I took myself to be a warrior with arms of Athena and strength of Mars. I mistook myself as a fighter with an unwavering determination of making it out alive, undefeated. I overestimated my capacity to contain the venoms that seemed mild and subdued. I lost track of not only time, but my sense of direction and purpose. With one severe blow, or maybe a set of blows, I can’t quite say, I found myself in an amorphous state, one with incomplete sentences and ambitions. The perpetual anxiety of purposelessness got to me, got to the insides of my head only to own it. The unnoticed and slithering serpent of self-doubt and self loathe crept up my arm in my sleep to infect my dreams and poisoned the residual bits of passion. Like a blunt dagger that will not kill me even after a hundred strikes but only leave me profusely bleeding, squirming on the floor, the constant sense of failure struck me, became the largest chink in my armour. With growing incidents of cracking up, I fought harder to hold it together, stretched my arms to prevent the pieces from hitting the ground. But they slipped through my fingers and crashed onto the ground, splitting into even smaller bits with irrecoverable damage. I was tempted by the sin of self-criticism whilst I was walking the Eden of glorious achievements and a promising future. In a hilarious turn of events, I became the folly that caused the Black Hole of worthlessness. I sowed the seeds of harsh self-judgment only to find the sky touching tree in my yard the following morning. Its canopy shaded whatever other fruits of self-appreciation survived the long drought of self-criticality, left them foul-smelling and rotten. This venom, it grew within me, it festered on my days of passive self-correction only to take the form of a ghoulish nightmare that surpassed the eerie existence of all the skeletons in my closet. Every time I tried to outrun the ever-growing, ever consuming monster of negativity, it found me. It found me amidst a crowded room of people I loved. It latched onto me while I was building a skyscraper from the mirrors of my aspirations. It pounced on me while I was driving through the alley of confidence. It found me everywhere and every goddamn time. And slowly, it became the baggage that I carried everywhere, it became my shadow. From being just an unnoticeable bit of my shadow, it became the entire form that finds its way at twelve noon on a pavement. It became a choice of tattoo that I knew I would regret in the morning. I mistook it as oxygen and inhaled chunks of “healthy” air, only to fuse sulphur in my veins. I cracked up, you know, I fell apart without even realising when I slipped the ground. I became a version of myself that constantly treads on the ground of uncertainty with an illogical belief that even the light at the end of the tunnel is an illusion. With a sickening belief that there is no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Though, there are days I fight back and I hold onto the warm feeling of optimism. And on days like those you would definitely find me singing the chorus of the hopeful thing we call life, but then there are days like these, when you will find me wallowing in self-pity and constant abhorrence of self. But the trick is, can you identify which day is what? The best part about this feeling is that it lingers, lingers till I am completely absorbed in the silks of bliss and then it takes a fiendish form that insinuates my screams. It’s like an after taste that leaves a burnt relish at the back of my tongue, the taste that even the best of gums wouldn’t take away. It stays with me, it resides within me.
