20 Comments
User's avatar
anya's avatar

I cannot describe how much this spoke to me. Absolutely awestruck, and I'm keeping this safely tucked in my soul.

wenyi xue's avatar

thank you so so much <3

shamiqua wilson's avatar

This is amazing it cradles a deep place! Now I will be reading all your posts 😭💙

wenyi xue's avatar

thank u so much 🥹 that means so much to me

esje's avatar

oh this is absolutely stunning — im in awe

Julie's avatar

i think i will need at least 5 business days to recover from this... thank you thank you thank you for reminding me how beautiful and powerful writing can be <3

wenyi xue's avatar

thank you so much T-T this was such a sweet compliment ty

Julie's avatar

no no thank YOU T-T your essays got me out of my reading slump so i really can't thank you enough ^^

Janu's avatar

WOW. this is so touching and you're incredibly talented.🥺 I couldn't write like this even if I tried. This is now one of my favorite pieces ever. 🫶🏾💕

wenyi xue's avatar

oh wow thank you so much 😭

c.'s avatar

this was so heartbreakingly well written, i have tears in my my eyes

wenyi xue's avatar

thank you so much <3 this is such a massive compliment

ethan's avatar

this was so visceral and beautiful !! always love your writing sm <33

wenyi xue's avatar

Thank u so much 🥹

Jawad A. Khan's avatar

Wonderful piece! I was thinking, is the piece a metaphor for dissociation?

I couldn't get the idea out of my head because it felt like a fever dream between 2nd & 3rd person and the only time I recall feeling that way is while dissociating.

wenyi xue's avatar

I try not to say what my exact intentions behind my pieces are because I like the different interpretations people have + giving a "this is specifically a metaphor for X" sometimes detracts from that. If your takeaway is that it's a metaphor for dissociation it can be a metaphor dissociation :) tysm for reading!

Jawad A. Khan's avatar

wonderful, thanks for the comment

Joe Panzica's avatar

Is it worse to be a victim or a perpetrator? What happens when, in a cycle of self cannibalism (which is also generatively creative) we are both?

How do we stop ourself from lying when it seems like a necessary defense, when it’s not always our deceit, but so often the tumblesome mendacity of language and the distorting structure of storytelling that twists what we imagine to be the truth against us, when we know our mind is not our friend, when our comforters are in thrall to falsehoods, cliches, and the quavering desire to appease their overseers, when our comforters fear the guilt of our sins might contaminate them, when every stillpoint rests upon a spring of a trap or a catapult, and when we forget that every phrase we utter is also a play for time and meaning, not merely meant to be a prophesy, a confession, a revelation, a verdict, or a plea?