Ego, Superego, and Cup-ID
Habiba Abbas Being Cupid seems fairly simple, in hindsight. All you do is shoot two people and watch happily as they fall deeper in love’s grasp. Easy enough, right? Wrong. It’s true, I get this giddy, joyous feeling with every calculation for the perfect pair of soulmates, but at the same time, my heart grows heavy and sinks into the pit of my stomach. I’ve accepted the reality that, as Cupid, I shan’t have that “special someone” to kiss or hold, or whisper gently nothings to. I’m reminded of this fact every single time I balance an arrow between my finger and the string of my bow. Every time the golden tip of an arrow pierces one’s heart. Every time I witness two lives intertwining into one. Despite having done this for centuries, I yearn for the flames of love and perhaps even desire. I crave them, desperate for those angelic sensations to swallow me whole and never spit me out. As a Cupid, I am forbidden from ever feeling such emotions, given they are capable of interfering with my profession. I am aware that I cannot experience this, and the meaning as to why somehow revolts me even more. Why am I unable to love? Why must I be forced to carry this duty? Why me? Having lifetimes worth of, well, time to ponder these ever-growing queries has left me so tired and hollow. A cold bullet, simply formulating the bond of desire between two blessed souls. I am not in love with anyone else, and I am not in love with myself. I despise every and any part of this being, Cupid. I would move Heaven and Earth, to not be me. But alas, I cannot. Set in the stone of time itself, it is plainly and utterly impossible. To not be Cupid, at least. Loving myself, however, isn’t impossible, but improbable for me at this moment. Loving yourself is accepting yourself for who you are. It’s finding peace within your own life. It’s living comfortably as the person you are. It’s appreciating every aspect of one’s own self, whether it be the strengths or the weaknesses. And I feel so utterly incapable of all these attributes. This led me to do a bit of research- a side project, if you will. In all my times, I have never used my arrows on anyone so that they fall in love with themselves. All of my work is dedicated to ensuring that two individuals become enticed with each other; not ensuring one becomes enticed with themselves. The opportunity presented itself, that I create an arrow with the intent of “self-love” in mind. I exerted all of my might into this intimacy, utilizing every second to create a flawless arrow for my greedy need. It is selfish to do this, to use my expertise for something so trivial. Something as foolish as this: a simple prediction that if I can cause one person to fall in love with another, I can also cause another to fall in love with themselves. I’m not sure why exactly I must do this, but ever since I became aware of the fact that, indeed, I can make an arrow like this, I could not bring myself to stop thinking about it. All of this leads me to the present. I have created the arrow, the weapon that can finally free me from these shackles that bind me so tightly. My mind swirls with ecstasy, with fear, with relief- all for the sake of my mortality, my ability to feel again. Now, it’s time to shoot. And so I shot. There were icy flames surrounding my soul, a searing pain surging through my veins, my blood, my heart. It seemed as if everything I ever felt was fading, yet I felt so alive. Then, complete and utter darkness overcame my senses, like I had been plunged violently into a pit of pure emptiness. A light. An intense, blinding glare awoke me, holding on to me and pulling me out of the blackness. The sun, thank Heavens for the sun. The second I was conscious; I no longer felt the presence of my wings, the eternal power that overflowed in my core. I could not recognize this body, this mind, this being. No arrows, no bow, just me. Just me. |
THS-LITX
January/February 2020 Double Issue Featuring Work By: Habiba Abbas Hiba Aslam Amia Barns Francis Barrios Bella Bejarano Anissa Bell Jaida Donnerstag Despina Drosinos EDM Madison Evans Alixi Heinz Anna Hendrick Breon Payton Ava Sailey Laila Smith KenzieVoigt Grace Weeks and Anonymous Author Featured Artists: Gabi Guzman Ava Sailey |
Untitled #1
People say They are afraid of the dark; But maybe they are just afraid Of the blackness That swallows every Thing Whole. Grace Weeks Untitled #2
Without light, There is just the darkness Ready to envelop you. So Everyone closes their eyes, Waiting For the light to come back. Grace Weeks |
The Sakura Tree
Variation 1 The sakura tree, Blossoms in maiden’s hand, Stained with blood. Alixi Heinz (Haiku) |
The Sakura Tree
Variation 2 The sakura tree, Blossoms in maiden's hand, In the old shrine. Alixi Heinz (Haiku) |
Secrets of Days to Come
Often at church I Hear the congregation as they sing The secrets of days to come and of Comfort in a god’s welcoming arms When you move on, and I wonder how I will know if a God will be there if he can’t be seen by man. Anna Hendrick (Golden Shovel) - After The Aeneid by Virgil (“Arma virumque cano” - “I sing of arms and a man”) |
Promise
When I declare a vow, it won't shatter Even if my word makes me a liar Or to give more love than I can gather And I am willing to start a fire For the promise that I will never break My commitment for you is true, my heart Showing that the love for you is not fake Pleading that it will not keep us apart. This promise will always be within me It shows that our trust will never fade I wouldn't show betrayal, as you see However, if I smash the oath I made You wouldn't think of me with love but hate Then I would know this love was not my fate. Hiba Aslam |
I Swear
Madison Evans (Genre Transformation: Song to Story) Based on the original song Summer Walker: Session 32 The sun began to go down. She lays on her bed with her pillow stifling her face as she cries and runny mascara stains the pillow. Ashlyn couldn't believe he cheated on her and then distorted to her face. After three hours of feeling depressed, sad, and upset, rage start to hit like a thunderbolt bolt into her heart as she thumped her backpack onto the floor and pulled out each single love letter he wrote and threw them into the garbage. Tossing all his love letters away, banding him from her house, and even blaspheming him out didn't get him out her head. Unblocking, blocking, and then unblocking him went into endless times as well as sending him text after text. She couldn’t face it, she got in love with someone who accepted her. Thoughts of “I know he on his phone so why ain’t he picking up, “ “does he love me? “ “and why would he use me?” drifted in Ashlyn's head. The begging began as she declared for him to come back after all he had done to her, but she loved him. Days had passed on that he never answered, and then she understood that his love exists as fraud. He didn't put up a fight nor call her phone to admit what he did to her. Belatedly, Ashlyn understood he didn't know how to manage someone who he says he loves. |
Fall Into Me The blurred mass of colors in my peripherals did nothing The brisk wind on my legs did nothing The pounding in my ears, heart, and lungs did nothing All of this did nothing to distract from the fact of the presence before me All tanned skin and long, dark hair All whirlwind wit and stoic stares Everything I wasn’t Everything I wanted Everything I Couldn’t Have … She stood, dominating the desolate streets . . . She stood, with one hand hanging, exclusively hers . . . She stood, with the other engulfed by a lover who I could never be . . . Kenzie Voigt |