Nishat Sheikh

every birthmark, every inexplicable habit — love notes from my lineage.

why can’t I write about rose bouquets and apple tea // instead all I’m left with are paper cuts and my bloodied fingers

my head is exploding / and the world reverberates with static / I am an old abandoned tv that / no one remembered to switch off

With a new year comes a blank slate, an air of invincibility, and the promise of earnest hope that better days lie ahead. The following list shares songs for this coming year:

It doesn’t snow in Berkeley. Growing up, I thought that was one of the city’s only downsides. Every year on July 4, we would go to the marina to watch the fireworks standing with thousands of our neighbors in the ocean’s cold breath. I stood reevaluating whether I really liked the cold at all and always decided that I did.

perhaps you loved me when you brought me your mom’s peach cobbler and I loved you back when I listened to your playlists, even after they weren’t about me anymore 

some nights my tears drown me, the weight in my chest amplifies, I feel like I’ve swallowed glass and won’t ever breathe again.