kindness sown among the meek is harvested in crisis

By rui ho

when all this is over, the world will remember —

(fear a living thing in your throat, asphyxiate
on the uncertainty — “who lives who dies”
coming to you live at nine o’clock
sharp — curse your gods for
being useless, an
impossible figurehead, an unreachable dream
of golden gaiety and monstrous mansions.
prayer is a lost cause
with no one around to listen.)

the poems written by trembling hands
by the light of the flickering overhead lamp,
because it’s the only light
you have in your apartment
and you
can’t go out to replace it;
the groceries left outside your door
by a neighbour who
thought of you before they left the store;
the way the air feels cleaner
than it has in years.

(power is rarely the right tool for survival anyway.)


rui is an aspiring writer who specialises in writing queer fluff and angst, and often hyperfixates on incredibly specific topics. in their free time, they like to cry over ancient chinese sword gays and struggle through learning multiple languages at once. otherwise, they can be found on archive of our own (ao3) as ruiconteur.

Image: @krissmas via Unsplash

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