I, for once, want to give you up. Before I go to sleep, I want to believe that I won’t wake up to your calls anymore, and accept that I’m borderline obsessive. I, for once, want to peel off this farce of being in love with the idea of your presence. I am physically exhausted from running after you, calling out your name when the curtains at dark feel like bloodsucking apparitions. I have run out of ways to distract myself from your absence, absence of your pale fingers on the skin of my hands. I have run out of breath from writing words and words about your “mistaken love”. I am sweaty from trying to get back my ‘I’ from our ‘We’. I want to go back to listening to Sam Hunt without your thought crossing my mind. I would happily pass the time I introduced you to his songs, hold them back from getting destroyed. I would happily trade my soul in exchange of skipping that fateful afternoon, when I took you to my favorite coffee place, at the corner of the street. I would do whatever it takes to extract your name from my favorite things, favorite places, favorite pieces of stories, favorite dawns, and even favorite parts of the songs. I can feel my legs go numb from treading on the mine prone field, you call love. I, for once want to stop writing about you, give you up once, and for all. I am an ardent believer of the fact that you never really get over someone, you just replace them, push them under a pile of new heartbreaks. You take a pen and try to write someone else’s name, trying to perfectly align their letters with yours. But I failed, I dropped my pen, and my eyes dropped saline droplets. The temperature dropped to sub-zero, when you finally walked off, I felt the cold freezing the end of my toes. The sky turned to colors of grey I had never known, the clouds scattered to places I had never envisaged. You slammed the door on my face, I didn’t break my nose, but I broke my spirit and my idea of love, and I did leave my shattered self on the threshold of inferno we found in our quest for meadows. I lost my rationale to your eyes, I forgo my sanity to your blue shirt, I drowned my inhibitions to your name, and yet I somehow managed to find my fears smiling right back at me when I let your voice past my ear drums . Your words defeated me, you tricked my guards down, and forced a spear right through the left side of my body, in broad day light. You finally taught me the lethality of almosts, you taught the perils of unfinished sentences to a literature student, outside a language class. You screamed right to my face the consequences of leaving my heart unarmored. You walked into the front door and locked me in, sealed off the windows, and did all of this so seamlessly. Dear another lesson, accept my gracious gratitude for teaching me that wolves will always howl under the full moon, cats will always purr on seeing a bowl of milk, and fickle will always remain assigned to your name.
And, I set myself free from your absence. I finally decided to put an end to my hurting, like a dead star rising from the ashes; I resurrected the old bits of my shattered self. I decided to choke the pores of my bleeding heart with the words you wrote on the tissue, scribbled with my tears and smeared by her favorite hue of red. Left behind every bit of your handwriting at home, the one I wish I could set fire to. Dropped every locket you gave me on the way to my new beginning, and heard them crack wide open. I could see the edges of the gold moon scattered, the round sun broken right in the middle. I drank down your taste with water, not because your existence meant my survival, no, because there’s nothing more ordinary than water that I know of. But I can still smell you; breathe in the perfume you gave me. It stays spilled on the blue dress that I can’t somehow get myself to throw away. How do I run from all of these things when they still enunciate your name? How do I get myself to run from this sky, when it has the stars placed just like they were on your birthday? We were supposed to make a memory out of it, and you took out all the colors and painted me, my worst nightmare. And, there I see you walk out as easily as you walked into my actuality, straightened the creases of my reality, only to rip it all apart once more. It was walking on quicksand with you, hoping to make it a little farther with every step, only to sink deeper. You didn’t need to promise me stars and throw rocks at my trust. You didn’t have to promise me the sun, and push me into an abyss of shadows. How I can turn the page, when I know the next one’s going to be about you too? How I can skip the melody of your being, when I know the next set of beats will spell your name again? I can hear the pitter patter of the rain drops on my window, I can see the drops slowly slipping down my window. They lose their trail as effortlessly as you poofed outta my life. I need to stop this borderline obsession with your absence and try to gather myself. I won’t lie, I have tried my best. Somehow, I can’t pick up my various selves and bind them together like you did. To be quite honest, I can’t do anything well, now that I see your car parked in someone else’s driveway. Forgive me, for I have ranted for hours that turned into days and slowly into months. Forgive me, for I can’t seem to write about anything else but you. Forgive me, for I don’t know what to write about with my reason lost, and my purpose gone. I can’t even remember why I started writing in the first place. I can’t get my mind to make sense and put together words that fit perfectly within a sound sentence. I can’t drive straight, or text without missing a couple of words. Oh no, I have not given myself to drinking, and I’m pretty certain I don’t plan to. It’s just that something doesn’t feel right, now that I don’t have to drive to your house or text you about a trashy day at work. It has dawned upon me that I don’t need these mechanics if I don’t have to get back to you. For the sake of the stars you promised, come back; come back with my sense of direction. Come back and leave at my doorstep, an inspiration for me to become acquaintances with words again.
Hi lovelies, I started experimenting with slam poetry. Since i cant upload a video, I decided to post the write up here. Do tell me what you think of it?
