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a drawing of a mini aesthetic cake
a drawing of a mini aesthetic cake
Original photo by Marvin Araiza
Sex + Relationships

My Heart (soaked in love) (and other sticky things)

Doodles of Schoolgirl Love

if the world chose to dig up emerald encrusted tombs to find the worlds

secretly encrusted forces

                              white tabby cats

white-washed gods

                                  (watching you cheat on your 4 month boyfriend when he isn’t looking )

i’ll whisper to you that girls are capable of pulling down heaven to earth

(disco balls, rainbows and all things too bright)

when they fall in love for the first time

clumsy romance rushing into the edge of existence with the rough energy of

                                                              a thousand



(uncontainable, devilish magic thrown in a mason jar)

loving for the first time feels exciting yet dangerous on the skin,

a kitchen knife passed with its sharp end pointing at


and yet when a girl is in love, she’s capable of slicing the summer moon in 14 perfectly cut triangles

just so you can stack them in the middle of your grilled cheese sandwich

once she’s in love she will evolve into this

majestic museum of forgetfulness and misplaced keys

 yet somehow still

ripping all rusty doors from its hinges

with that federally criminal smile

                                                      because she likes the way you text goodnight before she goes to bed

when in love, she will feel earthquakes inside her mary janes

(every time you stop to say hi)

inhaling pink tornados every time when she stutters around you

only because she’s in love everything passing through her sweaty, freckled hands leaves a fluorescent hue

(too beautiful to be toxic waste)(….although it is)

Cherry Gloss Heartbreak

The pieces of our story sink and dissolve

                                                    in the bottom of a lipstick-stained plastic cup

 Will you remember our greatest kisses when the night turns red?

                                                                                  because I always think about that afternoon when you looked up

cherry-picked your favorite constellations from the sky

chose the one dancing the closest to your rectangular bedroom window

took a second glance and stole a few dandelion-like clouds lurking around

knit them together with

shaking hands

 so, it could become blanket

keeping your bony back warm on that night you weren’t quite sure how to  


all I ever wanted to do was hold your imperfect heart in my tiny hands

hide it in my heavy leather jacket from the second-hand store

                                                                                                           so that in this silly cocoon of first love

you could stay warm and safe from all nasty insults

all the angry voices throwing knives at your bedroom door, demanding a place inside your head

and even now when it’s late and im driving in hopeless circles, miss that irreplaceable lightness

so, I imagine grabbing fistful of shining sunlight and shoving it up my mouth

(crunching on warm yellow rays)

but the only bright thing out there is a flickering yellow McDonalds 

which just screams at me that humans produce and produce but have forgotten to


(lightless conversation and leftover fries that don’t make my day any sunnier)

In My Kitchenette, I thought of you and I as part of the same story

to make your heart feel brand new,

take someone by their shirtfront and kiss them whole when

                                             cherry popsicles and other sickly-sweet feelings are dripping out of

the old freezer

kiss when everything melts,

matters and everything itches just a little

                                                                to feel a whole lot

kiss when your whole kitchen is in flames—-order in disorder

yellow seats glued to the roof with honey

blue flames dancing around the stovetop of your kitchenette

pinkie sized, unsupervised fairies

moving to a slowed down version of your favourite song while your eggs burn

existing and believing in a person implies that you’ve hand-picked the stupidest, bravest pain

you’ve chosen knowing

how one day the dazzling, flying comets of every second you spend together will be a memory as pointy as a knife

painful for the corners of your mouth even

leaving bold marks in your arm

tattoo sleeves of love and other

interplanetary risks

we take when we meet someone’s who’s questionable

but long overdue, proving that

right person wrong time is a myth created to provide oxygen

in an urban jungle of

heartbroken 18-year-old girls drowning in

sad pop songs

Natalia Tola

Dalhousie '23

Hello! My name is Natalia and I am a student journalist from Ecuador :) I am passionate about pasta, politics and people who are also passionate about life as much as I am—-writing is a part of who I am given the power it gives over dreams and reality (and all the ways they can beautifully blur together)
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