#hearme

259 posts
  • crickett 48w

    I look around, I see black walls! I'm stuck in my brain! Waist deep in the mud while I'm trying to make it out the rain!! My soul is scarred with pain, I bet when people hear this they will say "Dang" my pain and your pain ain't the same! I look in the mirror I start to scream! I'm tired of this I'm tired I want out! Trying so hard but always having doubt! They say you should ask for help well I'm screaming.. but no one listens! Just wanting to hurt while I'm in rage! Sober thoughts are not for me!

    Wanted me to go sober so I did, I'm thankful I don't have any kids! What I look like being a failure? Setting no example.. for example here is a sample. Ticking time bomb that's what I am..scars on my body and my hands! Destruction is what comes to mind when I'm working on my self like construction! I just wanna break everything and it ain't right! But this is what my brain deals with when it comes to Night...or Day..I still pray but I feel like the sins I've done won't ever let me be okay.. my brain is really torn apart like it was put through a shredder! This the only thing I can think of to make me feel better..I need help & and I pray one day I get it if not just please visit every now and then I'm 6ft below resting.

    When I lost 4 family members in one month it turned me to a different person like a permanent numb...I can't keep a smile if I do I feel dumb. I'm sad I'm scared but in the end, no one will care.
    ©crickett

  • bluebird 48w

    "What can I give that is all for you?
    My heart's no good 'cause it's split in two
    What can I give that is all for you?
    These arms are all I have
    But I'll hold you like I do love you
    But I'll hold you like I do love you"

    Arms; The Paper Kites

    #valentine #hearMe

    Read More

    FATHOM

    Strands
    Wrapped around your fingers,
    Incomplete between each twist
    Loosened around every ridge of your touch
    Black; soft
    My hair; caressed,
    Denying departure from the forks in your nails
    Hands, porous with the essence of autumn
    Playing with the splits of my scalp
    Smelling of bribed love
    Strands, trickling from the friction they offer,
    Down under your knees;
    Those ends tickling my nose
    And the nose wrinkling over to smile
    With closed eyes,
    Strands;
    Like threads being pulled out of the spool
    Unnoticed, with no intentions,
    And with a head in the clouds,
    Leaving your fingers smell of cherries
    When they reach your nose to itch
    And of the hallucination of oil
    When they run over pages and digits, leaving prints
    Of something you touched
    Hours ago.
    There's this strangeness in the way I love you,
    Love,
    Its the way you linger on my body
    Without touching me like you do
    And the way you don't let me leave
    Without evidences on yours;
    There's this strangeness, love,
    About how you're not quite around
    Yet leave me with something I can't call my own,
    There's this strange love,
    Where I'm afraid you'd leave me with all that there is
    Where you're the movements in my sleep
    The words I can't keep;
    I'm afraid,
    All I'd be left with will be,
    An incomplete kiss, your sweat on my neck,
    A you, a me,
    And you without me.

    Breaths
    A cloud I can't separate:
    Yours from mine, yours or mine
    Bare legs trapped in cold sheets,
    And toes touching with an excuse of accidents
    Cold still,
    Breaths, yours and mine
    On a neck, on a breast,
    Warmer, moist,
    Unaware of the cold feet,
    And the cold beds,
    This is where sleep lingers,
    Where warmth decides to sigh in our presence,
    Your breath on my chest; warmer, closer
    My breath on your shoulder, calmer, colder,
    This is where I can close my eyes
    And wonder why I chose to lay on the wrong side,
    Pulling blankets, gulping a dry mouth
    You're awake, and you smile with your closed eyes
    Breaths; like lullabies,
    Warmer when you smile,
    Closer, even more,
    This is where I belong;
    Where your eyelashes kiss my collarbones
    When it's morn,
    Waking up on the right side.
    There's this strangeness in the way I love you,
    Love,
    Its the way you linger on my body
    Without touching me like you do
    And the way you don't let me leave
    Without evidences on yours;
    There's this strangeness, love,
    About how you're not quite around
    Yet leave me with something I can't call my own,
    There's this strange love,
    Where I'm afraid you'd leave me with all that there is
    Where you're the movements in my sleep
    The words I can't keep;
    I'm afraid,
    All I'd be left with will be,
    An incomplete kiss, your sweat on my neck,
    A you, a me,
    And you without me.

    Walks
    Where no hands are held
    No words are pronounced
    Two bodies, walking
    Swaying,
    Like a pair of earrings, dangling with a movement
    With feet mismatched, and steps miscounted
    A push towards you and a lean towards me
    Walks,
    Where silence speaks nothing
    Just your peace in mine,
    A knuckle brushing past another
    Watches clinging onto each other
    Left with scratches around the rims
    It's the hair on my skin that tell you
    How fast my heart beats still
    When we walk
    And when our hands collide
    Just close enough,
    To roll down your folded sleeves
    Of a shirt I chose,
    For walks,
    Like this,
    Where your eyes search for eyes
    And your hand searches for mine
    With every finger just fitting in perfectly
    Dancing around yours, figuring out the riddle,
    After infinities,
    Meanings to our presence;
    Where every groove of your finger,
    Remembers every spot on mine,
    And where we don't need to catch our time
    For walks,
    Like this,
    To home;
    When home is walking just right by your side.
    There's this strangeness in the way I love you,
    Love,
    Its the way you linger on my body
    Without touching me like you do
    And the way you don't let me leave
    Without evidences on yours;
    There's this strangeness, love,
    About how you're not quite around
    Yet leave me with something I can't call my own,
    There's this strange love,
    Where I'm afraid you'd leave me with all that there is
    Where you're the movements in my sleep
    The words I can't keep;
    I'm afraid,
    All I'd be left with will be,
    An incomplete kiss, your sweat on my neck,
    A you, a me,
    And you without me.