Its quiet, Its without words
I can hear you breathe, I can hear your mind scream
The silent thoughts, the ones long forgotten,
I can feel them gush to your mouth
But they STOP!
They stop before even arousing your tongue
They stop long before they caress your teeth.
My dear, I can hear your silence scream
I can feel it pierce right through my skin
Without the phonetics, I can still feel your words brush against my ears
Your silence right now, in this moment,
weaves the poetry I long to hear.
You are silent, devoid of words
Your silence overpowers my knowledge of words.
Oh love, why do I hear the cacophony of your quiet mouth?
Do not let me sway you to speak,
Do not let me move you to forget the serene.
Let your silence write letters to me,
that your hands couldn’t.
Let your silence pull me closer to your heart,
When your eyes couldn’t.
Love, let this absence of periods and commas and words
not disrupt you from singing to my heart.
Your silence, can blow away blocks of concrete,
and towers of cement
oh how, I’m just a slave to your presence.
Its alright, my lover, if the world around us, the nature robbed you of a palatable voice
For you still sing like Adele to me.
Its okay if your mouth stays away, far far away from the vague words i know
For me, you’re still the best poet i know.
The inflections, the punctuation you add to your silence
gets me weak in my knees again and again.
Smile, my silent beloved, I crave for one more silent dialogue of yours,
For speaking, shouting of words is passé anyway.
Let your silence, your absence of words ,
create a chatter of love in my heart again.
Oh my words and sentences are completed when they are in conjunction with your silence.
This moment of quiet right here, right now
puts my throbbing heart to rest.
This silence, your silence,
soothes the aching nerves beneath my flesh.
I found my great escape in your silence,
I found my haven in your non wordy conversations.
Stay darling, I wish to scream once more.
Hi, I know I’ve been dormant for a longtime and I apologise for being so disconnected. I know I haven’t been accepting any awards lately, so sorry for that too.
Here’s something I wrote recently. I would love feedback from you guys because i am writing after almost six months. I am genuinely looking forward to hearing suggestions or anything you wanna tell me about my writing. Thanks a ton 🙂 STAY BLESSED!
Its midnight and we’re talking about your favourite country. I melt into your brown eyes. The smoke from your cigarette comes close to my nose. I breathe it in, it smells like you. You tell me about your day and how you’re sick of the monotony. Secretly, I wish I am a chaos in your mundane Mondays. The end of your cigarette turns into a shade of orange when you take a drag. The smoke rings encircle my thoughts. It’s your second stick and my 20th time asking you to stop. You laugh it off and pull some corny dialogue, like always. Like always, I smile. Now I see you looking at me. Your lips slide into a soft grin. Between your two fingers, you take that cigarette stick and leave it on the side table. Its dark and we struggle to see each other’s face well. But I have memorised your curves and the crinkle by your eyes. Under the moonlight, though it’s faint, I can see your upper lip shadowed under your moustache. Your moustache, it annoys me sometimes when I can’t taste your lips. I can see the smoke from the cigarette infuse into the air, like a serpent it moves. You ask me what keeps me so silent today. I almost let your words pass, too distracted by your presence. Somewhere in the middle of staring at your face and dissolving into your embrace, I smell the traces of Old Spice. It feels like home. It feels like my terrain. I see you’ve resumed talking about why Mini Cooper is a good choice. I know you can’t stand that car but pretend to love it. I know you remember it being my favourite from a casual conversation. It’s almost 2 and we’ve got work tomorrow. But, this is better than sleep. I can stay up infinite nights to hear you fuss over the broken coffee machine, the absence of good country music and working Saturdays. Suddenly, you decide to tell me that “crisp” is your favourite word. It makes no sense at all. It’s too trivial. But I don’t know why I find it important. At this point, I can’t hear anything at all. I’m too busy looking at your face. It’s one of the prettiest and most welcoming faces I’ve seen after my mothers’. You’re oblivious to my gaze, or are you pretending? I can’t tell. But your mouth shifts into a slight smile once in a while. So, I’ll take this as a cue to your chosen ignorance. I see you yawn, your eyes getting droopy now. Your yawn interrupts your attempt to crack a joke. The punch line gets lost somewhere, mixes with the soft breeze. I still laugh because, well, I know the joke you were about to crack for the seventh time. You finally stop talking and place your head on my shoulder. It’s not heavy, it’s not uncomfortable. Somehow, it feels like a balm to all my pains. I hear you singing the broken lyrics of ‘Say you won’t let go’ and I chime in. its 3 and we’re singing James Arthur like idiots. Oh, it’s so out of tune, but probably my favourite song. You’ve almost dozed off. I can see your face loosen and a calm engulfing you. It’s so quiet and serene. I look at you one last time before looking at the stars. Isn’t this surreal? Aren’t you everything I asked for from a million shooting stars? This is where I belong, this is what I call home.
