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  • _guts_ 2d

    A page from my dairy.

    My scrunchie, big enough to fit(/suffocate) my neck.

    The colour blue.

    A pen without a nib.

    A dirty (all blackened) eraser.

    Kun faya kun.

    The guitar in my attic, I don't know how to play.

    The piano in my attic, I know how to play but seldom do.

    My drafts.

    The dairy my father gifted, I could never start inking in.

    The dairy I bought for him, he who hates writing.

    3 a.m.

    My first period.

    The word sorry, something I say a thousand times a day.

    I have to stop now. Okay, one last metaphor.

    Goodbyes that are un-said but not un-expected or un-understood.

    -Rutvi.

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    Metaphors
    ~You won't understand~
    ~And I can't explain~
    ©_guts_

  • _guts_ 2d

    A couple realisations I had in the past few months, but kept on ignoring because I am free to do so, and that makes me a tad bit scared.

    1. When we love someone, somewhere we blur all of their wrong doings. Maybe we know that they are also humans and commit various mistakes. But we always stand by their side, knowing that the grass on ours side is not greener either.

    2. Ever since I started reading about wars and conflicts I knew that people who die in war are numbers, numbers which speak for the valour and the extent of the war. They are names without families. But since when did those who die of the government's insufficiency and the larger vaccine politics, since when did we limit them to numbers, to newer records everyday.

    3. Every time I try to understand how my brain is wired, every time I search about anxiety and feeling insufficient on the web, the blue screen tells me that I need a therapist. Someone with his or her own life problems to come and deal mine and make me feel less insufficient. My insufficiency isnt a problem to be dealt with by someone else or a disease with a certified cure. It is a reflection of my own truth.

    4. I suck at taking the right decisions. For instance I am writing these realisations.

    ----
    Completely random.

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    This blue screen tell me
    I need a therapist,
    Someone else which his/her
    Own life problems,
    To come and deal mine
    And make me feel less insufficient.
    But what's so wrong
    About feeling insufficient
    When it's nothing
    But a reflection of my truth.
    ©_guts_

  • _guts_ 1w

    This is a complication of five letters/poetries, I never completed. Be kind.
    1.
    To my love
    They say, the faster you fall in love, the sooner you fall out of it. Well if that's the case, then I fell for you at negative speed, slower than anyone can imagine. I would and I still play each of the smallest moments I spent with you at .25x speed in my mind for thousands of times, only to see how your cheeks slowly slide, while your lips curve into a smile. If this is being a hopeless romantic, then I don't even an agreement to prove that I am one. I wrote this one paragraph of shit, only to make you believe that no matter what you choose, I am not falling out of us. Never.
    I wish I could ..

    From
    A love who will stay
    (You choose it, or you don't, it will stay)

    2.
    I should not have agreed last night.

    3.
    //There's a pain in my heart and it won't go away.//
    Day 364 of trying to keep my distance from you. Each attempt of mine is like that of ice trying to feel warmth. Is it possible? No.
    It is like, the ice knows that it is not meant to know what warmth feels like. But it keeps trying and trying, holding onto some hope.
    You see, you can not be mine, but no matter how hard I try, I come back to you, maybe somewhere I feel that no matter how cold I am, I deserve warmth.

    4.
    To the love I am letting go

    They say life is about letting go. Only when a tree let's go of all it's dried withered eaves in the harsh autumn, can it grow new beautiful ones again for its beloved spring. Only when a flower dries off and let's each of its petal fall off, can it grow into a fruit. Only when the sky let's all its clouds vent themselves all out, can the sun shine.
    But is life only about the new beautiful leaves, a fruit or the sun shining.
    I have had a thing for the harshest autumns, dried petals and dark clouds, maybe that is why letting go has never been easy for me.