    Lips
    Dried at corners,
    With creases and folds,
    Felt roughly by fingertips
    Cold and crude, with an uneven skin
    Brushing away with pauses;
    Noticing the tremble of my lips,
    This is where your eyes escape mine
    And there's a space between your lips,
    Wishing fulfilment,
    Just perfect enough to let me kiss,
    As if,
    We were meant to be.
    Lips,
    Forming silence, in a moment
    That doesn't seem to explain
    The reasons for existence
    Of a you, a me;
    Yet this is where neither of us doubts
    And that is a reason enough.
    A step closer,
    Lips, touching tips
    And toes, on their tips,
    Breaths leaving sweat above
    And arms not knowing where to lock
    So they fall.
    Still. Straight.

    A distance.

    A silence.

    There's this strangeness in the way I love you,
    Love,
    Its the way you linger on my body
    Without touching me like you do
    And the way you don't let me leave
    Without evidences on yours;
    There's this strangeness, love,
    About how you're not quite around
    Yet leave me with something I can't call my own,
    There's this strange love,
    Where I'm afraid you'd leave me with all that there is
    Where you're the movements in my sleep
    The words I can't keep;
    I'm afraid,
    All I'd be left with will be,
    An incomplete kiss, your sweat on my neck,
    A you, a me,
    And you without me.

  • tracey8737 54w

    Take It Off

    Last year was something wasn’t it?
    We couldn't breathe, because our necks were being pinned down by those sworn to protect us.
    We couldn't breathe because of an invisible enemy virus and selfish people couldn't do the 3 W's...Wear a mask, Wash hands and Wait at least six feet.
    We couldn't pay bills, or rent, because the Powers That Be couldn't separate the money We Already Paid Taxes on, from other parts of a bill, and just give us OUR damn money!
    So, like a heavy winter coat in the Summer, we are going to take it off and step into 2021with peace, love, light, and gratitude that 2020 is a thing of the past.
    Happy New Year. May we all remember our core of kindness for our fellow human beings.
    ©tracey8737

  • skitext__ 66w

    I want to start anew, to unleash the remains of the lost love my lips had ever carved. To tell you how writing has been my only escape room for ages.
    Writing, to me, it has always been my only surviving root.. When its branches leaves its hope behind those smiling walls.. It'd have been worse if I didn't put those words down..
    Because I wanted them to serve as a reminder of the things I have been through.. The collection of the many terrifying events the world had presented to me.
    The one sided love that was never returned.
    The fear the world had built in me.
    The pain that still stays, even after letting go.

    But I continued weaving..
    Weaving metaphors..
    Embracing every lost memory.

    Each word I put down there, entails the many times tears fell from my eyes... And then imagine me enduring pain even after so many pages..



    skitext_

    #hearme

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    Empty me.
    Empty world.

  • thalir 75w

    #miss #hearme
    Could you hear me!!?
    When the wind rustles through silky hair parting it with gentle touch?
    When the Sun speaks aloud with its scorching light??
    When ripe fruits murmur in low tones with parrots?
    When dry leaves whisper to trees while falling down?!
    When the piano spills love notes embracing its listeners so tight??
    When morning dew kisses adieu to velvet petals?
    When rain drops drizzle and giggle with cold wind?!
    When cascading water shouts in joy with hills and dells?!
    When bees secretly seduce flowers for honey!?

    Read More

    Could You Hear Me!?

    Could you hear me!!?
    When the wind rustles through silky hair parting it with gentle touch?
    When the Sun speaks aloud with its scorching light??
    When ripe fruits murmur in low tones with parrots?
    When dry leaves whisper to trees while falling down?!
    When the piano spills love notes embracing its listeners so tight??
    When morning dew kisses adieu to velvet petals?
    When rain drops drizzle and giggle with cold wind?!
    When cascading water shouts in joy with hills and dells?!
    When bees secretly seduce flowers for honey!?
    ©thalir

  • crickett 82w

    In silence my Thoughts come to play, Demons knocking asking if they can stay..please be gone I say to myself but they don't care always having their way..truth be told I wish I never ever picked up a drug..hating myself with all my love. I drown in my thoughts feeling deeper than the ocean..if I explain this to my family or friends they might think I'm joking..I'm not a bad person just made bad choices I'm doing a little better now but the demons coming with full forces..like a nuclear bomb once the demons get in they leave the lights on..I can't sleep afraid to close my eyes..evil is the best master of disguise..family or friend can say they love you and at same time push the knife deeper in the back but all along you've been ready for the attack..may hurt a little but what hurts the most is not accomplishing the dreams you had when you were little..when I'm happy I'm happy, when I'm Sad I'm Sad..in the end this the only life I'll ever have.
    ©crickett

  • crickett 83w

    I feel numb to pain..soul full of scars..never thought this would be the way. True colors come out in tough times..can't depend on anyone not even my mind..love is pain, I can't get you out of my brain..when I think of you..I'm not the same..Be happy & then sad, shit sometimes even mad. I'm a balloon full of emotions you pop it I might have to explode with Love because I need it. My old habits I don't wanna feed them, they hate..they tempt me..they even tell me they'll never forget me..I feel numb to pain.
    ©crickett

  • crickett 84w

    I have skeletons that wanna just kick the door open and pour with emotion, I'm doing all I can to stay strong and above the ground but this pain in my heart it brings me down. I loved and didn't get love back right now I'm feeling like a train coming off the tracks, A wreck..a mess..better yet someone who doesn't belong so I forget..what it's like to feel happy. So used to pain I just wanna shine like the Sun after the rain.
    ©crickett

  • bluebird 88w

    #hearMe

    ▪i kissed you thrice in a blue moon▪

    Sometimes you meet people; by an incident, by an accident, not expectedly, but not unexpected either. Sometimes you meet people, and while you fall into pieces, they seem to fit in perfectly within your cracks and broken edges. You just don't seem to care. Sometimes, and I hope you understand this, you meet people, just as normally as you would meet a pigeon sitting over the railing of your balcony, and you try to make them fly away by banging your windows and your doors loudly, and they do. They fly away. Sometimes, you meet them again. Sometimes they fall on your roof like torn and broken kites; and you realise, two things: you can either foolishly wish to fly a broken kite with 7 holes, or perhaps, you can throw it in the trash. Sometimes, you meet people as you write, and as they read.