I think it’s time I address the elephant in the room. I know I wronged you. I completely accept my fault for leaving you without a word. It was irresponsible of me to just hang up on you. I never thought it’ll hurt you so much. From your words and texts, I figured I was just another name in your contact list. I never realized what I meant to you. I failed to get past through your doors. I couldn’t read your mind. But, it’s not entirely my fault. Stop making me the bad guy. Hear me out, please. Two days into us, we realized that we were parallel. Two parallel lines with absolutely no scope for a common ground. We were just two people in love with the idea of each other. It was just a matter of few days before we saw how different we were. How opposite our ideas were. Yes, opposites attract. But we were like oil and water, opposites but not homogeneous. In the end, both of us were just carrying the baggage around. We were a bad idea, a bad combination. Cold ice in winters, a hot chocolate in summer, grains of salt on a wound. We, we surely were in love. In love with each other’s idea. Amidst trying to make it work, I bumped into her in the college library. We instantly clicked. For the first time, I loved the person, inside and out. She picked up the same books and danced to the same tunes. It was beautiful to see her complete my sentences. I did love you, but we were never on the same page. Well, she spun me around and showed me things I didn’t know existed. We started finishing each other’s thoughts. It felt brilliant to have someone have the same mind as yours. Every time I saw her laugh, I couldn’t breathe. The moment I saw her between the racks amidst the dusty old books, I felt new. She’s spring to the autumn of my heart. She’s sun to my winter mornings. I am sorry if I couldn’t keep my promise. I apologize for leaving you for her. But we just clicked. We fit perfectly, like the silver band in her ring finger. I fell in love with a person this time, not their idea. You’re a great person; I really admire the bits you showed to me. And, I wish nothing but the best for you. Just stop antagonizing me. I fell out of love and fell in love again with someone else. Free me of this guilt, won’t you? Please don’t add sour to our relationship dynamics. Walk down your own path and I promise I won’t stray from mine. But for heaven’s sake, stop blaming me for everything. My head hurts to hear nasty remarks from your friends. The subtle wordy missiles of yours hit me where it hurts. The boulders of your letters and messages hit me straight in the guts. I anyway meant nothing to you in the first place. So, why all of this fuss? We had a great chemistry; don’t make it into the dark ages. We can smile at each other and walk past. But, please don’t make us awkward strangers. I apologize for when I left you. I regret taking a step back when you walked two ahead. But take away the guilt from my shoulders. Let’s split it, for old times sake. Just this time, after the bill is paid, we’ll go back to our own places. I hope you find your click too. I hope you hear what my words are trying to scream out loud.
With nothing but good wishes
You don’t need a big, beefy senior to bully you. We don’t need the backdrop of a shady parking lot for the bullies to snatch away your lunch. It’s funny how the most scarring incident in my life was drew by those I looked up to. As a 16-year-old, you’re still living in a fool’s paradise. A little away from the reality. Or was it just me? Anyway, these 15 minutes, more or less, carved the person I am right now. For better or worse, I don’t know. I grew up believing that times have changed. Believing, that the Gen X truly believes in scratching the surface. Oh how naïve of me. I had never noticed how bushy someone’s eyebrows were or how freckled their cheeks were. I thought the grounds for trying people were dependent on what was hidden behind their face. But you see, I have a poor sense of judgment. So, I learnt this fact the hard way, real hard. I was bullied and I was defenseless.
