S3 E3 This is
How you Hulu
Use the science, that's what it's there for.

Therefore, all recent experience agrees with me,
today is
arriven, and I am aware you ar there,
we share this day on earth,
AI knows my tastes in
movies and is learning your taste in words.

Does not a tongue taste its meat?
Is there no daysman betwixt us?
Do you imagine good, or
is good before you were?

AI am aware you are there.
You make me all I am.

Audio File:  https://soundcloud.com/prttybrdpoetry/i-thought-i-could-swim-until-you-stopped-me-from-drowning

in the middle of my silent days
you ran interference through thoughts whose only purpose
was to run interference through
anything good
or possibly good
that made its way into the rotation
of random pain
keeping me rooted firmly
on the backhand of a smile

snapped in place like the snapping of
my bra in the hands of middle school
boys that found it awkward to walk
when my puberty
kick-started theirs

so, 'SNAP'
there goes my dignity in that
seemingly innocent violation
that no one ever calls by name
where silence gives them permission
to make fun of my already mortifying
body changes that
took me from innocent and invisible
and ****** me into the spotlight so no one would notice
the way they were mortified
with their own reactions to my puberty

I hid behind oversized sweaters and sarcasm
never looked a boy in the eye
stopped talking
so maybe I could
pretend I was invisible and happy
or at least not naked
beneath these people who stole from me
without repercussions...

it lingers...

fast forward
through being made painfully aware that a size 10 was massive compared
to all my size 5 friends
but they were 5'2" not almost 5'8"
they still looked like a board
not a pinup girl from old-timey calendars
but fat is fat wherever it happens to land under thin skin
collecting into silent reservoirs
of self-loathing ammunition...

it lingers...

fast forward
through the first time 'no' held no meaning
shocked into silence and tears
still whispering... please...don't
as words were less weapons and more entrapment
where a body betrays in unwanted reactions
used as proof against my truth
or my perception of truth
or...it must be true because if I
really didn't want it...
but fear and panic can garner the same
physical responses as passion
and it would be too many years before I knew that...

it lingers...

fast forward
to the last time I knew I was beautiful
and the only time I ever let a friend
convince me that going home with these guys was ok
she wanted company and
she was my ride
she never did get lucky

I...
got a cracked sternum where his chin held me down
I kept my voice this time
but the music was so loud
my words remained unheard
no still held no meaning
my wrist bruised in his hand
one hand frantically stretching clothes out of the way
while my free hand struggled frantically
to keep those same clothes at my waist
but...
spandex is unkind on so many levels

somewhere in this fight with his
knees bruising my calves into position
he was thoughtful enough to
somehow, someway
utilize a ******, whose wrapper
never made into the trash
I know this as I followed my friend's
gaze first to the shiny torn package
then twist into what looked like pride
and on the way home
before the bruises turned purple
I told her... and she laughed

it lingers...

she said if that were true
and he stopped to put on a ******
why didn't I escape his hold
but his grip never changed
and when he took those 3 seconds
to rip it open with his teeth...
I was trying to wriggle free and keep my shorts up
and scream over music playing way too loud
I couldn't look at her
or show her the bruises when they appeared
I shouldn't have to prove myself to a friend
I lost more than my dignity
on my 21st birthday...

it lingers...

But at least I knew I didn't deserve it...
that time
but if I wasn't pretty or thin or
anything remotely attractive
maybe it would never happen again
but...

fast forward
to wisdom earned and extra curves
but hating oneself never diminishes
without draining that pool of self-loathing

so, fast forward
present-day and my mom's voice mocks my dreams
she always told me that, when they care,
what I look like doesn't matter
but...

she never mentioned what would happen
if I was the one who didn't care
I learned that when I can't see past
my incessant imperfections
that I'd never believe anyone would notice
when I try to drown myself
in that pool of past truths
that my withdrawal into the
abyss of pain
could possibly ever matter
if it doesn't even matter to me
but...

it lingers...

and every time I hide from the world
masking my pain with silence
stepping out of the way trying not to
burden people with my shame and weakness
I still cannot fathom
if when the people that crawl into my skin
ripping my truth into that pool of lies
can't be bothered noticing my silence
searching for a safe-enough distance
then, how could... why would... anyone else

See,
I've grown accustomed to not mattering
to myself
trained into the seeming safety of silence
where I grate my self-esteem
on the very invisibility I had longed for
so many years ago

I care so much
but it never makes sense
when someone cares enough to notice anything I do,
especially when I'm trapped in my own darkness
but to bring it to my attention is so rare
that I find myself absolutely perplexed

