой первый миллион я заработала в 18 или даже в 17 лет. 9. Как-то раз я променяла Бали на поездку в Армению. 10. У меня золотая медаль и красный диплом по специальности: «Клиническая психология». ⠀ Включайте свои экстрасенсорные способности и угадывайте, чего не было в моей жизни?😱 Жду в комментариях правильную цифру!