To no one

Disclaimer/// Dear family members please don’t worry, not related to me… 😂❤️

Dear passer-by,

I hope your day started with a smile. Mine began with a “why” and rather defeated sigh. I looked in the mirror, finding about 35 and a half things wrong with my figure. Half because I like one lip more than the other, I felt the tears well up, I wondered maybe I’d look alright if I just kept skipping dinner and I wanted to know why I couldn’t be a little taller, a little thinner, a little better. Why I couldn’t have a sharper nose, why I couldn’t have nicer toes, I felt my reflection burn holes into my skin like I owed it something. Better thighs, less fries, a flatter stomach, more push ups, a haircut maybe.

I flipped through magazines wondering how someone could walk in heels that tall and manage not to fall; I knew I wouldn’t last thirty seconds. Was it my feet?

Every day I woke up praying for a different face, a better body, promising myself the less I ate the more I’d be like somebody else. I cried myself to sleep hoping  my eyes would wash away my very existence, eliminate my presence entirely. I didn’t want to wake up and look at another article promising lies, I was sick of everyone who told me time heals everything because it had been weeks, I was sick of being told to let it go and to forget what people said, why couldn’t anyone understand that to drown the thoughts in my head, I had to go under water, and I didn’t know how to swim.

I wanted to punch that glassy reflection I was forced to see every day, I wanted it to break in every fucking way it possibly could, I wanted it to burn along with all the judgmental stares, the ‘oh-have-you-put-on-weight’ kind of glares, I wanted to shatter my own vision in hopes that no one could ever see me again.

But life doesn’t work that way.

I’m writing down my misery to a stranger, because I can’t talk without saying “sorry” for saying a sentence that seemed too long, because I’m not really sure where I’m from, I have no idea where I belong, and where I want to go, all I’d want you to know is that your appearance doesn’t define your worth, that maybe life only gets worse.

And I understand why people don’t practice what they preach. Why people with eating disorders tell you to eat that burger, that it’s fine if it’s hard to be strong but eventually, all they want is for you to never land where they’ve reached.

Because all unhappy people have a tale to tell, a story they want you to learn from rather than live, a story they wish someone would have told them.

Love,
Nobody significant.

 

 

Tomorrow

I wonder what it would be like to have a look into the future and see where I’d be. To know the people who left me and the people who stayed. To know whether I’d have a pixie cut or hair long enough to braid. Whether I’d still be in touch with those who made me happy, I wonder if they’d still make me happy then. Whether I’d start speaking to everyone who I lost again, whether I’d be shy like I’d always been or a little too outspoken. I wonder whether I’d finally write all those poems I left unwritten.

I wonder about the house I’d live in. Whether it would have flowers that creep up whitewashed walls, or paint that curls and unfurls itself like a mouth to speak of the times these walls fell weak to the shouts of a house that would never come to be a home. Whether the shelves would have books on them or forgotten crumbs and half empty bottles of rum. I wonder when I walk through that door would I inhale wild rose fumes from candles I burnt too long in rooms I didn’t really want to step into. Or whether I’d exhale cigarette smoke with a little bit of burning hope trying to figure what it really is to be alive, trying to figure out if my life was more than just the photographs saved on my hard drive.

I wonder if I’d still like holding hands as much as I do now, it lets me believe that no matter how short life seems, there’s always something you can grab on to. I pray that every touch of every leaf and every bird and every curve remains embedded in the soles of my shoes if I ever tend to lose my memory I want to know that I’d still have a story to fall back to.  I wonder if I’d live in New York City, a place that would stay up with me on nights I can’t force myself to shut my eyes, or in a place so quiet that the chaos in my mind would ring louder than the few syllables of life that I’d manage to find.

I want to believe that the tide of hope I’m sailing on, won’t rise high enough to collapse with the break of another  dawn, I want to believe that I won’t collapse along with it. I wonder if I’ll ever touch the corners of the world enough to know exactly how big dreams can be, to memorize the way the sun melts into the sea, to prove the people who say our hearts are the size of a fist wrong, they are entire god damn homes where people belong, where people come from.

I want so much of the future, I wonder sometimes if fortune tellers can see the lines in my palm bounce off my hand and into the cracks on the ground to know exactly twenty years from now where the heels of my boots will be found. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to discover a time machine behind a screen in an attic. To click a big red button that clearly says “no” and to know of all the secrets the future holds between its fingers. But – now that I think of it, maybe I want time to linger just a little longer. Perhaps right now, right here, is brighter than tomorrow, because maybe when we think we’re waking up from a nightmare, we’ll wake up into one.

