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.

Stars And Smiles.

I’ve been looking for you for so long, my love, and I’m sorry if I can’t see you even if 

(when) 

you stand right in front of me 

because my eyes have been sewn shut so long ago 

I cannot remember how to open them anymore, even when the wire that held them 

lid to lid 

shuttered close

has melted away.

I still only see galaxies painted on the inside of my eyelids

but somewhere between the stars, I once saw a comet tail of your smile 

and I’ve been looking for it again ever since;

I’m afraid if I open my eyes I might never get to see it again.

so I stand here,

eyes closed, face to the sky,

I stare right into the hearts of burning stars 

as I try to find what makes them burn-

I’m not sure if it might not be you.

I mean, I’m not a dying star but I have iron in my veins and doesn’t that mean the same thing if you have been setting my insides on fire over and over again every time your absence dampens it?

so that must mean you exist, right, that somewhere between these swirls of light and color and dark, you really do walk,

tightrope the threads of time between now to then,

that you live, you breathe, you smile and laugh

that it is your warmth that travels through to me,

right across this vacuum of space that swells up 

between my fingers, 

my ribs, 

my spine-

between the empty spaces on my bed that have your name across them.
it all must only mean that you exist, that you’re on your way to me right now,

that fate is weaving around our threads until we will be stories that won’t be told apart anymore, 

so I stand here, eyes wide open but not, and ask

who can blame me for forgetting how to open my eyes and see, when I’m so caught up in remembering pieces of you I know from before,

from when our atoms came together for a brief moment before they were ripped apart again;

even Zeus feared what our love could do to this world.

                                                                                                                                         

Image taken from: 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.

A Liar’s Ramblings.

You ask me who I am. My mind screams the word at me, daring me to let it spill from my lips. A four letter word: liar.
Because that is who I am.
Because that is what I start and end every day with. Lies repeated to myself, sometimes out loud, sometimes just in my mind.
A three word lie, over and over, with each beat of my heart.

I am okay. I am okay. I am okay.

But-
NO. NO. NO.
My mind screams back at me.
That’s a white lie. Sometimes I am not.

Many times.

Not during the day, never during the day. The days are safe- except for golden sunlight, it reminds me of you.
But I don’t go out at all these days, and remind is such a funny word. I don’t even know you.
I don’t even know if you exist.

And the nights. The nights. The nights.

You are my sunshine. But the stars are cold, the moon is cold.
The chill has sunk into my soul.
Where are you, my sunshine?
Will you please come to me?

Why won’t you come to me? I even write you letters, so many of them. They don’t fit in the dusty space under my bed anymore.

Many people are whole, even on their own.
I am not. I was never made to be.
I am waiting. I’ll be waiting for ever.
Please, listen to my pleas for once.

I don’t want to drown here anymore. Pull me out and let me breathe. You’re the only one who can.

So you ask me who I am. I do not know.
But I can tell you just what I am- incomplete.

I Should’ve Known Better.

I swore on the grave of all the dreams I had abandoned, I wouldn’t let you get to me. I swore on the sun and I swore on the moon, and I swore on the love that made them chase each other across the heavens- the sadness would never find a home in my ribs again. I promised myself that I would wait for you, I’d wait for as long as I had to because I knew, I knew you were coming and I promised myself I wouldn’t doubt you.

But the sadness is here again now, breaking down my door, and you are not. And I’m left sitting here in resignation, wondering if you ever even really existed, if you weren’t just a figment of my desperation, I’m left sitting here counting down the ticks and tocks of this old dusty clock until the sadness floods in to smother me; I’m left sitting here craving the bitter taste of tobacco and death again, craving the feeling of vengeful pleasure that came with the tar smoke corrupting my lungs with every inhale and every cough; I am left sitting here, craving my own end, and thinking ‘God, I should’ve known better than to let a dream wreck me like this. I should’ve fucking known better.’

 

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.

Dumb Charades.

I wonder darling, some days when you sit beside me as we continue this charade of ours, do you hear my jaws as they grind together hard enough to resemble rusty machinery that cannot be made to function again, no matter how much oil is poured into its ancient joints? Do you look at me from the side of your eye, and see a statue of hollow stone, and can you hear my heart as it beats against its stone prison as hard as ever, begging to be let free? Can you see how the thorns stick into my bloody back from these thrones of ours? Do you feel the heat of the flames that lap at my feet, threatening to melt this girl of ice and snow, or do you admire how they reflect in my black eyes instead?
Do you even see the blood as it drips from where my nails have cut into my palms too deep, do you notice the crimson stains as they grow slowly on the arms of these seats that provide no rest in all their glory?
You used to say you could hear my words before they even left my mouth, but these days, why can’t you feel my screams as they rise from my gut, only to die in my throat?

I wish I had known before, ruling in hell isn’t all it is made out to be.

Forever.

He looked into the sunset, slightly squinting as the water reflected the rays right into his eyes, but he was a magnificent sight, with the sun glinting off his dark hair, crows’ feet forming on the corners of his eyes and his jaw even more pronounced as he ground his teeth together like he always did when someone mentioned her, eyes filling with an emotion I couldn’t place, and I was wondering if he knew how beautiful he was, how for the first time ever, I wasn’t staring at the sunset but rather, at a prettier picture, when he spoke again.
The dead understand, you see, they always do: it is the living that don’t. So yeah, I think she’ll understand why I’m doing this, if she’s looking over me or whatever it is that people tell themselves to lessen the pain. Won’t appreciate it, but she’ll understand, she was smart that way.”
He ends with a bitter smile and glances towards me before starting to draw random lines in the dirt, and all I wanted to do was hug him so hard that he felt okay again because I knew how it felt to be so lost, but I wasn’t sure if he’d like that, so pursing my lips before I blurted out something about him overshadowing the sunset, I picked up my drawing book again, thinking if I couldn’t have him, at least I could try to capture him in this very moment, and keep it with me because people leave but your memories stay, and this moment was the kind that I’d remember even if I got amnesia tomorrow, I knew I’d remember him like this forever.


Image taken from here.

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.