    From
    The girl who stayed

    5.
    To
    My next lover

    I have been staring at the ceiling long enough that I have memorised each fault that the painters made, each area they double coloured, each whole, each crack. No matter how hard I try to give this pattern no meaning, my mind takes me back to believing that i am nothing but just another crack, just another whole in someone's life, and only if that someone is as mad as me, would he ever stare long enough at me on his empty ceiling to know exactly who I am.
    I have given up on love. But if love finds me again through you, I want you to know that the hopeless romantic in me has not died, it is Alive. I have always given a lot more love than I had, I have given a lot of live to bullies(who deserved a slap in the face), to my ex-best friend( who maybe was never one) and to my ex-lovers( including the ones who still love me). So if I am drained of love, fill me up again. And I promise to pay you back.

    From
    A girl who gave a lot more love than she ever had

    I don't know if this is even shittier than I think It is.
    Also @_aradhya, thankyou❤️

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    ' If I could have, I would have. '
    No matter how hard I try to ask questions, your answer would always be the very same. I wonder were you always this, painful yet pleasing. Or did something happen when you stopped chasing me and I stopped coming back to you. They say that if love is an art, the one sided lovers are the Pablo Picassos' of it. But we aren't less than Vinci, are we?
    If I kill all my poeticness and describe us in four lines, it would be something like this.

    I love you.
    You love me.
    We are (~were~) so in love.
    And yet, we can never be together.

    Why? Because every time I ask you in the words of Shawn mendes..
    Why can't we give love that one more chance?
    You say-
    ' If I could have, I would have. '
    But that isn't your answer, is it?
    I know I ask a lot of questions, but sometimes when I know that the truth pains you as equally as it would pain me, I excuse you from the pain of saying it, i accept your lies and return home singing

    ' Cause love's such an old fashioned word
    And love dares us to care for
    The people on the edge of the night
    And love dares you to change our way of
    Caring about ourselves
    This is our last dance
    This is ourselves under pressure'


    ©_guts_

  • _guts_ 1w

    The last time you told me
    that you loved me
    I wanted to tell you
    that our love will be like
    ~diplozoon paradoxum~
    Literally, flatworms.
    The male and the female
    Meet as adolescents
    And when they fall in love
    Their bodies literally fuse together.
    They fuse into one.
    I wanted to tell you
    That I will love you like a flatworm.
    And I would have told you this
    Only if it sounded like Juliet speaking of Romeo
    Or the golden words of Pablo neruda
    But in all of those times
    I practiced saying it Infront of the mirror
    It sounded merely of a lovesick,
    Mad in love yet unknown of what
    Love really costs.
    So I told you that
    I have no understanding
    Of the dimensions of love.
    And I don't want to understand
    What love feels like.
    And when you let go of my hand
    By the water fountain
    I understood
    That I really am a lovesick,
    Mad in love yet unknown of what
    Love really costs.
    Because every time love enters my life
    I push it way.
    ©_guts_

    Completely random shit.
    Another 2 min scribble.

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    Flatworm love

    The last time you told me
    that you loved me
    I wanted to tell you
    that our love will be like
    ~diplozoon paradoxum~
    Literally, flatworms.
    And I would have
    Only if it sounded like Juliet speaking of Romeo
    Or the golden words of Pablo neruda
    But in all of those times
    I practiced saying it Infront of the mirror
    It sounded merely of a lovesick,
    Mad in love yet unknown of what
    Love really costs.
    ©_guts_

  • _guts_ 2w

    Random thoughts. 5 min write-ups.
    Thankyou for coping with me @_aradhya

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    Impure

    Pure.

    What is a bigger deceit than purity even being a word. Afterall, all of us are a little impure, aren't we?

    I became impure for my father,
    When my feminity began to show
    When my breasts started to grow
    And I knew this by the way he would raise his eyes,
    Whenever I would ask him to make me bath or sing me lullabies.

    I became impure for my grandmother,
    When I got one step close to becoming a Woman
    When I started to bleed for 7 days every month, I wonder how it makes me any less human
    And I knew this by the way should make excuses
    Whenever i enter our temple during that time of the month when dirty period blood is what my body produces.