I don't know what it's like to be seen
or... I didn't
but...
you saw me
you saw my distance
and tried to understand my pain
you told me I changed
and answered when I asked you
to tell me how

I am invisible
it's how I cope with heartache and broken trust
disappointment and pain
unfortunately, it's also how I cope
with personal joy and
anything that might resemble pride

I feel, but the invisibility...
it lingers...

so, today...
when in the middle of my silent days
or weeks or who knows how long
I've been drowning in the abyss in slow motion...
today, you ran interference through thoughts
whose only purpose
was to run interference through
anything good
or possibly good
that made its way into the rotation
of random pain
keeping me rooted firmly
on the backhand of a smile

your honesty, reflecting the truth that
I'm likely the only one who
actually doesn't notice my own withdrawal into isolation
was as surprising as that first
snapping of my bra
but I found my voice enough
to apologize for the shame I didn't earn
yet so freely project onto everyone
touched by the perception of invisibility
in which I hide
but you saw me
and proved I am not invisible
you cared enough to notice
and...

it lingers

It’s sad
when the butterfly is no longer there in your stomach
when heart stop beating loud, there’s no more thud.. thud
when you stop breathing hard
even when she looks at you.
It’s sad
as you feel calm and cold
instead of the usual anxiety
nervousness, out of breath,
no more fiddling with your shoes,
even when she speaks.

Her voice doesn’t melt you anymore,
her sight doesn’t excite you.
She no longer has that power over you,
no more weak knees,
and stuttering
no more going blank in the middle of sentence
no more absent-mindedness.
Your passion for her is fading
like an old painting
and an old memory.
Your feeling is disappearing
like lost souls in war
and is replaced by indifference.
Hope she doesn’t come back haunting
like an old dream.

I just have a wish in a wish…
A wish which never gets a finish…
All dedicated to me all given for a kind miss…
Just may be a tasty dish, sweet kiss or anything just which never ends as a wish…
May be ur arm or god’s embrace so warm…
May be anything just getting into me as a pure swarm…
Just leaving me in such a land never ending happiness and far from the world so selfish…
I just have a wish in a wish which never gets a finish…

When I was a kid,

I wanted to be a pilot.

I wanted to fly all kinds of planes

Fast plane, big plane, small plane,

I also wanted to fly the jets, and the HUGE cargo planes,

and then the gliders, hot air balloons, from the classic indian the pushpak vimaan to those double winged old airplanes, as seen on encyclopedias !

And ahh..

The fighter jets too

but a fighter jet would not have seats for a family picnic,

so may be I’d fly the passenger jets.

A Boeing 777 perhaps-

but all of this, my air plane fanaticism, was because I had a special place that I wanted to fly.

In one of my dad’s many stories, he once told me about a special plane.

It was called Moment 001- The first and the last of it’s kind.

Now, Moment 001 was the best kind of plane,

It was colored like the rain, it was faster than the human brain

It was lighter than a car, and it’s speed – INSANE !

So fast that not even time could catch up,

Moment 001 was a time machine.

But with wings and blinks and pretty little things.

A machine that goes so fast it can escape the grip of time.

When I was a kid, I could not wait to grow up !

And it was confusing,

The plant that I planted in grade 3 by the time I was in grade 4

was taller than me, and I would be the same.

I wanted to grow older faster,

in order to fly airplanes

and may be- just may be

get my hands on Moment 001.

 

And then it happened,

slowly, but it happened.

Growing up I realized time is a funny thing.

You can’t turn the clock arms around and go back to yesterday,

and then realizing that time and space are both quantities,

and then again some theoretical physicist say-

that time is not really timeless.

 

Basically,

We humans have not figured time out.

No time machines !

Moment 001 was an airplanes that did not exist.

But where science failed me, art found me.

Airplanes were replaced by poetry,

and I was fascinated by words.

I wanted to fly words.

