F E A R The seed of fear sprouted in me when I was a kid. I was afraid to go to the stage, afraid of facing people, afraid of taking stands, of showing the love I had for my people. All I had ever been good in is bragging of my courageousness. I never were. But maybe I needed it, so I would speak that out loud, only to hear it myself. My own voice never rang in my head. Inside I was the same old afraid kid, no matter what. With time the branches of fear started spreading in me until I lost my identity to it. I didn't say a word to that guy in the autorickshaw who continuously touched my breast; at first I couldn't even tell for sure if it was really happening, all I could do was shift myself away in that public-packed transport, so he would stop doing that. And all I could do eventually was abuse a word. I didn't say a word when my uncle caressed my thighs saying how long it has grown. I was crying and shouting and throwing things violently, but all in my head.
S I L E N C E Initially it was an uninvited guest in my life, I stopped it from banging my door. But my grasp wasn't strong enough to cease it from slipping into my head and spreading out into me. I hated it, but gradually it became a part of me without me realising. I was frightened of saying my feelings out loud so I started writing in a place where no body I was acquainted with would know of it. I learnt to subjugate my voice, my feelings, my desires, my insecurities, my hopelessness.
H O P E It's hard for me to seperate bleak and hope. To see them as two different words. It is my long lost friend, no longer acquainted to me.
H A P P I N E S S I have been too habitual of feeling sad or perhaps of feeling nothing, when happiness comes to me I distance it, as if it would burn me. Like sadness is inevitable and happiness just a facade.
F R I E N D S I've lost friends more than I can think of. Not because I find joy in leaving people or in isolating myself, but I don't feel it in me, to engage myself into conversations with much people. I hate socialising, and peeking into the world I don't feel I belong. Isolation thus is not a choice, but the outcome.
H A T E I know that it does you more harm than the person you have that for. Just the mere thought of hating someone snatches from you the right to be at peace, but I can't stop myself from hating the way I am. I hate this insecure, this loser me.
L O V E It is subjective. It is the most captivating thorn for the broken one. The most beautiful thing for the one draped in it, a myth for the one tired of the concept of it. For me? It is just a word. With meaning beyond the compilation of any letters. And its thought, distant.
I am getting used to the growing silences between me and her, every day she comes home with a fresh cut mark on her wrist, I get more distant from her. Someday I would lost touch of her completely, someday she would vanish (I hope the day does not comes soon). Everyday she tries to harm herself, she gets fainter....and.....fainter to me...
She came home from her usual evening walk today, my eyes stood searching a fresh cut mark on her wrist yet again and there it was, deep at the beginning like all her frustrations gathered at one point and shallow as it proceeded, like she was afraid or perhaps because she still wants to live? It's hard to find out for she is hard to read these days, but this time I gathered enough courage to ask her finally, 'Don't you want to live?', 'Doesn't it hurts?', and all I got hold of in return was silence, I waited for what seems like decade and then she answered ever so slowly, 'when the pain inside your head is greater, the cut marks doesn't burn'. Sometimes she seems a destitute to me, trapped in the confinement of her own house with so much but nothing she would find interesting enough to engage herself in. She liked to paint, mostly she would paint things that go unnoticed to people, she would say 'I feel connected to them' and I would smile at her attempt to include things that are left out, what I did not notice is she was the character in her painting, the painting was her.. I am trying not to get affected by her piercing silence so much, sometimes I succeed but sometimes it kills me. Sometimes my heart gets so heavied by it, I cannot move; sometimes my chest aches like someone stabbed my heart thousand times and left the knife there, leaving me in pain.. She stood facing the window of her room, her eyes fixated at something distant and I stood there gazing at her ashen face with no hope left in it, like someone dug a straw in her head and sucked it out completely. I parted my lips to speak 'l am cruel I know, but I am beautiful too, I know that you're tired but you're strong to get along with all this and one day knock them out', but my voice died in my throat. She ascended to her roof and stood at the railing with her hands spread out, she had done this several times before, but this time the glint in her eyes broke something in me, I knew in those fraction of seconds what is about to unfold and I screamed for her to climb off and that 'we will sort things out', but she jumped with her eyes wide open, staring right into me. I smiled a last goodbye, witnessing her head throb to the cemented floor. With every drop of blood oozing out of her head, I found my existence vanishing and I vanished before she met hands with Death at last....
