In the chills of those sprinklers
These shivering hands are bleeding.
Bleeding the ink on the bright glamour of whiteness,
And roughness yet serene looks of this inked morn
I cannot but just able to break these concrete wall
A thousand ton probably,
I'm underneath this hard-core stuff!
Gulped the last weed of splashed pity,
Can't hark anymore.
Kill your bloody core!
I don't really see any empathy or comprehensiveness
In the pale skin of yours!
Hey, ever you see through those reflectors!
Well, I do.
Thanks for your ass to be concerned.
The waves of those blurred mists
Are just calling for rhyming
But I told that I'm just a poor one
I can't really write poetic stuff,
Though I love to call it poetry in motion,
Oh! This gush, is what I'm scribbling
And not really always the sweet winds.
Those light steams just caressed,
Tried to cool me down, calm me,
Clasping my lids and just trying to listen
What it has to say to me,
I'm finding my solace,
In the purest rides of clouds.
Switching off the whirlpools,
These threads of air, resting me
Making me dip inside the slumbers of peace.
The waves of those blurred mists,
Are now what I'm dreaming.
Awake I'm scribbling.
And @err1585 at Mirakee.
I’m nervous so…
Sorry if I’m quiet.
Excuse me if I stutter.
Forgive me if my voice shakes.
Its just that,
I’ve never really been heard.
Never truly been seen… Like this.
I’ve been conditioned to be silent, soft,
Lest I take up to much space.
Cross your legs, uncross your arms
I was taught my worth is as a sexy specimen on the street,
A charming housewife in the church,
A mindless medal for the man.
I was taught the only way to be beautiful is to be small,
Starving myself of food just as I was starving for the attention
Of boys who were already taught to be big
Already taught to be strong
Already taught that any big and strong girl must be wrong.
Boys who took the lead are go getters, while girls who did the same are just bossy.
And in my dance class I was the fat girl, the one who couldn’t move like the others because chubby can't be graceful,
But maybe I just took up too much attention because my movements were so damn big!
In classes raising my hand too much would make me a know-it-all a teachers-pet a goody-two shoes and now I think again that maybe my brain was just too damn big.
In middle school my modest friend was called a slut because her breasts were too damn big!
A plus size model gains a plus when her body is deemed too damn big
And I cry at least twice a day and no not because I’m on my period but because my emotions are too damn big.
And excuse now I’m shouting but its just sometimes my voice can get so damn big.
We are taught to be small.
Taught to squeeze into size zeros as if we are nothing at all.
Taught to force our big hearts big minds big souls into the molds of what a woman should be.
So if my voice shakes know that it is under this weight, like tired biceps at the end of ten thousand rep ten thousand pound set.
I’m sick of being sorry when I can't fit into what you think I should be.
And women are done being pretty paperweights for the patriarchy.
when you go through something trying all the good guys and do-gooders flock to you. they wring metaphorical hands and ask if there's anything they can do, like some baked ziti or wadded handkerchief will caulk your cracks.
then an acceptable timetable for healing goes by and they lay pity eyes on you give you that how're you doing honey smile, but their baked ziti didn't serve as the salve they'd hoped and you're crumbling fast and maybe that pity smile is your solution so you tell them.
you tell them how many times you count the cracks in your ceiling before falling asleep (27) you tell them how many glasses of wine it takes to feel decent again (at least 4) you tell them how many hours it's been since you last ate (56)
and they wish you ate the fucking ziti and blew your nose in damp handkerchiefs because an acceptable amount of time has passed and you should be healed by now, but what they don't know is your timetable is inverted and you work in wrong-way highways. they don't know that time is scar tissue much more delicate than the lock-box you've put him and all the things he did in, and each second chips away at that box and the essence of him is seeping out like acid that melts through all your barriers.
the good guys and do-gooders don't want to open your broken-heart bank and let all the bees out. they want you to eat the ziti and say thank you like it actually fixed something.
and it took me some time
to realize that i was dating
not a man
that i wasn't looking
for a boyfriend
i was looking for a dad
hold on a second
its not what it seems
theres no oedipus complex
this isn't incest-y
this is a girl
who can never love a man
this is a girl
who never had a dad
this is a girl
that wants love-
the pure kind-
the lets go for icecream at 3am
lets go to the park
lets name all the animals at the zoo
this is the girl looking for protection
by sticking her head in the cage
her safety net
is a beard and colored eyes
and it took her time to realize
that every boy that smiles at you
doesn't mean well
and when they say they love you
don't think they will hesitate before they leave you
because they won't
be fooled by their smiling eyes
girl you need to realize
your father loved you
and he meant well
he left and these boys no they don't love you the way he did
they won't save you from the demons in your head
lie still and know
that "boy" isn't a safe word
and "man" doesn't mean love
and that the bridge between those who stay
and those who leave
is jammed with those
who said they'd be
stop looking for a man.
stop looking for a dad.
please dont ask me if i miss it when you know that i do,
please dont ask me how it felt to sit in the passenger seat of your car every day for four months straight.
because i will tell you.
how it felt like yellow lights in a dimly lit café on monday nights,
like dirty snow underneath your tires,
like a resurrection of fresh air after feeling trapped since september.
