Mortal Fears.

Venus, you whisper in my ear

and I sit up awake

with banshee screams weaving themselves back into my throat,

screams of No-No-No,

screams of Screw-the-gods

and Let-me-be’s,

screams of Please-let-me-stay

until I see it’s only you.

You try to calm me down

as dawn filters in our open window

but my mortal heart thuds and thuds and thuds

a cacophony of

lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub,

and I stare into your face wondering

how you throw around the cursed names

of these gods with so much ease.

Call me not Venus, nor Aphrodite,

I am not Minerva or Persephone,

neither am I Juno,

I am human, I am mortal so let me be,

let me keep my anonymity

away from the gods and their games,

they will only try to make heroes and legends out of me

and demand sacrifices out of what I don’t want to give,

they will only make chess pieces of my heart and mind-

of my loyalty and love.

Please,

let me stay here

with my arms around your neck in my faceless oblivion

because these gods live a lonesome life

with only frail humans for playtoys

and they take their pleasure in ripping us apart to put us together,

only to rip us apart again,

if only for the sake of having something to do.

Let me stay whole,

let me be mortal here

hidden in a cocooned world that

they do not know of,

because I have known no poison sweeter than my mortality,

and no truth has given me more joy 

than this 

that my tired heart might one day

give up on me.

Let me live to die

without tasting the immortals’ cursed ambrosia

again,

let me bleed red hot blood instead of freezing gold ichor;

I paid a small price for my anonymous mortality,

and I fear someday

the buyer will come knocking at my door

for a return,

before Thanos does.

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Image credits go to rightful owners.

 

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​A Poem For The Boy I’m Not Sure Exists.

I dream of you every night, 

And it’s always the same;

You sneak into my semi conscious brain

With the subtle footsteps 

Of foamy seawaves on a very windy day,

But, that’s okay,

I mean, writing you love letters before I even knew you existed?

I might not know what subtle is, 

But if you open the dictionary to the word that’s the opposite of it, 

You’re gonna find my picture.

See, you visited me one night,

So is it really my fault if I only sleep in hopes that you will maybe once again?

But I only catch glimpses of your shadow here and there,

I chase your footsteps across the ruins of my mind,

And I think I’m only going around forming crop circles in the blue flower fields.

But then, I wake up in the mornings to 4 PM sunbeams, golden and lovely, scattered all over my pillows and on my cheeks,

And really, I think you need to stop playing this hide and seek with me,

Just drop over into my reality the way I drop my pencils all over the place,

And believe me, love, I’ll draw you like it’s the only thing I’ve ever lived for,

Because that’s true, 

And I’ll make you my best masterpiece. 

Just the way you are.

I sleep with the nightlight on these days,

And my father looked at me like he didn’t know who I was anymore the next morning 

After he saw the faint light peek out under my door one night, 

But you change me into someone I never knew I wanted to be,

And I’m here waiting for you with my nightlight on,

In hopes that maybe if you sneak by into my dreams again, 

I’ll wake up with your laughter streaked across my eyelids, 

In hopes that maybe I’ll see it clearer, 

Remember it this time, 

Sew your crescent lips into the dark split seconds of each blink,

Hold it close every time the world goes black.

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Image found on Tumblr.

A Poem In 24 Lines.

1. I used to pray for happiness, now all I wish for is peace.

But my mother never taught me how to pray for something when I can hardly speak, when my words jumble and clash and slice the inside of my throat as I try to get them out – my mother’s god is a god of words and the mute are all damned by default.

2. Heaven’s pearly gates burnt my eyes, so I knocked on the devil’s door instead – it seems to be though, that even he has chosen to abandon me.

3. I would’ve set fire to the doors of both heaven and hell, and laughed with you over the screams of gods and demons, indiscernible across the heat, if you’d have asked me to.

4. But my brand of love always comes too cheap and gets bland after a while, like gum you have chewed for too long, my love leaves an abrupt bitter aftertaste, so of course you left in search of better things.

5. After you left, I spent six months pouring out the mess you left me with into my words. The six months after, I put away my pens and paper in a locked box at the top of my wardrobe, out of reach and hidden like scissors and knives from a child with an affinity for sharp objects and blood, with an affinity for self-destruction.

6. Somewhere along the way, I got used to the holes in my lungs, I learnt to breathe with them.

7. At 17, I read that everything we ever lose comes back to us, one way or another.

8. Everything was fine until you decided to drop into my dreams. I started to wake up with screams of please don’t let me leave stuck in my throat again.

9. In my mother’s world, consciousness is life. When you sleep, you are semi conscious, you are between life and death. Your consciousness is divided into two, and what you see when you dream, is what the half of your consciousness that travels experiences.