 

A Letter to the World

Dear world, I liked you better when you were not materialistic. I liked you better when I could see the stars outside my window. I liked you better when the roof and walls that surrounded me felt like “home” and not like empty structures of nothingness. I liked you better when things were good. But tell me, aren’t things good now, too? Yes, yes, they are. Are they good for me? Not as much.

I tried to accept what you forced me to take, but then, my skeleton of bones started crumpling to a hollow figure, just another shadow. And, believe me, I used to blend with the walls quite perfectly but I did not like to flee when I saw the people I used to love. I did not like the way they looked at me with distate and disgust. Oh, world, was it my fault for not being good enough? Was it my fault for not having the face you see in magazines? What is my fault for not having the figure a model possesses?

I was a personality between clones but why didn’t other people see that? Why did no one give any significance to what I could do, rather than what I looked like? A wise man once said, “Looks are deceiving”. So, here I am, an assumed failure. Drowning in the deep abyss of loneliness. Except, what sort of loneliness is this? I’m sorry to burst your bubble, world, but hey, loneliness is not endured when you have no one around. Loneliness is not the absence of people, it’s the absence of the ability to communicate with them.

Tell me, what is one supposed to do when everything he touches turns to ash and dust? What is one supposed to do when things start fading? When the colour drains out of your life? When…life drains you of colour. Weren’t we taught to leave and forget things if they didn’t work out for us? Well hey, world, you didn’t work out for me. So, here’s a letter smudged with ink and a few tears, a little appreciation for those who silenced my demons.

Firstly, I want to thank the man at the bus stop whose name I am yet to know, whose name I might never know, for smiling at me everyday. For making me realize that you don’t need the world falling at your feet to be happy, for making me realize that a heartfelt gesture, a simple greeting, acknowledgement of your existence, a little attention, sometimes, that’s all you need.

Then, I’d like to say “hello” to the kids who only got goodbyes. Let me tell you lot, I notice you with your books in the hallways, your poetry, art, photographs and mixtapes. You guys are a rare few this world would be unfortunate to lose. So, greetings to the most happily damaged people I have ever come across.

Here’s to the broken hearted, who gave love and never got it back. For those who weaved words together for the sake of a simple nod, maybe a handsake, or perhaps a hello, and never got one. Keep in mind, “never” doesn’t last forever, because forever doesn’t exist.

For the people who talk to the air and trees, for the people who paint what they think rather than what they see, for the people who are left unacknowledged, this is for you. To show you that somewhere, someone out there cared for you, too.

Lastly, the girl with the headphones on with no music playing, the girl with her head resting on the window pane, the girl who cried every night for the people she couldn’t keep and the things she couldn’t treasure, the girl who gave me a pencil during class, two weeks and three days back at 1:48 PM, you are beautiful. I would not like for you to ever think otherwise.

And a piece of advice to you, world, don’t mess with these people. They are not the stereotypes, they are the exceptions. They are the heart and soul of this world. And today, this world loses a fragment of it’s soul. Goodnight, for a night that will never end, for eyes that will never see again, for a heart that will never beat again, but for a soul that will continue to linger. Dear world, you will not be missed. And neither will I. And perhaps that’s all we have had in common.

Author’s Note- Trying out a few different things. 

What if I told you

What if I told you that
A game of cards isn’t the only thing you’ll lose, that teenage won’t be what you’ve dreamt of, that someday all the people who promised they’d stay are going to walk out on you, that someday the person you trust most will deceive you, that promises simply aren’t kept, that depression and sickness will become a “fashion statement”

What if I told you that You will become family to strangers, that there will be days you will be full of feelings but drained of life, that you will feel lonely in a room full of people, that you will make the same mistake not twice but thrice, and sometimes you still won’t learn, that you will give people all of you with nothing in return, that you will love people and they will shatter you

What if I told you that The one person whose contact you’ve scrolled by most without ever calling will try and hold you together when you’re most broken? That the people you never expected to say “hi” to are going to fix you, that you will find you have more in common with those you didn’t bother looking at than those who you’ve spent your life with, that you will put up walls around you because of all the times you’ve been hurt

What if I told you that Becoming a “Doctor” won’t be that tough, it’ll be tougher to be yourself, that in the end, you are all you’ll ever have, that you shouldn’t try making everyone happy and focus more on being happy, that if you don’t, you will miss yourself more than you would have ever missed anyone, that you will plan vacations to hide from your problems, that you will read books to get away from your own life and try living somebody else’s

What if I told you that Someday someone’s going to come along and put your pieces back together, that someday things will be a lot better, that somebody will climb over your walls and get to your heart, that they will help you create a life you won’t have to run away from, that sometimes “home” is not a house, that sometimes “home” is a person. But darling, if I told you…then how would you learn?

