We are fed lies because believing them makes us weak, vulnerable, malleable. We depend on others for our food, health, sustenance. This cripples us. Creates cowards of our people. Slaves of our children. It’s time for us to fight back.
Tahereh MafiStichwörter: castle-is-brilliant it-s-brilliant
There is still a chance to change things. We can provide fresh drinking water to all people. We can make sure crops are not regulated for profit; we can ensure that they are not genetically altered to benefit manufacturers. Our people are dying because we are feeding them poison. Animals are dying because we are forcing them to eat waste, forcing them to live in their own filth, caging them together and abusing them. Plants are withering away because we are dumping chemicals into the earth that make them hazardous to our health. But these are things we can fix.
Tahereh MafiStichwörter: sorry-not-sorry
I practice using my voice, shaping my lips around the familiar words unfamiliar to my mouth.
Tahereh MafiDo you know,” he says, closing the cover of the journal only to lay his hand on top of it. Protecting it. Staring at it. “I couldn’t sleep for days after I read that entry. I kept wanting to know which people were chasing you down the street, who it was you were running from. I wanted to find them,” he says, so softly, “and I wanted to rip their limbs off, one by one. I wanted to murder them in ways that would horrify you to hear.
Tahereh MafiStichwörter: aaron-warner-anderson
I close the world away. Lock it up. Turn the key so tight. Blackness buries me in its folds.
Tahereh MafiHis ignorance makes him vulnerable.
Tahereh MafiI can't help but be amazed at the power such small, unassuming animals wield over us; they so easily break down our defences.
Tahereh MafiStichwörter: aaron-warner
Stop touching me with your eyes.
Tahereh MafiFlames are licking at my skin and there’s a burst of heat clawing through my stomach. Every inch of his body is raw with power, every surface somehow luminous in the darkness.
Tahereh MafiI sit by the window and watch the rain and the leaves and the snow collide. They take turns dancing in the wind, performing choreographed routines for unsuspecting masses. The soldiers stomp stomp stomp through the rain, crushing leaves and fallen snow under their feet. Their hands are wrapped in gloves wrapped around guns that could put a bullet through a million possibilities. They don’t bother to be bothered by the beauty that falls from the sky. They don’t understand the freedom in feeling the universe on their skin. They don’t care.
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