I had my share of bad, bad days for way too long Happiness wrapped itself in the blanket of bleak hope... For an eternity I kept finding it in places people said it belonged, And when the whole world slept I stood searching it in places it was forbidden Sometimes it would show itself, smiling, from a distance Disappearing at the touch of me As if mocking me With each passing day I grew frustrated and lost hopes of ever finding it And then one day it came knocking at my door I slammed it open and stood transfixed With tears moistening my barren cheeks I clutched it and howled under its soft arms Few days passed... And when the demon Surfaced beneath the face of happiness Showed itself I thought it is just a part of it I kept feeding it with my love nonetheless Shivering to my bones at the thought of it leaving me again... When its appetite didn't fill I poured it my soul, And the gleam my eyes had, My desires I kept pouring and pouring Until all I had within was void reverberating Days passed Months passed.. And when I saw my father crying for the second time I didn't cry, I didn't shed a tear Few days after My brother committed suicide and I stood there watching an inexplicable point, without feeling a thing I didn't stop my brother when he slammed open the front door of our house and left without saying a thing All I could hear were voices And I couldn't quite distinguish It was the voices within or outside I made my way to my bed and coiled under layers of blankets Tears didn't come Days passed I forgot the taste of it And when one day the voices in my head went deafening I shivered at the feel of something liquid, Something strange and unfamiliar Dampening my barren cheeks And I cried And cried...
I am not haunted by the walls anymore, but the gap between my bed and ceiling that no longer comprises of just molecules, but despair and gloom. Every night I lay myself on bed, I feel weighed down, panting I can not fathom what to do and how not to feel that way, so I cry, and reach out for my phone, finding things to engage myself in, with nothing working out, make my way, to the bathroom floor and sit there wondering, the floor's more cold or me within? I don't know if I am tired of me not trying hard enough or things not working out. I feel irritated at things I cry and things I don't cry at. My own smile seems so deceptive at times, I hate it. I hate how my vocal chord fails, everytime I try to confess, to that one guy, I've been madly in love with. And everytime I want to ask him to stay a little longer. I don't find joy in saying I am fine, when actually I am not, but I never could find ways, to define things, as the way they were, I don't even know if I have sufficient words to describe this sinking feeling within or perhaps I ain't good enough. Either way, it sucks. I stay quiet, though I didn't choose it nor would I be willing to. I tell people I am feeling 'odd' and they oblivious of what it comprises, ask me what exactly, I never had answer to it and I say 'just odd'. For in the truth I don't know myself what does odd refers to and how can something be relieved when you cannot actually indicate what it is. My eyes burn with sleepiness and I keep changing sides to get that warmth I didn't have to find erstwhile. My own home does not gives me the comfort anymore, I want to run out of it to nowhere. I don't like things I do, lying on bed with no human to talk to and nothing to look forward to. I hate how I don't possess the strength to utter a word while my insides are burning with hatred, while the voices in my head is so deafening. I hate the way I am losing weight, I hate how my skin looks so pale, with my eyes sunken deep. I hate how I've lost the appetite of exploring a thing. I hate to see my abandoned skates with dust settled on it from ages. I hate it, all of it, for they remind me of how I looked forward to finding joys in things. And lying on bed in daylight was always my last option. Gripped by these facts I stay infuriated all day, victimizing myself with thoughts of self harm. I often wonder if it is the demon in the dark I fear or what lies within.
I know that it has been long. And I tried but could not complete a thing and it has irked me from so long now. I keep reading yet nothing comes by. I ain't seeking consolations though. Neither did I want to sound so sad (everytime). Writing was/is (?) the only thing I've ever been myself in. I try and I only fail now. I don't know why am I writing this at first place, but still venting where no one knows you is easier I guess. Hope you guys are doing good though. I really do.
the woman who's lived 62 years of her life sat beneath the sunlight on a fine winter noon;
smiled at me, and told me as if it's a necessary remainder
'one day you'll grow old too, you must have seen a little world by then; I really hope. You'll set your foot in cities of different countries you talk about. you'll not be this young, you'll become what you're destined to'
She ran her glances from my forehead, and ended her glaze at my hands, smiled; and looked away.