    Everytime you meet someone, you realise, you were not looking for them. And if you were, you do not meet them. Either way, you never plan to fall in love with them. And if you did, you never do.

    Sometimes, you meet people, ordinary people, imperfect people, people who make mistakes, looking for love but not expecting it, looking for you but not planning it, and they'd say; they'd want,
    "Part of me for all of you"

    And then when I was over with my share of mistakes, he said to me, "Part of you for all of me"

    You'd wait for the pigeon every afternoon at 2:45 pm; and when it would come back, you'd sit by your window, with your dying cactus, and you'd simply stare. You'd stare and smile and you'd count the whitest spots on its beak. No more banging windows and loose hinged doors. No more orange coloured, diamond shaped, torn kites in your trash. Just a reader, who would want to read you, whether you write or choose to remain silent.

    I don't remember how old I was when I saw my aunts handing a green coloured, bright, gift wrapped box with hints of stars drawn over it, to my brother on his birthday. I was little, little enough to be getting excited and happy about receiving chocolate coins imitating gold, and showing my mother the same, with the widest smile I remember to last only through my innocence, not any longer; I was jumping in my seat and ruined the seat covers having sewn elephants over them, without realising that good children thank the one who gives them a gift. Recovering from my delight, I experienced my brother's disappointment as he unwrapped his box. It's a sibling thing, despite his smiles I see what he hides.

    It was a snowglobe, I didn't know it was called so, until my mother told me. He got used to keeping it in our almirah, alongwith our books and my collection of white crayons. There was a newspaper stating an article about robots serving me an orange juice in 2020. Whenever I used to open that almirah, I used to see that sphere, sitting still, untouched. What was the purpose of a snowglobe if it went untouched? So I'd nudge my brother's elbow and ask him if I could pick it up, he never said no to me. To anything that had to do with me. I picked it up and held it against a light source.

    I met You.

    I've been meaning to let You know, I need You.
    Can it stay between us?

    "You just can't figure out how needy I am"
    - "Then tell me how needy you are"
    "All of you. I need all of you."
    - "Have then. I never stopped."

    There was a woman inside that globe. A woman wearing a green coloured robe, handpainted and polished well at the edges, her hair frozen in time, her smile imperfect, her eyes meeting a man opposite her, holding her ever so tightly, his eyes : black as coal, his hand on her waist and his heart in his chest; there was snow under their feet and it was still, soaking them deep inside, their bones cold and lifeless, they were dancing. Dancing to a song that wasn't playing, dancing in love, her cheeks blushed and his grip tightened. Untouched. His hand "almost" touched her, there was a defective gap between the two, almost as if it was two separate sculptures put together, almost as if it was two people who met by an incident, by an accident. They were so close but not enough, I hoped they would kiss; her with those rosy lips and him with his wholesome smile. I hoped they would merge and come closer, I hoped they would dance again, I hoped they were in love, but they didn't seem to be so. I hoped, they were moulded out of the same clay. Fixed at separate positions, I hoped they could touch each other as I imagined them to, her hand on his face, his breath on her neck and their feet dancing to their heartbeat. Everything was still. And then, I shook the globe, and I could feel the ice settling on their skin, I could feel them moving round and round all over the place, falling in love. The ice rose, or perhaps fell down, filling the air inside with a silvery dew. Yet, they couldn't be close enough.

    So one day, I broke the sphere.
    It shattered on our porch, I told them it fell, no one seemed to mind. It almost seemed as if, the two people inside were scared. Scared of their distance. Scared of never being able to be together. So I wrapped them in one of my chocolate wrappers and kept them in a place I no longer remember.

    'Amateurs. Fresh leaves, delicate to the world, amateurs, but within ourselves we have so much to give.'

    [14/04, 09:24 pm]
    "That's why it's important to me, that's why I'm always scared. Scared of our distance. It was about you being in love with the idea of love, if you are, once again. It was about never losing you. Hoping. When you call me yours. It's about finally belonging. About meaning it. It was about smiling while thinking about you and giving myself an explanation for it. It was about people asking me if I love you when I talk about you and nothing else; my mother asking me if you love me just by how you sang my favourite song and giving a possible explanation to that. It was about deserving you despite the times you try to make me hate you and me putting my hand forward while smiling to ask for your acceptance. It was about being complicated in my life, struggling to shape up my future and not understanding where I'm gonna go with my career but being sure as hell I want you in it. In my future. We're so beautiful to me Why do you think I never called you a friend? Something more than a friend? You became my most. What I wanted was us to be something I could never have with anyone. To be together. To not be alone. To belong. To belong with each other, to each other.

    I'm so desperately, deep in love.

    That's what you were supposed to figure out. Whenever I asked you "Figure it out yourself" that's what you were supposed to figure out. But that was for you to figure out because I didn't want this to happen. I didn't want to be so desperate all alone. I love you still and I've loved you badly. To a point I can't think of loving someone else, because they're not you. I realised that very late."

    [14/04, 11:59 pm]
    - "I can't risk to be vulnerable. But I am being here.
    It's fine to be confused. I'm confused. I often find myself asking what is the future of this all, but then again I text you kya krrhe and it doesn't matter. Cause you eating melons is the thing that matters at that time. And haan I want you abhi , uska kya karu?"