Phonecalls

In English class, you asked me for permission to hear my voice over a cord
I scribbled digits on a crumpled chit and dropped it on your desk
You told me you were going to call today
At 5.02
and from 4.58 I sat with my phone in hand staring at the lockscreen
wondering what I was to say
To a face I loved for the emotions buried beneath every bend
And for the secrets hidden amid the mists of those minty breaths
A thousand letters to your lips I would send
If i was able to do more with my mouth than just stutter
And utter
And mutter
Words and sentences
If only holding your hand was as easy as holding your gaze…not that I can
for more than 3 seconds but even three seconds of feeling the lines in your hands
Align against the ones in my palms
Like constellations
Makes the galaxies inside of me collide
I wondered what I would talk to you about
Maybe the-
The phone rang once,
I saw your name on the caller id,
And my heartbeat almost stopped
Stopped as it rang twice
Stopped like a clock whose battery wore out
Stopped like a car in front of a child
Stopped
Thrice
And I thought of all the things I could say to you
All the things I could ask you
Not your mom’s name or your birthday
Not the perfume you use or your favorite movie
No, I wanted to know how you called your mom’s name
I wanted to know whether you called her mom, or mum, or maa, or mumma
I wanted to ask you of all the gifts you wanted but never got
I dont want to know the brand of perfume you use
I wanted to know of the scent in the crook of your neck
I wanted to ask you how you connected to your favorite movie and exactly why did it touch your heart
It rang for the fourth time
I didn’t want to know how many days a year you skipped school
I wanted to know why you didnt feel like going
I wanted to know not of all the things that made you strong
But of the things that made you weak
I didn’t wanna ask you about the weather
I wanted to talk to you about the stars and I wanted to know whether you liked spring more or summer
I wanted to know all the secrets you told your mother
I snapped out of my thoughts and wondered if your life was as bright as your eyes
Then with shaking fingertips
I answered your call with one of my “I-love-his-voice” kind of smiles
And after another staggered heartbeat or so
I managed to stutter a barely audible “hello”.

Author’s Note- A rushed post. Feedback is appreciated. Thank you. 🙂

Heartways

I had a million shades and moods, I was a tree whose leaves changed colors everyday,
and you were sunshine,
you soaked in the catastrophe I called my mind,
and left warmth in places
where only coldness could be found,
and the song your heart sung when I had my head against your chest is still my favorite sound.

We held gazes the way our solar system holds planets,
we held hands the way God holds galaxies in His palms,
and I held onto you the way my fingertips held daisies.

You whispered a thousand different poems to my heart,
the way stars whisper secrets to the moonlight,
you said the universe rested on the curve you call my smile
and that it’d be a pleasure
to cut yourself in half on my jawline.

And on some days, we fell apart like rain against concrete,
sometimes we broke like teacups against tiled floors,
but there were good days,
days on which we sprouted through cracks
like flowers
who didn’t need water,
but just a little warmth.
You put me together the way kids put together puzzle pieces, the way cardiologists fix broken hearts, the color of your eyes could summon all my shattered and scattered parts.

Like ice on palms, your kisses melted against my skin, the skies stitched endless sunrises with the way you placed your fingers beneath my chin.
I wrote novels, constructing sentences that consisted only of your name, over and over again.
Like a wave you engulfed me, and I sank in the waters of your heart,
the spaces between my heartbeats, are where your breaths fit perfectly

You filled me like a cup of tea,
with what is and what is yet to be
to the brim, and love flowed out of me like rivers

I’ve been exhaling daydreams and sunbeams on cement since the day you came,
and I can swear that if
stars were given mouths, they’d call your name.

Author’s note- Look who’s back. I’ve written after a very long time and it’s not my best. But feedback would mean a lot. Thank you. x

Really looking

❤

I looked up at the sky, it was the darkest shade of navy blue, but there was a point where it descended down to meet a haze of twilight purple, there was a fine line, a fine line of in-between, that separated those colors, but joined them ever so delicately. And if you looked close enough, you could feel God between the ever-changing hues. That’s when I realized you don’t find God whilst thumbing through the thickest of books, you must reach within yourself to find Him. And I, I was a personality made from the falling autumn leaves and the flow of the river, I found God in what was within me- Nature.