every now and then i come back to this.
now that it's february and i cant remember what your house smelt like.
i often wonder what your parents think happened to me. and your sister.
i've started to wonder if i would have gone to her wedding with you.
i hope she's happy, and i hope you are too.
don't get me wrong, i needed you to leave i know i did.
sometimes it doesn't feel like you did much for me although i know you did.
sometimes it doesn't feel like you were ever part of me although i know you were.
now that it's the end of february the weather has started to become lighter and i keep finding myself rolling the window down, making the music louder and wanting to sing, wanting to smile, wanting to feel what it's like to be euphoric again and i just, can't.
not right now.
i don't know if a year later can be considered "too soon" but i do know
that i hate you, and the way you made the snow feel like you so now i dont even feel at home when i look out my bedroom window.
i hate you, and the way you made the car feel like our safe space so now i don't feel safe when i'm driving with my mother.
i hate you, and the way you made me think that you would stay,
the way you made me feel like you were going to be a part of my family
the way you threw me away as if it was easy for you.
i hate you for everything that reminds me of you like guitars and troye sivan and sleepovers and driving down the fucking highway and being someone that cares about you so much i'd miss saying goodbye to my dad to spend another night with you.
ask me if i miss it
when you think you know that i do.
because i don't miss any of it.
I've had bad days for as long as I can remember,
Anxiety, loneliness and depression swirling in my head.
(You might think loneliness and depression are the same but that's not true, loneliness is just a SYMPTOM of depression)
I used to have good days,
Where it didn't hurt as much,
But these bad days come back,
And the came,
And they stayed,
For weeks at a time,
Anxiety had me mumbling,
(The actual act of being 'fine' is something I've never had the privilege of experiencing)
I got so many bad days,
(Along with my mother)
Tried to convince me they weren't,
I'm depressed, turned into:
And, I'm alone,
Call your friends!
I don't think you understand...
That this plan,
Of telling me my feelings aren't real,
Or that I shouldn't feel what I feel when I'm feeling it.
Isn't helping me,
Or saving me.
Because I remember being 12,
In an emergency room,
With death on my mind,
And burns on my wrist,
I couldn't be admitted to a mental ward,
Because they only accept 13 year olds,
That, the qualifications,
That I wanted to die,
But You were,
Just to young,
To be feeling,
What you were feeling,
When you were feeling it.
Be feeling what your feeling,
When your feeling it.
Getting left behind
Not being loved
No one understanding
No one caring
I had a dream
I was lost
No one tried to
No one cared
No one listened
Feeling left out
Feeling like no one
Feeling like no one
can hear me
When I'm screaming
to be heard
Wishing I could change
Wishing I could make it
Wishing for another chance
Wishing for someone who
will come and save me
not being heard
being left behind
not being understood
no one caring.
how can I
Show people what
It's like to
Behind my back,
so I can't see
them. It hurts.
I hide this
in my heart
No one sees
Pretending to be
Trying so hard
to fit in
to cover the
to be liked
Hoping no one
After my dream
What am I leaving..
When I leave here?
I've caused the hurt
people hear me
all the pain, and hurt
I learned to hide
buried deep in
my heart. No way
Do you remember
The way her long hair fell,
And shone in the light?
Do you remember
Coming home and seeing her work,
The room filled with colored squares,
As she painted from old pots and jars?
Do you remember
The way she looked at you,
As if you were her entire world?
I remember it all.
I remember the screaming,
And the feeling that they may last forever.
I remember the pleading,
Begging her to stay,
As she fled your apartment,
Her items like a stampede,
making their way out the door.
I remember the first night alone,
The smashed picture frames,
Her face now a stranger,
Lying in the shards.
Love hard, my friends. Love noticeably.
Love does not deserve to be shoved under the rug, to be disguised, or to be quieted. Love does not mean conforming to the idea that genuine affection is “sappy,” “cheesy,” or “cringeworthy”; instead-- love loudly.
The world wants to tell you that relationships are to be silenced. That posting multiple photographs of each other is tacky, uncomfortable, and something to make fun of. That devoting time with your favorite human being is disgusting, overbearing-- especially when you are young and the future does not exist in your hands.
Too bad, future. And how unfortunate, world. Because at the end of the day, the world does not own love. You do. It is yours to have, to keep, to share, and to do whatever it takes to hold onto it. It is mine.
When you find love, shout it from the rooftops and frame a million photographs. Post selfies of the two of you smiling wide and unwavering. Wear its colors on your face and shamelessly declare it to the whole universe and beyond: You are in love. You are alive.
And likewise, this is my philosophy: Love intentionally, fiercely, tirelessly.
Love so hard it makes people dizzy. Take it as a compliment. In an exhausted world that spins with violence, hatred, and monstrosity-- praise its joys. Snap those pictures.Tell your friends. Scrapbook it, publish it, make art out of it. Laugh about it, display it, live it. Put an end to the grotesque concept that something so beautiful, perhaps life’s most magnificent, should be sheltered. Let it grow.
This is a declaration. I am boisterously in love. There is no quiet here.
One day, you will find someone or something that your heart will never be able to shut up about. And that’s okay. Let it scream.