    I broke the globe. But it also broke them apart.

    Sometimes, you meet people.
    Sometimes, you wish to kiss them under a snowglobe. In an almirah, where no one else exists, where your world comes to light when someone tries to shake it. I'm afraid close is the closest you can ever be.

    Sometimes, you meet people as you write, and as they read.

    Everytime you meet someone, you realise, you were not looking for them. And if you were, you do not meet them. Either way, you never plan to fall in love with them. And if you did, you never do.

    Sometimes, you meet people, ordinary people, imperfect people, people who make mistakes, looking for love but not expecting it, looking for you but not planning it, and they'd say; they'd want,
    "Part of me for all of you"

    And then when I was over with my share of mistakes, he said to me, "Part of you for all of me"

    I met You.

    And I've been meaning to let You know, I need You.
    Can it stay between us?

    I'd kiss you thrice in a blue moon.

    -K

    Read More

    i kissed you
    thrice
    in a blue moon

  • crickett 90w

    You came over I got hooked..for some reason went back to our old feelings..wasn't the same I'm the one to blame I treated this like a game. You looked me in my eyes and said nothing but lies. I feel hurt but at same time I'm lost with emotions I'm sorry I'm pouring you don't understand me and if you do can you please answer me?
    ©crickett

  • crickett 90w

    Don't give in to the Hate, most of the time it's not you they hate..it's themselves they Can't appreciate.
    ©crickett

  • crickett 91w

    Dark times made me who I am today, Who I am today will make me a better man than yesterday.

    ©crickett

  • bluebird 107w

    Maybe its not enough. But it's a happy memory.
    Thanks for making me love myself. Thanks for making me love you. Thanks for making me live. Thanks for making it a lovable year.

    Didn't reread, ignore the mistakes.

    #hearMe

    That date I ditched for you.
    The good nights you didn't want to say.

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    Cigarettes in my Shoerack

    Tell me monsieur, did I ever allow you to know, that when I put my hands together, side by side, those outlines unevenly fitting within each other in the softest crevices of that anatomy, perhaps a bit imperfectly than when you hold them; a moon arises as an imperfect crescent, just beneath my fingers?

    Somedays I sit in front of my glass doors; steamed abruptly from the heavy warm breaths I sew over the night, in the morning, now tell me, would you rather call it a breeze? Well I spend my mornings, with crossed legs and messed up hair, sitting on the floor and looking at my crescent, drawing breadsticks and inappropriate objects of interest against the steam with my tiny finger.

    I stand up and scratch my head brutally, tying my split ends into an untidy bun, pulling up my polka dotted pyjamas above my bellybutton, wearing those fluffed up slippers that my mother bought me. I yawn and the steam over your name on the glass door begins to develop, but don't worry, I'm quick enough to draw it over again, within an imperfect 'A' just as I have in the past.

    Shivering frivolously with my hands in the back of my pockets, wearing my woolen purple socks that made it hard to stuff my feet inside my footwear, I make my petit steps towards you, in pure silence to make sure that my tiptoes don't disturb your short hour-ed sleep. You're laying on the bed, your mouth gaping and drooling over the pillow; your hair making an untidy shed over your eyebrows, I slid into your blanket and push you away with my legs to make room for the two of us; it isn't warm inside, you were right, and you murmur "hmm" in comfort, dreaming dreams you never narrate to me. I lay down on the cold sheets and close my eyes, it's always a smile on my face with eyes closed, if you ever noticed, when I feel your arm raised with your eyes closed, perhaps your way of asking me to embrace you.

    Every morning I wish to plant a kiss on your cheek, thinking how you're still asleep, calm and at peace. But I know how you're drastically waiting for me to mention this fact, just so that you can pretend to be asleep and I escape any probability of such an embarrassment. I would blow in your ear to make you wake up, laughing and rushing off to my wardrobe asking you to choose what I should look pretty in for the day. Those bangles, violet; glass shining through the sunlight as I push the curtains back; those bangles you bought me would look beautiful on my hurt wrists, don't you think? That shirt of yours, the one that I stole from your luggage, four buttons open, leaving my bow out for the day, what do you say, does it suit me better? You prop up on your bed and wish me a good morning as I blabber continuously, asking you to tell me that I would rock your shirt with those bangles on this date that I have with this guy who made me smile once.

    Your hands reach out for our dear adopted cactus, perhaps not the prettiest of my greenery, yet it's the most special child of mine out of the bunch. I see how you pick up the pot and kiss over it's rim; smile at it with your closed eyes and I smile at you with mine.

    I head over to the bathroom and pick up my toothbrush, blue in colour for this month, you stand by the door, barefeet; and pretend to cough to make me open up my drawers, with my brush still in my mouth; almost on the verge of choking on the toothpaste, making you select the "black" toothbrush that you want for yourself as I won't let you share mine. Standing in front of the mirror and brushing in sync, I nudge you with my elbow and you push me with yours, I bother you again and you make me fall "almost" until you hold me and we fight with our brushes: black and blue against each other like swords, and you let me win just out of generous pity.

    Taking a bath and you can't wait, can you?
    "I am going for a bath but I miss you already."
    Why do you have to keep knocking against the door?
    And when I'm done, you deliberately take a grip on the door handle and pull it, not allowing me to get out. An hour you take to step out, trying to prove it to me as to how your shorts are longer than your underwear. Why do you have to be this way? Don't you realise how we are yet to make that sandwich? Then I have to teach you it's recipe and then I have to make you eat it and then I have to eat it and then we have to share it and then we have to fight for the last piece. And I know how I said that I hate it when someone touches my lips, but I deliberately eat my sandwich in a way that my lips catch ketchup at the corners and you would remove it from across the table every time. My coffee "moustache" remains on my lips as I begin to tie my shoes and you force me to leave for that so-called 'date' waiting outside. You let me go, without a hug, without a goodbye; instead you list all of those pickup lines you read online and tell me of how I would get rid of you once I get along with a stranger.