10. My mother’s world is the one I grew up with. It is my default world, and when there are holes in the new world that I am trying to create for myself, they are filled by default.

11. I would like it if your consciousness stays to other realms, far, far away from mine. Because –

12. When she broke your heart again and you told her I had been right it did not magically unbreak my heart, stitch my broken skin back along every scar. It did not break and put together perfectly again the last three knuckles of my right hand.

13. Some cold days my hands still bruise again at the knuckles, as if my body remembers how I tore it apart after you left. As if it swears over and over again to never forgive me for it.

14. At 18, I realize that the only truth of my universe is Murphy’s Law – anything and everything that can go wrong does go wrong.

15. I have been cursed for centuries, my atoms cursed from every life they have lived. I am being punished for sins I have not committed, for lives I have not ruined.

16. My soul has collapsed into itself with a pitiful whisper, and my ribs have cracked from the weight that pushes down on me, twisting into my lungs until every breath splutters with blood like old car engines on cold mornings. Your consciousness must stay away from me, you must stay away from me because –

17. Seeing you dug up memories I had buried deep under 6 feet of concrete. But somehow I was the one who ended up buried under years worth of memories, heavier than concrete, heavier than anything could physically, possibly be. I am trying to dig out now, with only my hands for tools. How much more damage will you do before you leave me alone for good?

18. These cursed hands were made to create, I scream at the grey faceless walls that cage me in. They laugh at me instead and watch in silent amusement as I destroy my own hopes for salvation.

19. Everything I have ever started but never finished still stares at me through the incomplete painting still stuck to my bedroom wall with tape.

20. But I don’t know what completion feels like – what it is like to be whole. How can I make something whole when I am not?

21. And yet, if you’d have let me, I would’ve thought you my best project – you would’ve been what I was most proud of.

Complete or not, you could’ve been what I was most proud of.

22. My mother’s god is one worth praying to, but only when you’ve worked as hard as you can, as much as you can, for the fulfillment of your prayer – a god that grants you only the fruit of your labors.

23. Maybe that’s why my words fail me as I try to form a prayer, maybe that is why all my wordless pleas fall on ears that only turn away from me. Maybe, at the end of the day, I have never wanted anything enough to actually get it.

24. So tell me, where do you damn your life and everything in it to, when it’s all already going to hell?


Image taken from Tumblr.

Of Nostalgia And The Night Sky.

Even if everything else falls apart, the moon will still be exceptionally beautiful on dark nights. The stars will still glimmer, teasing you, reminding you of the naive dreams you once had to capture the night sky into a glass jar to keep by your bed side- dreams that you have long since labelled ‘impossible’ and discarded. The night will bring with it nostalgia and memories you cannot escape from, memories of the boy who smelt like lemons and winter, frosty to the touch, or the girl with autumn leaves in her hair whose dark eyes showed you light the sun never could. Try all you might, squeezing your eyes close so tightly you see galaxies on the inside of your lids, but you will not be able to rid your mind of images of the people who gave you their all, putting their hearts in the palms of your hands, only to have you throw them all away ruthlessly. It’ll come back to haunt you now, how you broke them into a million pieces, but you’ll still feel no regret, you’ll feel no pain.
So climb onto the roof with your pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and try to smoke away the emptiness in vain, because the worst is yet to come.

Feelings and Colors: Pt. 1

5 stages of grief.

1. I paint the brightest shade of orange all over my lids with messy strokes and multiple coats to block away the deep purple of loss, but it comes back to haunt me in my sleep every night where there is no orange, but only the deepest, darkest purple.

2. I pour black all over my heart and it burns out the red passion I used to hold, turning it into an anger that is insatiable, an anger that does not lessen. I have broken my mother’s best china and smashed the table that held my snow globes. I have not slept for ages now. My eyes burn as I stare at the blank wall, my soul burns away thread by thread as the black swallows the purple.

3. The black fades to a pale, sickly brown, and I pray to whoever and whatever may listen to rewind time and let me hear you laugh one more time. Please, I say. Please, I scream, and I scream until my voice gives out and the neighbors look through flicking curtains to find the banshee, but all that I hear is the taunting silence of the universe.

4. My heart and fingers turn into a velvety cobalt blue, and it slowly travels until I am blue all over, from the tips of my hair to the nails of my feet, and I play with fire to drive it away, and I play with sharp objects to cut it away, but even the scabs that form are blue, and the scars left behind are blue. I don’t think it will ever go away, I’m a girl of blue ice who can never get to fire in time ever again.

