My protector,
(although I don't think I need protecting)
My rock,
My soul,
is you.

P.S. I love your kiss ;)

Tris

Unconsciously
The name
That
Tris


Let me remember you
At times I don't want to the most


Clearly
The blurry image of
Parking lot
Motorcycles and cigarettes
Dim light
I saw a star or two or three or
Four


Let me remember you
At times I don't want to the most


Poetry reading
The emotions, the voice, oh, tempo
The tap of the right foot
The wide smile that supposed to hurt
Disability in the arts
Cry it out! Cry it out!

She cried on the train
And had an old man told her
It will be okay
O, how jealous I am

I had to wander on the blurry forest
Of motorcycles and cigarettes
With dim light and foreign faces
I couldn't not care about how I looked
But
Blank mind --- Hollowed self ---
I have had the soul fly to search for you
A minute was enough and a part of me died
She saw the tears and the halved smile
And she completed it
With or without
What could it do for good?


Let me remember you
At times I don't want to the most


Do you remember that song?
You said it was my favorite which
I couldn't sleep without listening to it ---

That evening I wanted to
Be in your eyes


And this theatrical pain
Is killing me
Slaughtering me like a goat


O, those special effects! Brava!

Movies are my passion, the thing I love to do, the thing I enjoy to an extent. People ask me why I am wasting my time sinking into the ineffective fantasy world of the movies instead of enjoying the dignified life of reality. Not many people understand my undying affection for this compelling activity of entertainment.  What they do not know is that the real world isn’t actually the real deal. It is a test, an absorbing guidance into the perfect afterlife or the anguishing heartbreak into the tormenting hell. It is their choice which one they choose. It is like the reality of realities in the movie of The Matrix or the corruption and sadness of the desolation of The Titanic. It may be the realness of Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss Everdeen distressingly fighting for her life or the adventures of Shailene Woodley as Tris, loosing loved ones on her way. It could be the fans in the movies, screaming upon their idols or the hatred in the jealous, briskly spreading through the town. The inspiration is overwhelming and the education comes from the films, not from the institution they call school. The alive are in the fantasy and the real are in reality. They don’t understand the goodness that has not been seen in the life they call real.

Cinderella did not teach me stand up against the wrong.
She did not teach me to be strong.
Katniss Everdeen did.
Aurora did not teach me that I don't need a man.
She did not teach me I am independent just as I am.
Cleopatra did.
Snow white did not teach me that real beauty has nothing to do with physical appearance.
She didn't teach me self love or acceptance.
Winnie Harlow did.
Ariel did not teach me to resist and fight.
She didn't teach me to raise my voice for what is right.
Malala did.
Ashley Graham gave me confidence.
Michelle Obama gave me inspiration.
Tris Prior taught me sacrifice.
Hermoine Granger showed me it's not only boys who can fight.
Nikita Gill taught me I am enough even without a man.
Joan of Arc showed me I can do anything he can.

Let's read to our girls stories of such badass, incredible, fierce and confident women.
Instead of stories where they are painted weak and can't do without men.
Let us teach them that they are powerful, they are strong.
And anyone who tells them different is wrong.
Let's read them stories of brave, heroic women instead of ones where they are shown weak and helpless.
Let's teach them to be warriors and not some princess.

On the crisp corners of the first page, fingers
Fiddle
Flipping…
Flipping…
Flipping…
Hooked
Each character, each line
Absorbed
In the world made up by human mind
Heart beating, mind racing
As each page is turned

Hypnotized
Mesmerized
By the beauty of each and every word
Printed on paper as rough as skin
Like paint splattered on an empty canvas
Creating a whole different world, where
“Every single dream is achieved,
If you believe”

Happiness
Is just one step away
One small puddle to hop over, or
One whole ocean to cross
Just one little stretch away
From holding it in between your very palms
And tucking it in the pocket of your jeans

You smile
Everything went perfectly
The main character achieved her goal
With just a small puddle to hop over

With a flutter in your chest, you close the book
Sitting back, sighing
“And they all lived happily ever after”
The end

But no, it isn’t
In fact, it’s nowhere near it

See, books, stories, movies, they are stamps
Stamps dipped in thick, dark blue ink
Pressed on the pages of our hearts
Permanently marked

See, there is influence
In each story, each plot
Every one of them has power
Yes, even the bad ones

Characters
Looked at as role models
Each one of them has power
Yes, even the bad ones

People read to escape reality
To run away from the truth of the life they live
From the problems, the heartache
When that shouldn’t be the case

Because a book is not a ship
That will keep you floating above the ocean
It is not a ship
That will bring you to that beautiful piece of land you see on the horizon
No, it is not a ship
That will keep you from ever caressing the waves,
From feeling the salt water in between your very fingers
Because whether you like it or not
You belong underwater

Daughter,
You are a fish,
A whale,
A shark,
A squid,
A shrimp
You are destined to swim
To glide in the water,
To breathe in the scent of the beautiful life that you possess
Stepping on the corals and opening your wide eyes
Even if it means getting your feet scratched and having your eyes sting red
Because that’s the beauty of life itself
It’s far from perfect
But we have a God who hits perfect and amazing with a bulls eye

Fiction is like a spider’s web
Four corners attached ever so slightly to life itself
And people hang on to those thin lines
Hoping to be part of the world the web has

Inching farther and farther away from
The grease of that kitchen counter
Dear, I’m sorry, but
You are not a spider

Books, stories, movies
Have set high standards and expectations
For hatred, for war, for love
People look for their Augustus Waters
Hoping that he’ll put cigarettes in between his teeth
And hope he’ll say that it’s just a metaphor

People read and watch and say,
“I want a love exactly like theirs”
And they search for someone exactly like the ‘one in the movie’
Hopelessly coming up empty

Darling,
Don’t try to write your own love story
Based on those that are in stories
Because your love story has already been written
By the greatest writer of all time
And will be even greater
Than Hazel and Gus, Tris and Four,
Katniss and Peeta, Kenji and Athena,

Fiction is not supposed to be an escape from reality
You are not supposed to be hanging on that web
Wishing for a life better than what you have now
Fiction
Is not a new house you look at, in hopes that you’ll live there someday
No, Fiction
Is a pair of glasses that make you see the beauty of your life even clearer

Book Thief taught me why painting is better than burning (books.)
Hamlet gave me a glimpse of grief, cutting the heart of tragedy with his poisoned rapier, where beads of things red and desperately human trickle forth. He helped me realize my dream of being king- king of nutshells and withered violet petals. 

Tris reminds me of myself, and Gatsby, too. 

Keegan’s car and Browne’s poems awkwardly sit in the corner; I see them as I walk back and forth down the halls, too busy to pick them up. My mind palace is a hoarder’s nest.



They make me, I paint them over, thick and
bubbly with memories.
Layers upon
layers, now a
sculpture.
What’s me and what’s not?

A new message from him
I left all I was doing and opened the message
There it was
Sorry I can't do this

I felt my heart pause
The strongest of headaches
My eyes were filled with tears
All my brain, my mind and my mouth could say was NO
No this isn't happening
No this isn't real like Tris from divergent would say
But yes it was real
We were done

How
What went wrong
I cried like an infant
I cried cause my heart was shattered
I cried cause I didn't expect this in two years time
We were beautiful
We matched perfectly
He made me feel special
He made me smile sheepishly at my phone always

What went wrong
Who did I offend
Why does it have to end.

Tris Prior dies