    Don't you see it? Why don't you see it?
    Why can't you figure it out?
    Somedays, I wish I could blurt it out.

    "Good evening"
    "What did you do on your date?"
    "What did he say?"
    "Where did you go to?"

    And I return home, wrecked, my sandals in my left hand; I'm leaning on the door and crying, won't you pick me up and take me inside, like you say you wish to?

    We get to the kitchen and make some coffee for ourselves, in our favourite mugs. I ask you to sing me, "sing something for me?" We sit down on the couch and I switch on the tv, you fight for the remote and I kick you off of the sofa; how dare you? Sitting in the two corners behind cushions and within half an hour I'm laying down and my head is in your lap. You're watching 'Marley and Me' as I'm making you emotional by movie suggestions, and I'm flailing my hands in front of your face "Love me!!" I say. And you hit me with a cushion, I hit you back over your head and fall off the perfect position. This is our date, you said, "If he doesn't come, we're having a date".

    We're singing songs on the top of our lungs, our words not matching and I'm lip-syncing Brendon Urie while you're watching me and laughing on the floor with your stupid face. Its night and they say the curtains should be drawn at night else they would look at you with most interest. Our pillow fights and our hurtful fights are both behind the curtains yet I remove them when we dance; it's a slow dance and a bad song and we're melting a piece of chocolate in our mouth, tasting its depth, letting our tongues play with it till it's gone. My eyes are closed and perhaps you're staring at me as I smile because I stare at you all the time. My arms are around your neck and your arms are around me waist, and you still don't know how to dance. I would jump in and bite your hand, "100 bites all over you and then you can eat me" you said, yet that never included me biting you.

    I asked you if I kissed you on your cheek, would you be quick enough to remove the mark I leave? And you said 200 kisses aren't enough so I would tend to carry an extra lipstick for myself. In return I let you draw a moustache on my face; I lay down and you draw the "most beautiful" constellation over me by joining all of my cigarette marks. Your wallpaper was my scars, did I ever let you know how much you've made me love myself? I don't smile without "Smile.Click." anymore and I don't think I'm hot without you letting me know so. 73, over our feet, we tiptoe and jump on our beds till we get tired. We're sitting on the floor by the shoerack and we're breathing so deeply that I can hear your heartbeat. In the corner of the rack I have hidden those cigarettes that I've promised to breathe with you, we cough, two amateurs, pretending to be adults.

    You said you'd sleep on the floor, me sleeping on the bed, I fall off the bed in my sleep and you'd never know if it was deliberate or not, you said you'd hold me; and you do and we chuckle and stare at the false ceiling.

    4 AM and you wake up, my back against your face and you wish to talk, you wish to hear me, you wish to see me smile. Vulnerability you say, sometimes, it's strange how this enclosed world is so lonely that two people are brought closer than ever. 4 AM and you want to wake me up. It just wasn't enough.

    We are laying in silence while I turn over to face you; somewhere we both know how every time we get apart from each other, the closer we get to each other like magnets and their opposite poles. Every time I hurt you I die a bit and every time you hurt me, your hands shiver. Does it matter? Maybe.

    Maybe.

    "What are we doing?"

    The times I threatened you to shave.
    And get a haircut you never got.
    That date I ditched for you.
    The good nights you didn't want to say.
    Wanting you more than needing you.
    Holding on.
    Hold on.
    Vulnerability?
    Being scared of losing you
    Losing you
    Incomplete us
    Needing more and more
    "More of what?"
    "Everything"
    "Like what?"
    "Like you"

    "Hey?" I whisper
    "Yeah?"
    "I love you" I say, for the 46th time today.
    "I love ya, too" you say for the first time, asking me not to tell my friends else they'd laugh at you.

    "What are we doing?"

    This just isn't enough.

    ©bluebird

  • beequinn1221 125w

    Hear me

    Save me ... For lifes never ending disappointments seem to never miss me .... Save me show me more to this tedious life then this. Living life through sorrows and windows someone please save me .... Can you hear me calling or is it all are just ignoring me .

  • sjbcreates 126w

    Unmuted

    perhaps
    through poetry
    you will finally hear
    what i need to say
    unmuted
    ©sjbcreates

  • bluebird 105w

    #hearMe @writersnetwork

    KILLING GOD

    Yellow.

    The evening was about to the brim; the sun hadn't set yet, but you could hear the leaves rustling and whispering lies as you breathed; the sky was the most beautiful topaz; like a broken glass edge laying on the ground, with the sun seeming to contain itself across it's uneven edges. Yellow. Yellow is his favourite colour.

    I had been walking along the path, following the pattern of the tiles, blue red blue red, and then a patch of grass in between. I could see him, a silhouette, on our most disliked bench, as usual, against the non-functional fountain, playing with stones and trying to draw upon the metallic bench with the sharpest edges. His face, still plump, red cheeked and flat nosed, innocent yet dead inside. I stood behind him and his hand moving in utter focus to etch a tree and an apple, about the same size together. I was on my toes, my hands behind my back and I smiled at his tiny curved hands and uncut nails, running across the peeled off paint, chasing cotton shaped trees as if that was all he was ever meant to do. I put my hand forward and gently pushed his un-pampered hair back and he frazzled, leaped back as if something pulled him from inside. He fell to the ground, his only black slipper dismantled from the jerk and his face; dead. His breath, broken. His tree, ruined.