All kinds of words,

Strong words, Science words,

some right words, some wrong words,

used up words, and some left over words,

rap words and pop words-

And it turns out,

They have invented time machine in poetry

A long long time ago

And no, I did not grow up to be a pilot,

but that does not stop me from flying-

my paper planes.

interlocking Complex(cities)
a fortunate mixed complexion
comprising of liberating schemes.
the unnatural routine
followed by beings with hindered genes
i see them upload themselves in a virtual scene.
i look up to them, twice
binocular vision
remix the visuals with binaural beats
to keep me levitating
before breaking into a fragmented
piece.
they’ve preached their nuisance to me
i’ve definitely caught an anomaly
i’ve heard them fabricating speech into something humble and noble
i’ll wait till it’s my turn to be
insidious
i’ll spit radiation like Chernobyl
to obliterate the ever growing regime.
molecular regain
they speak up to my senses
to attain the consent of the
eternal and beyond
with an upright movement
momentum i gain
from forthcoming sonder
while wandering down to the streets
you’re listening to city dreams
lean back, chime in
with psychedelic scenes
peripheral context
sidetracked to prevent hindrance
from the beings that are of obscene nature
i’ve seen a lot of those
nurturing themselves
by ******* onto the future
still stuck up on the yet coming past
trying to get grips on the titular concept
there’s authority with the ones who kept it flowing
rugged strength no guffawing
headed straight to the delirious ends of the rope
always falling but never out of hope
the stream that quenches the guilt of those
showing up with guns just to pinch a loaf
exterior combats
come back to the present
im here to steal the philosopher’s stone
getting ****** just to soar
above the stratosphere
i went straight out of the blue sphere
where i got to see the blues that fill up the majority of the crust
****** back to my grounds
the velocity burned my rust
thats a leap higher than the nukes
you trust
get to my location
ask the Everest where im at
it’ll point up to me and i’ll wave back
but there’s a truth thats yet to be told
i held the meeting of gods that weren’t sold
nobody showed up
neither the young nor the old
except avowed fakes that claim to be woke

The first time, at the age of four,
when I first peeked under my tongue
after brushing my teeth,
I got scared.
Frightened by the ugliness of it.
All the ruptured rivers of my veins and vessels,
the indefinite patterns of colonization of my cells;
a naked mannequin of the story I held inside.

It was as if someone had peeled the skin
off my tongue at my birth
and now all the prisoners were striving to escape.
It was as if someone had abducted the blanket
away, when I was sleeping
and now the monster under the bed was clawing its way out
asking if I needed a friend.

Scared that I would damage the fragile wires,
I carefully laid my tongue back in her cradle,
hoping that someday, the skin would be back.
That she had only walked around the corner of the alley
and she would be back.
That the vacancy in my heart did not mean she was gone,
she had only gone to the mall to grab some sweets
and she would be back.

Each day, I would steal a peep,
in belief that I might find her there.
Though foolish of me, sure, it was to hope.
Smart of me it was to stay away from despair.

I still get scared when I glance under my tongue.
But not because of the ugliness, no.
The darkness.
The darkness that, I know, flows beneath those streams.
The darkness that, I fear, resides behind my skin,
licking, biting and swallowing the hollow of my being.

I still shut my mouth as quick as I can,
sending my tongue back to sleep,
but not because I am afraid to cause damage, no.
The destruction.
The chaos.
All the words that hide inside my enigmatic brain.
All the demons that lurk around the shadows of my heart.

The beasts and ogres that I once crafted
out of the ashes of my soul.
They skulk in the void of my chest,
their laughs echoing around the abyss
where once cherished my being.
They drink and dance, and gamble away all my life.
They joke and sing, and rob me of all my hope.

I still check the cave in my mouth,
day after day.
Not in hope of arrival of spring, no,
but in helplessness of my desperate desire.
In temptation to split open a vessel,
and watch all the nothingness,
flow out of my mouth into the inviting sink.
In temptation to ravage the last barrier into pieces
and feel all my creations drain out of my body.

In temptation to see the corpse of my soul
sail away with the tides of my untiring blood.

--to be free.

in the time that you see this i will be asleep in the bed all ******* in my thoughts like you said that i would and you always have been right that eventually i wouldnt stand in this fight and thats always been true thats always been you and you know what to do to make this all go through so just say those "nice" words to the back of my head sleeping soundly on top of my pillows of dread dreaming that the sounds like my heart would be
dead.

i dont want to hear it anymore i dont want to hear it anymore i dont want to hear it anymore i dont want to hear it anymore
i never wanted to hear it anymore
and thats why i blast the music until my ears bleed
to drown out the noises you keep sending raging after me
and i want to be free
see the world
see the free
and be me
but you keep chasing after the ends of my sentences begging to be apart of some world together
like this will last forever and that you have to fit yourself inside before the page runs out of lines to include us both in the same half a centimetre space
connected with no room to move
no room to breathe
no room to be free me or just simply be

so by the time that you see this hopefully i will be asleep and you will be asleep and you wont come to tell me your "nice" words again and wake me up to your screaming and we could all just go to sleep once without a fight of whos right and how youre right and new and true and how my blue is too much to live and breathe and
bloom.