Roaming in the wild place with a set of wilder thoughts moulding in verses neat securing them in a cyber way.
Here's the_fox oofé the atmosphere, it all turned dark. Entered with a smile wrote a pile on a tile of your mind get a file save it right! Exists with a smirk leaves a note berserk. *thefoxisdead* says it. Breathe out, keep calm he's more than alive in his very own psalms.
It's summer with a thudding bummer saturation at its best sanity at its rest. he'd scratch the paper out scribble fire without a doubt.
It's an autumn of criticism. sheds a part that's holding back crushes it apart believing the heart?
Raining in and out to be honest, all around. Drenched in wittiness. would still sing aloud a sight meant to be witnessed.
Oh it's winter ah, leave the filters! Holding onto real form this is the time feeds the selve some warmth.
Spring might spring a matter of fling. A soul blooming flowers of smiles unknown to his own power.
Seasons meant to change, keeps the fur as thick and strange. Things would seem a lot deranged but commendable is the way he's always perfectly arranged.
When they gave me your name I was like “now a noob will write for a pro? *facepalms* Ooffox.” I suck at writing poems but here you get this dumb poem and a (it's the first thing that comes in my mind reading your username 乁(ツ)ㄏ)
Sadness wraps my fingers behind vague skylines and tangerine silhouettes while my dreams to gulp down your drunken love fall apart in wine-colored dumps. I hear the stars flickering, I sniff the moon burning, but I can't feel your smile sinking in my giggles. How the things change when you get deprived of love to heal yourselves?
There are poems snuggled in the folds of my palms. Each one of them screams life is a lie. I wish I could erase them somehow but what excuse will I give to myself when the monsters hidden in my closet would destroy me once again? Little strings of past attach me with people, but I'm merely a dull puppet for them to play and make fun of me being so vulnerable.
Sunburnt feelings hit inside my chest as I inhale grief mixed with romantic songs lovers play on beautiful sunsets. My eyes are flushed with the ache that I couldn't handle last night and anxiety is clutching me even more tightly with every passing second. I just can't do anything to bury my sorrows.
Will you bring me some peace that I lost long ago while chasing for dead hopes?
There are three basic types of interrogative sentences or questions. One, Yes or No question which seeks either yes or no as an answer. Two, WH question which seeks an informative answer and three, choice questions which seeks one of the choices mentioned in the question itself as an answer.
--Today, write a creative piece using one or all of these types of questions.--
They ask me where I am from To answer I say , I deluge rays of warmth for the mother that sobs of patriarchy , And father that screeches of dearth.
I've seen women with sorrows tucked in their braid carry me in their palms. And men too afraid to cry shove me down their pockets of grief and wash them with masculinity under the stars.
I come along the 3 sunflowers you grew down the street that smell of love and melancholy when withered. Amidst the alleys of the street where children play and pensioners sing the days of patriarchs, I shine upon them as crimson rays of sunshine. They smile , they sigh
I've been a lovers muse and artists canvas , they paint me in colours of sorrows and grief . I reside inside within as sonnets of love and polaroids of hues I paint a picture of love to the lovers that sit clinging onto the bench for hours, making promises and whispering love. I mizzle tenderness over them , they smirk and then they shy.
I come from the sky , A rainbow, a sunbeam. A lover to the sunflower and A muse to you.
@thousand_splendid_thoughts You are one of the most kindest person I have ever come across. You are beautiful inside and out. And you know your smile is contagious right? A million hugs and thank yous for always being there. I know the poem sucks but just know I love you and adore you.❤
I have seen patriarchy bloom in the crotch of women's that spurn blood of bigots. I a daughter of woman like such, Refuse to bloom , into the what they label custom but blooms a flower of misogyny . Slowly, I've seen my mother Naming me a rebel.