    "Its me, it's me, it's okay Shahid." I rushed over to pick the child up, and he held my hand with hesitation. I led him to the bench and made him sit down, apologising, holding him against my heart, my chin over his head and my hands wrapping him like a creeper, nowhere near his pounding chest, yet being able to hear it, smell it, feel it.

    Fear.

    Within moments I could hear his breaths turn in sync to mine. Then slower. There was silence, except a recurrent sparrow above us and those children fighting over a broken, self improvised swing.

    "I'm sorry, I ruined your drawing."
    And his lips didn't move a bit.
    "Why were you not present at the mosque today?"
    And he didn't seem to respond yet, just kept knotting his fingers in a futile manner. Then he got up and had a grab of his slippers. Quite old they had been, perhaps, smaller than he needed them to be, stitched endless times yet dear to him and I managed to break that again.

    "I'm sorry" was all I could chant.
    "Its okay." He assured me, yet never looked into my eyes.

    It is his way of talking. Little, but relevant. A communication opposite to mine. Without looking me in the eyes, looking down at the ants or perhaps at my socks. He never stomps over those ants, unlike other kids. Sugar, that's what he feeds them. At least he talks to me, and I was grateful.

    And then we sat down. I opened up my share of peanuts that we eat every evening. I ran my hand through the packet and opened my fist to offer him the same. He picked one of the largest, very nicely, saying, "Thank You". His way of battling with the peanut shell was very similar to mine; he'd bite through it to get the nut. His hands were sweaty and red from the dirt. We munched on till the sky was chrome.

    Silence.

    And then he stopped eating at all. Unfortunately, I never noticed.

    "I don't feel good." I heard a whisper, that could've gone unheard. His eyes, still looking down, yet at nothing.
    "What?"
    "I don't feel good."
    "What is it?"
    "I feel dirty inside"
    And that's when I saw a huge drop of water, fall on my lap, slowly, dramatically. Its configuration changed with my heart, deformed, its volume was equal to the pain we both shared, and the way it seeped and leached into my clothes, my skin, my soul; atom by atom, I could feel it. I saw a tear that was so similar to mine that I couldn't tell, if I was crying or if he was.

    I held his face and made him look in my eyes. Those words, those were mine. I knew, and I know what it means to feel dirty inside. To feel like someone entered your body without your permission and decided to stay in it forever. To feel like you're a worthless toy they used and threw away. Like a tissue paper; like an overused apparel. I held his jaw and made him look into my eyes and I saw. I saw his eyes for the first time. Black, dead, wet. Like mine.

    My lips deformed, uttered inaudible emotions,
    "What do you mean?"
    "I need something"
    "What?"
    "To kill me"
    And my grip loosened and he cried. He cried like a baby finding it hard to find breath after birth. He cried and I couldn't find a reason to console him. He cried and he was looking me in my eyes and I regretted making him do that. I regretted making him look me into my eyes, searching for answers, for himself. For a girl I had killed years before. Inside of me.

    "They did things to me."
    And I was silent.
    "Things I can't tell.
    They touched me in wrong places and I bled. And it hurt me a lot, I promise, I'm not lying, I promise. I would accept it was my fault, I'm sorry. I know they said it was normal but it was hurting me, please don't send me back there?"

    And he held my feet and begged me.
    He begged me to help him; and that girl buried inside myself.

    "It is a normal thing when your father touches you that way, okay? He's your father, he can do that. You're his daughter. Alright? It's all okay, maybe it hurts right now but with time it will be alright. Understand?"

    I stood there, in my underwear. In the morning I had been playing kitchen sets and faking being a mother with my huge baby doll. Now I was standing here with my mother talking to me in the corner and hiding my dress. I was the same, the same face, the same eyes, the same body. Just dead. That smile, it died, right there.

    And she ran her hand through my hair and smiled wide at me. My mother. Her cold hand felt more stranger than my father's did, under my skirt. That's when I learnt never to look up. That's when I began looking down, and trust me, no one made me look in their eyes. That's when I died and wanted to say "I need something to kill me" That's when a child felt dirty inside. That's when I began sitting in corners by the window, my dolls and toys lifeless, just staring at a wall. That's when I began eating half the food I ever ate, that's when the teachers at school began asking me if everything was alright. That's when I began dying.

    He had fallen asleep in my lap while crying and I picked him up. I caressed his head and kissed his forehead. His eyes were swollen and I dried those cheeks, still plump. And I placed him in safer hands; his brother's.
    "Thank you." I said to him, clenching his hand. "Thank you for listening to him."
    And he smiled weakly.

    Trust me, I didn't wish to see any part of my past. Yet was it really okay? Was I ever really alright? Was all of it normal? I never got to know. The child in me, I hadn't met her in a long time and this was the right moment. That day, that dress she had to hide, perhaps today I'd understand why it was meant to be hidden. Perhaps it would let me know if his touch was that of a father's. I longed to know.

    I walked over that old grown money plant in our backyard of our old home. Walls decorated with my drawing and pots rotting deep. There was one spot I remember being dug up that evening. It was a yellow sky. And I sat down on my knees, the dirt fertilising my clothes, my bare hands digging up. My eyes kept swelling with tears, blinding my faith. I kept digging till my nails had mud incorporated with them. And I found a piece of cloth.

    A blue coloured dress of a young child. A frock.
    It was crumpled and filthy, wet and almost colorless. There were three huge buttons over it, the fourth of which I had given to my best friend as a reminder of me. Yet a stain, that stain. A stain at the back of the dress. My blood, my rotten blood that wasn't even red anymore. It smelled of death. And my hands dropped it in its hole. I immediately left her hand to make her fall back in her grave.