    I became impure for my mother,
    When my free feminist thoughts started
    To rage a fight with what her expectations wanted
    And I knew this by the way she would ask about my dreams
    That fear in her eyes of seeing me grow into an independent woman she never was still screams

    I became impure for myself,
    When I would look in the mirror
    And see dark incomplete smudged hues of a woman who failed
    At her family expectations
    At the society's judgements
    At making this poem a rhyme
    Even though she knew that all these are the least important things.

    What is a bigger deceit than purity even being a word. Afterall, all of us are a little impure, aren't we?
    ©_guts_

  • _guts_ 4w

    /You see, I am scared, scared because I am free.
    They say, freedom is luxurious, but being free scares me./
    Uncertainty-
    A Noun
    Meaning : The state of being uncertain.

    Uncertain-
    An adjective
    Meaning : not completely confident or sure of something.
    Since the day I found freedom, the fear of uncertainty has been making me numb.
    /If I finally am free, why is it that i fear uncertainty./

    Choice -
    A Noun
    Meaning - The act of choosing between two or more possibilities.
    If I am free, why is it that I have to choose?
    Why can't everything bring me muse?
    /What if I don't really have any alternatives
    And I choose the only possibility,
    Then isn't my freedom of choice relative?/

    Maktub -
    A Noun
    Meaning : It is written
    When it is has already been written, do I really have a choice?
    /The decisions I make, are they really made by me?
    If not, then am I really free?/

    ©_guts_

    Also thankyou @_aradhya for positioning it so beautifully

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    If I am free, why is it that I have to choose?
    Why can't everything bring me muse?
    /What if I don't really have any alternatives
    And I choose the only possibility,
    Then isn't my freedom of choice relative?/

  • _guts_ 5w

    //Could have completed atleast this rant but I have got chapters to complete. //
    Me posting random half written things i spent 2 mins writing, like it is completely normal. Meanwhile my English teacher be like, so you understood my classes all along??

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    I feel a pain in my upper left chest.

    /I swallow words like saliva./
    I am swallowing saliva, gulping emptiness and some greasy liquid, one gulp after another, each attempt to make myself believe that I can eat up all urges to speak.
    /My hands are like big metal doors./
    Ever felt as if you would vomit your whole stomach out in the middle of the night, and your hands involuntarily cover your mouth, trying to stop until you reach the bathroom. You see words are egoistic. So when I can't swallow them like saliva, my hands come to rescue. Building a wall between me and everything else, stopping words to flow until it is dark and no one could hear them.

    You see, I must have stabbed my chest hard enough. Or maybe, I sleepwalked last night banging my left chest to the shelf in my room.
    Whatever it may be, it still pains
    ©_guts_

  • _guts_ 6w

    #temporary.
    P.s. no wonder I use mirakee as a personal dairy.

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    I make a promise today, to not write on love.
    To not write on love, till I can proudly look in the mirror and say that I love myself.
    To not write on love, till I fall in love and not in the idea of falling in love and fantasizing it with exaggerated metaphors and meaningless scenarios.
    ©_guts_

  • _guts_ 6w

    I came across thi amazing poem on mirakee. It made me write a similar version. I know that mine is no where to be compared with the original one. But because I wrote this inspite of the very fact that I should be studying for my 10th boards, I am posting this here.
    Inspired by fistfight ( written by @samarlexis )
    I have been here for quite a while. I still don't know who to tag, so yeah that's it.
    And I am sorry if the length disturbs you.

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    On days of cotton candy skies
    And nights surrounded with crushed blotted papers, memories of crimson lies and unsaid goodbyes
    The girl I was appears
    and stands face to face with the women I am becoming since a past few years

    I wonder will they fight,
    devoid each other of all hopes that flows as blood in their veins, Until only one them remains in my sight
    Or will they abruptly part their ways
    you see both of them are mere acquaintances these days

    I have a blur memory of my childhood, which feels some uncountable generations away
    Where both of them are holding hands, chit chatting like two inseparable friends, I doubt if that was a memory, must have been a dream I think today
    After all since the day, I smell of period blood
    Each time they meet, they leave a new wound, a new void open and unloved.