I am hairier than usual girls. A light skin color and a dark hair growth is a bad combination, really painful too. Growing up I knew, my long sideburns sometimes became an added adjective to my description. But it was okay, no one said it to my face and I had other things to worry about. Just one casual April morning, I was finally made aware that these long sideburns make me different. It so happened that I was in the senior block. It so happened that I was standing in front of a group that was liked by almost everyone. Amidst the clattering voices and hurtful glances, my mind finally grasped the reason behind the giggles that were directed towards my face. It was just a matter of few seconds that their cutting comments fell on my ears. It was obvious, a little hair on my face bothered them. It felt like someone wrote my weakness and kept shoving it in my face. After around 15 minutes of all sorts of comments, one of them came close to my face. I could feel his eyes studying my face and his mouth opening in a disgusting grin. Slowly, the entire class was looking at me and laughing and shouting words that made my heart bleed. I was numb. I was speechless. It felt like someone sucked all the oxygen from my lungs. For the first time, I could feel the atmospheric pressure. My stimulus ceased to supply tears to my eyes, even though, I had lumps in my throat. It felt like someone stabbed me, then sealed the wound and again stabbed me in that very spot, and kept doing that over and over again. For the first time, I realized how destructive words can be. The next thing I remember were the washroom walls. Probably I walked off from that classroom and headed straight to the washroom. Somehow, my reflection on the mirror pushed me over the edge and that’s exactly when my lips tasted the saline water. I don’t remember sobbing that much ever in my life. I remember keeping quiet for the rest of the day, very unusual of me. I was bullied in the daylight by 40 people who didn’t even know me. I was bullied because I didn’t match the societal standards of beauty. I was made to cry because they thought I wasn’t pretty. I was made to feel bad about myself for two years because some seniors were bored, and apparently I was their mode of entertainment. This one, did have a lasting impact on what I am. I stopped tying my hair in a ponytail, left them hanging down to hide the sideburns. I spent my entire time looking up all sorts of remedies for it. I stopped accepting compliments, started feeling insignificant. Every time someone told me I looked good, I thought they were mocking me. Just 15 minutes were enough to rob me of my personality. Just few minutes were enough to make me an insecure, vulnerable mess.
Eventually, I started joking about this. I resorted to self-depreciative sense of humor. My defense mechanism was ‘mock yourself before they point it out’. My mind forgot how to embrace compliments and it sucked. It sucked for me to look at the mirror. It sucked for me to go out. Slowly, I shriveled up and forgot the most basic fundamental. It took me time to accept that I wasn’t a bad person. It took me few months to realize that I could still make heads turn by my skills. Those individuals didn’t know me. They didn’t have the slightest idea of what made me, but even then they decided to break me. Probably, it was meant to be funny, and it was just supposed to be forgotten. But I just couldn’t get it out of my head. I still remember it as vivid as a spring afternoon. I am still on the odyssey of accepting myself. It’ll take time to shed off the dead skin. But it’s so sad, how they mocked someone about a thing that was so natural. As months passed, I decided to keep my sideburns. I decided against laser or anything that’ll completely remove it. Occasionally I lighten it a bit, but they still peek from behind my hair. I am just trying to make peace with it. I never got how people wrote poetry on girls tucking their hair behind the ears, because when I did that, I was left scarred. This incident defined hypocrisy for me. Told me how we don’t always mean the words that shoot out from our mouths.
And, this is how from being a confident, self-loving and complete person, I became a self-doubting, self-mocking individual in just 15 minutes. This is how I found out how corrosive words can be. This is when I realized, you’ll be judged on the basis of your face no matter how sapiosexual an individual is. We prefer book covers over the words, don’t we?
Well, this is how I was bullied.