    And then I saw her, she didn't even cry.
    Then I saw her with blood dripping between her legs and crawling down to her feet, to those socks. And she was looking at me. I regretted making her look into my eyes. My hands were cold, my head hurt mysteriously, my eyes couldn't stop leaking yet. And I screamed, I kept screaming, my blood turning, my hands, muddy, pulling my hair. I barely felt any life inside me. I vomited into that self made plastic pot for the burgundy leaved plants in which I also sowed my first fallen milk teeth.

    All I could do was apologize.

    Fear.

    "And then I felt chills in my bones
    The breath I saw was not my own
    I knew my skin that wrapped my frame
    Wasn't made to play this game
    And then I saw him, torch in hand
    He laid it out, what he had planned
    And then I said I'll take the grave
    Please just send them all my way
    I began to understand why God died"

    Read More

    KILLING GOD

    "And then I felt chills in my bones
    The breath I saw was not my own
    I knew my skin that wrapped my frame
    Wasn't made to play this game
    And then I saw him, torch in hand
    He laid it out, what he had planned
    And then I said I'll take the grave
    Please just send them all my way
    I began to understand why God died"
    -A Car, A Torch, A Death
    Twenty One Pilots

  • ladybug_apocalypse 131w

    #hearme #callingout #askforhelp #mentalillness

    Image credit to Patrick Byron

    Read More

    Hear me

    If only you could hear me,
    I scream but you still don't see.
    I walk invisible in front of you,
    Indisputably see-through.

    Hear me beg for a saviour,
    Someone to operate the defibrillator.
    So they may jumpstart my heart,
    Before I fall apart.

    I'm proclaiming my death sentence,
    But no one notices my presence.
    I'm crying out in agony,
    Please see this casualty.

    If only you would listen
    To my morbid ambition.
    My dream to leave the living,
    I can feel myself slipping.
    ©ladybug_apocalypse

  • crickett 132w

    You said you wouldn't..leave.
    You said you wouldn't..love anyone else.
    You said you wouldn't..fade from my life.
    You said you wouldn't..cry.
    You said you wouldn't..hurt me.
    You said you wouldn't..Delete my number.
    You said you wouldn't..live without me.
    You said you wouldn't..love him.

    You said you wouldn't..and I believed you and you did the opposite.
    ©crickett

  • melodic 132w

    Hear me

    Hear me.
    Please hear me!
    I am reaching out!
    Can't you hear me?

    Can you turn to me and listen?
    Do I need to shout?
    How much more do I need to say?

    Listen to me!

    Before you look at me with your judging eyes.
    Before you condemn me with you harsh words.
    Before make up your mind.
    Before you turn away.
    Please hear me.
    Please listen.

    ©melodic

  • bluebird 103w

    It's been a while I wrote childish.

    "I'm sorry but I promised. You can hate this one. And no matter how much I hate you; I can't survive a day without you. Still have a lot to say."

    That's what I said the last time I posted it and then deleted. Apparently, I didn't know back then that we'd get so far that you'd be asking me for a kiss casually and I'd be willing to kiss ya just like that.

    You guys can be brutal, hence the deletion.
    Was resting in my drafts since beginning of 2019.
    Things changed for the better.

    #hearMe

    All of this love is fake and scripted y'all.

    Read More

    THE SCRIPT

    "We're two halves of a whole idiot."
    "Halves? I'm not sure. You're most of that whole, idiot."

    It's been a while.

    I remember how you were sitting on the fourth; or probably on the third chair at the right side of that urban coffee shop on the opposite flank of the street, hammering your eyes over your beloved date. And I was right here, bulging my eyes out at mine; a sip of the volcanic coffee, and I spit over him in a frenzy as you waved at me.

    Well, perhaps I shouldn't lie. You had an attractive ecology book as your date and I, well, my favourite subject now ruined with my coffee spill; both of us reading those lines which never really make any sense, resting our head in a cusp of warm hands.

    I did signal back at you by whistling intentionally but perhaps I wasn't audible. Yet then, I don't really know how to whistle. Lost a fortunate chance to spend the evening with you. The sky was lilac; and you were sunrise, we had to escape to follow wet roads after I had cried my soul over into vapour, but we couldn't.

    Would you, perhaps, by any chance, like to fall out of line today?

    I've been risking my words today; they're like a whisper yet shoot straight across the borders. Didn't I tell you? I'm barefoot today, I'm wearing my own skin; a bit tanned with dried marks, but you told me once, or twice, or probably 'spent an entire afternoon till it was night' telling me till I started believing it; "You are beautiful."

    I see you, walking your way upto me, still can't decide whether your favourite colour's black, blue or brown, I see your young shoes, seems as if an angelic pupper sniffed it before I smiled at them. I like them, could you lend them to me for a day? Or maybe two? Or if you insist, I'd keep them forever. A bit oversized, but well, at least your opposite coloured socks don't stink.

    I'm standing here by the way, chasing paper, saving up for weeks now, just to get to you. Look me in the eyes will you? Tell me, why do they call me Ramona? Tell me, why do I see you in my dreams, feel your embrace, your beating heart and those eyes, I tell you,

    "I've looked into them for long periods of time."
    You say, "I want to look into your eyes too."

    The sun's getting low, you said you like sunsets; probably you once fell in love with someone in your past, blinking the brightest sunsets. I said, no, I like sunrises better; a couple of months later, asking you to describe me into a colour, I look through you, and you are the colour of the sunrise I was about to miss on your birthday.

    I hold your wrist and you've wrapped that watch your sister gifted you; I place mine right next to you, now it's upto you to decide which one of those watches I'm wearing. I hold your hand and you hold mine; trust me a touch has never felt so familiar as yours has to me.

    "Have you asked anyone to 'stay' before?"
    "No. I'm not that strong to ask for that."