5. My heart is the palest shade of copper now, and I know I’m not the first person the universe has thrown off the edge of the world. I know I will not be the last. Life will forever go on as it always has because we’re just tiny ideas occupying borrowed space in the void of the universe, and that’s exactly how it is supposed to be.


Image taken from here.

I Will Not Apologize.

The sun apologizing for burning too bright,
It has never been heard of;
The moon apologizing for days when it must hide away,
It has never been heard of;
The stars apologizing for their incessant twinkling,
It has never been heard of;
The clouds apologizing for veiling the sky’s blue with their cottony embrace,
It has never been heard of;
The mountains apologizing for marring the earth with their magnificence,
It has never been heard of;
The sea apologizing for churning too chaotically;
It has never been heard of;
Why then, my dear,
Must I apologize
For burning as bright as the sun,
And then hiding away like the moon,
For eyes that twinkle like the stars,
But are veiled the very next moment,
For standing tall and magnificent,
With tornadoes raging inside me,
Why must I apologize for my greatness,
When I was born with universes inside of me,
Bursting to be let out?
And if it is too much for you to take in,
I will not apologize for being who I am,
You can go waste your time away
You can go
Find another puppet.


Image taken from here.

Old Times’ Sake.

If you must act so insolently

Just because my blue skies

Are now grey thunderstorms

You cannot bear the sound of,

Please continue,

Only remember that even today,

If you were to hand me a cup of poison,

I would gladly drink it for old times’ sake.


Painting: “Sophonisba Receiving the Poisoned Cup” by Rembrandt.

Second Loves And What They Feel Like.

Falling in love for the first time is like being an adrenaline junkie and jumping off a cliff, full of naive courage and only thinking of the wind rushing through your hair. But your second love is harder because as you lay there on the sharp rocks, the adrenaline of the flight down wearing off and your body battered, bruised and bleeding, you’ll promise yourself to never go through anything that risky, that damaging ever again, because it’s just not worth it. 

The ecstasy is not worth the pain.

You’ll promise yourself to never let your fragile heart in someone else’s ruthless palms ever again after seeing it smash down onto the rocks and scatter into a million pieces, and as the water will start to rise, tides lapping up the shore, at first the cool water will feel good on your broken body until you’ll realize it’s pulling you out to sea now, and you’ll hold on to whatever rocks you can, cutting your hands and making rivulets of blood flow down your arms, to keep yourself from going into the water because you know you won’t be able to keep afloat, but the water is strong, and you are not, and now you’re in the water with no more energy. You’ll stop fighting, and go under water, but you will not drown. You’ll sink to the bottom of the sea, and sometimes swallow salty sea water that burns down your throat, but you’ll be alive, and you’ll be more alive than you’ll have ever been, sitting on the seabed with the fishes around you, and you’ll realize that maybe you thought yourself stupid for thinking you’d be one of those who found their wings on the way down from the cliff and flew off into glorious sunsets, but you’ll know you were stupid for fighting the water when you’ll find that you can breathe in the sea easier than you did in the purest of air. This is where you were meant to be, and you know now that anything can happen.

You believe again.

This is what your second love is like.


Image taken from here.

Hemophobia

“No matter how much you think you love somebody, you’ll step back when the pool of their blood edges up too close.” ― Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters.

There are times I doubt you love me but even if you do, it doesn’t matter, because I’m a bleeding mess, and no matter how much you try, you’ll never get over your fear of blood. You can try and put up a brave facade all you want my dear, it’s quite endearing to be honest, but you don’t deserve this. You deserve sunshine and flowers, and a girl who smells like strawberries and happiness, not misery and broken pieces. If you have any idea of what’s good for you, you should turn around and leave right now. Because you will someday. Rather sooner than later when it’s easier for both of us, because you will turn away, no matter how vehemently you deny that right now; once my pool of blood starts growing bigger and bigger, you will start stepping back, and you will keep on stepping to avoid the blood, until all my blood will have left the veins it was supposed to flow in, and you will be too far a speck in the distance to see my fall.

A Sky Full Of Stars

In a sky full of stars,

I think I saw you,

But then haven’t I

Been seeing you everywhere?

In strangers on the streets,

And in captivating sunsets,

Never more captivating

Than your sleepy eyes ever were,

And in calming blue waves

Never more soothing than the sound of your voice;

Waves which might rage in turmoil

But will never exceed the ravaging of my heart,

In your absence.

And I saw your outline in the cloudy day sky,

I heard you laughing in my thoughts,

The sound as clear as ever,

And I’ve been seeing you everywhere I see beauty

So why should the clear night sky,

Be an exception to my

Melancholy

Heartbreak?