    So I bind my fists and close my eyes
    I get ready for parts of me to bleed cries.
    I murmur the same phrase my mom taught me,
    Although I seem to forget the exact words it did be.

    So with eyelashes of fears blooming in my eyelids field of hopes
    I steal a gaze at the battlefield Infront of me close
    /The girl I was
    And the woman I am becoming/
    And only then do I notice, my two not-so-complete halves,
    Have brought with them parts of themselves.

    The girl i was
    Had bought some bittersweet memories bottled up as souvenirs of the past
    A half eaten chocolate wrapper left alone in a wooden cupboard
    Some poetries weaved and left incomplete, suffering to be rediscovered

    The woman I was becoming
    Was accompanied with myriad of dreams and
    Some treats from the future buzzing
    I am sure, if there did be a cotton candy flavored with feminity, faith and freedom
    It did sure appear like her for all just reasons

    Suddenly I felt, no worries of long wars of fights
    And the coldness of being left alone in times of no lights
    Until days of cotton candy skies
    And nights surrounded with crushed blotted papers, memories of crimson lies and unsaid goodbyes

    The girl I was
    And the woman I am becoming
    Turn their heads towards me,
    Facing me, they march in my direction Carefree.

    They whisper the same phrase my mother taught me when I turned thirteen
    Then they hold each others hands and vanish in the thin air unseen
    I now know
    What to teach my daughter when she grows.

    When she begins her journey from a girl to a woman
    The battle will surely be hers, just like that of a boy who grows into a man, or any other human
    I will teach her a tale of courage
    But she will write her own page and chose her own stage.


    Know I now, The girl I was
    And the woman I am becoming
    Each time they did meet,
    They brought me pieces of myself, and made me complete.
    ©_guts_

  • _guts_ 6w

    The sun rises and sets alike. Whatever lies between the rise and the set is an undefined mess. All men gaze at the sunrise and the sunset. Have you ever seen someone talk of love to a noon sun? Does anyone acknowledge the coldness the sun experiences before sunset or the heat before sunrise? What happens after sunset and before sunrise? Have you ever gazed aimlessly at the sun at 9:37 a.m. and whisper to yourself a small poem, or does your body clock make you wait until it is 12 in the night, or 4 in the morning?
    You see many men decipher the beginning and the ends of things, situations, experiences and feelings.
    The ball your mother bought you for your first birthday,
    The bully who had crused the very same ball in front of you and you watch him do it.
    The day you were born, oblivious of what awaits you, what is this world you have just entered.
    The day you find yourself at the roof of your building, when you decide to take your life away.
    Falling in love, the first time you had fell, all those firsts, the first butterflies, the first glances and what not.
    Falling out of love, day by day, bit by bit.

    The ending of each are often a lot difficult to handle then the beginning. But in the myriad of our obsession for the begin all and the end all of almost every single thing, we forget to ask the most important questions. Questions whose answers would give meaning to the reality.
    The sun rises not to set, rather it rises for you to know that after long hours of darkness, light traces its path to you. The sun sets not to rise again, but rather to remind you that darkness is no bad, like light it plays its own role.
    In the begin all and the end all, let's not forget why it all began and why it comes to a halt,. It is for the journey. The memories, the decisions, the instances, the feelings.

    If you still have the squeezed rubber ball your mum gave you on your first birthday, don't blow air in it once again, but for once retrace your touch all around it, and with the bitter memory of the sight of when the bully crushed it, remember all those times it bought a smile on your face.
    In the race of moving on before your ex, for once forget the falling in and the falling out, for once just name it love and feel it in all pores of your body, feel it blossom life in each of your cells.
    The journey, is more important than the begin all and the end all.
    - signed ©_guts_
    03.04.2021.
    9:37 a.m.

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    /I long for pain.
    So here I am, trying to escape./