    Look around yourself, yes I know my hair are tangled over; just look beyond my presence; the clouds won't move with you today as you travel in your regular train. The pain won't go away, the pain residing inside me; but then, does it ever?

    I can come to a conclusion, the fact that we have finally met into evening; has stopped time for once. At 6:19. Look at me now, I'm smiling like you're the best thing that ever happened to me; don't cringe your spine looking into my heart; it's a dark place I know, but let's just paint the town tonight? I know I can tell you anything, you won't judge, you're just listening; but tonight, just let me hear you out loud?

    We walk past your wheels, all of that city dust clogged upon them and I remember your promise, "So won't you stay alive, I'll take you on a ride; I will make you believe you are lovely!" You give my elbow a cheers with yours, and I hesitate for a bit, but Lord, don't I open up my hair before escaping into silence with you? I snug in my hands in the pockets of your jacket for I don't possess them; my blood iced up in those vessels, I pass my shivers onto you and you warm my blue heart again.

    I plug in my rustic earphones into your ear and blast a song that makes me dance on tip toe, you seem to lose a bit of your balance and the muddy road meets my burnt kiss. You made us fall over, and I scream like the Gods at you,

    "Go to Hell, Monsieur."
    "You're calling me a monster in French aren't you?"
    "I don't wish to talk to you."
    "Knock knock."
    "Who is it?"
    "Sorry."
    "Sorry who?"
    "I am sorry."
    Well what was I supposed to do? I smiled.

    You excitedly promise me to a surprising site too familiar to you, you say. It's a ruined piece of wall, with a unique intricate graffiti over it, you say; but if I was to review it I would describe it as such a hideous face, perhaps an infant in the face of an adult, horrifying me for nights after nights and whenever I gazed at my mirror. I snitch my nose and look confused at you , you speak while lifting your vehicle from a puddle of last night's rain, "Every time I see this, I think of you."

    I pull you towards the end of the street, let's get drunk shall we? High on a feeling no one ever felt, drinking coffee and discussing of our childhood photos; how chubby I was as a baby and how invisible you were as one.
    Look above yourself, those are the lanterns in the sky, a pale blue sky; as you wish and insist on showing me the travelling blue lights far away; I point out the stationery lanterns up above; bickering over which chocolate tastes better.

    The beggar at the end of the street smokes a cigarette, soon after lighting a fire for himself, little did he know how time would stop and how the fire would still keep on burning. We warm our cold feet against it; you say,

    "Someday, I wish to click you." And I stare into the smouldering wood, which has been the best part of the fire for the both of us.

    "Look at that star. I don't know the name of it."
    "Let's name it then."
    "Lame star."
    "No!"
    "You name it then."
    "Astral."
    "Astral it is."

    I talk of all the things that have crept up inside of me. The street lights seem to shimmer, a dull look of the night. The fire begins to grow and I feel sweat in that hand of mine that holds yours. I disintegrate into my scars and feel weaker than the winter tonight, but don't you think it was you to break our bond; I leave your hand for I know who I am; and I don't wish you'd get further closer to the shadowed parts of me.

    A little corner of my blanket has understood you; a little drop of your blood knows me the most. Yet I have my reasons of separating myself from you; this face, I've seen you in my dreams infinitely, and that one dream I saw before falling into you still scares the part of me that has lost someone loved by my heart and I can't fathom the morning I wake up without any 'Good Morning' wish from your side.

    "I don't want to lose you."
    "You won't lose me that easily."
    "You'd leave me like they did."
    "I'm not them."
    "You'd hate me like he did."
    "I'm not him."

    And I stand up to leave for home. It's almost midnight. It's almost when I lose hope. You hold my hand; my wristmarks are white.

    "Stay."

    I stayed.

    I think I sneaked into a colourful field, it was 2 AM, you were there right by my left. I remember trying to sing in the most hideous undertone, linking as to why you must have thought that graffiti resembled me; you tell me, "You have a beautiful voice." And I don't believe you. I insist you to sing, again and again, and mister, I won't let you go away without a dance. It rains, I dance. You gaze at me to let me know,
    "Dance in the rain more often."

    I blink my eyes at you and speak of leaving again. Hiding myself behind a tree I ask you of all your secrets; your stories, your heart. Never have I ever seen someone as eager as you to see my face. I deny and truly intend to be dishonest to you. I intend to leave your hand again.

    "I'm desperate to hold on to something. You're making me a bit vulnerable."
    "You're making me cry."
    "You're not allowed to cry, not now, not ever."

    And I ask you for answers.

    "I'd be dishonest to say I know where I am or what I'm doing when it comes to you."

    And perhaps, that was enough to know.

    I know how hard it seems to hold on to someone as crooked as me. Vulnerable and weak at times. Yet, you've been the only light to me; and the only person to give me a new life. A reason;

    "Staying would mean you will be my reason."
    "I will be."

    My reason to live.

    Walking up on that lumpy bridge, I fall to stand upright; this pain feeds on my soul inside, and I fall, I just fall away; I can feel the pull begin, feel my conscience wearing thin; and my skin, it will start, to break up and fall apart. But you're there, with the tightest grip on that hand, and you pull me up again; I ask you with wet lashes,
    "Don't ever get any closer to my demons."
    "I'm gonna search. And I'm gonna go wherever that search takes me."

    And it hurts me at times. You, hurt me, saying things I can never forgive you for. But I learnt; it's always brought us closer. Going against, " Every step I take towards you, you take a hundred steps backwards." And how I am equally hurtful shooting straight for your heart.

    It's 9:16.

    It's a sunrise parallel to you.

    Hold my hand. Never leave it again.

    We align our watches together, no words to speak of tonight. But I know it hurts us both to say goodbye. So we never will.

    The time races us.

    Do we stop?

    It's been a while.

    ©bluebird