Breathe

​Everything around me is bright, and

I’m squinting just to survive; 

everything around me is happy 

and I’m withdrawing further into

myself at every chance I get- I 

just want to live. I just want to

dance and be able to see the 

same sun everyone else is, not 

the one that’s tinged red, thats

tinged anger, that’s tinged bitter.

What will it take to make myself

whole? Today I stood on 

someone’s chest, but I was the one

who couldn’t breathe. Who wouldn’t

breathe. Is there even any 

between the two anymore? A boy

once told me that if I wanted to

write, I first needed to experience

things, I first needed to ‘shed some

blood’; Now I’m bleeding and I 

just want to fix myself. I just

want to breathe. I just want 

to be calm. calm. calm.

Advertisements

Appearances 

​Pieces of me 

lie in splinters on

this dusty 

ground- nobody

has made

an effort to erase

my remnants 

from this floor. Yet. 

The key to 

self harm lies in knowing

how to hide it,

in knowing that nobody 

looks at a

supposedly happy person’s 

arms. Or legs. 

Nobody checks a pious 

brat’s veins for 

drugs- this world is about 

appearances. Not

reality. Pieces of me have 

laid here

since last Wednesday and

I don’t blame 

anyone. Why would they want

to come near 

my filthy personality when I can’t 

stand it myself?

Fiction

Words have forever been stitching
a patchwork blanket of intricate
tales for me to wrap around myself
like armor; they keep me safe. They
keep me warm. Words have been
drawing me into the worlds they
create since before I can remember
and I have been falling, falling,
falling headfirst towards their magic,
and I’ve been slowly collecting
the ingredients to weave my own delusions
into something that might provide
the same feeling that other people’s
words do.
This is the beauty of fiction, this
is the beauty of words scrawled on
a page. It helps you forge your own path,
create your own identify, manoeuvre
your own destiny. Fiction creates a
song out of dissent, a dance out of
chaos, a movie out of worry, a
story out of imagination.
It’s been helping me recover from
blows I didn’t realise were being inflicted,
it’s helped me move past pain and
backwards to better days,
its helped me carve an opinion out of
a smattering of thoughts.
It helps me breathe, it helps
me stay sane, it helps
me escape to worlds better than my own.
Words have forever been stitching
an exquisite blanket of stories from
worlds beyond, of feelings I am yet
to recognise, of people I might
never know, of fiction.
Words have been providing me shelter
as I navigate the real; fiction has been
providing me solutions for problems
before I have them and I’ve been
reading, reading, reading, I’ve
been curled up on my bed, I’ve
been slowly healing every cut on
my body and now, I’m flourishing,
blossoming, surviving. And,
it’s not like fiction healed all
my wounds, but it gave me
the tools to heal myself, and
without it, I might have spiraled
into madness, into misery, into
depths I don’t want to reach.
So fiction may not have healed
all of my wounds, but here I am
today, here I am, warm within
my words, here I am immersed
in yet another book,
here I am, happy.
Here I am, reading.

You (30 of 30!)

You feel like the end of a chain
of bad decisions, like with you,
my body has given up; the dominoes
have been falling,
falling, falling, and
with you, the last one has
fallen and I have been
buried under the weight of your ego.
You feel like the result of years of no work, of years
of broken flowers and empty promises
of years of stupidity.
You feel like the condensed form of
every bad word I
have ever dared to utter, like every
slap I should never have given, like
the morning after pill; I taste my
bitter memories every time we kiss.
You feel like all the things I shouldn’t have done, and
this, this feeling is why I’m leaving.
Because if I stay, you won’t be the
one to blame. I’ll be the one burying
myself, and I don’t think I’m ready to
leave this life behind.
So I’ll be leaving, because
you feel like death and I,
I just want to feel alive.

Pool of Sorrows (29 of 30)

The blood slowly trickled down her temple and
dripped onto her folded palms from where
it fell on her knees and then on the floor,
forming a little pool of her sorrows.
She looked up at him, begging for mercy
and he smiled while taking another sip
of his drink and towering over her a man no
more, but a monster, just one wearing
a suit, just one
that nobody else seemed to see.

Silence (27 of 30)

My silence seems to be a chainsaw
slowly sawing through my throat
and it seems to be a jail
I’ve locked myself into, but
I don’t really feel like leaving.
Because even as it cuts me open,
it sews me shut and I’m glad.
I know I’m not suppose to do this,
but here I am.
Here I am.
Here I am, head barely attached to my body,
demons crawling out of me,
here I am.
Silent, and as long as
I’m not entirely unhappy,
I guess I’m in a good place.
I guess silence is like a nice place
to settle down in.
I guess, here I am.

Sorry if this poem appears on 28th, I had some technical problems and the poem was deleted, I think. Thanks! x

Lead (26 of 30)

Your eyes remind of the virgins hues
of silver and your body reminds me of pure
gold because most people stop looking the
moment they see your flesh, but
your heart is like lead, dull to the
touch but warm and welcoming no matter
what, yes, your heart is always like lead.

Episode 5: The Muse Striketh Back (25 of 30)

You never warned me.
I mean, that’s the least you could do considering that our relationship is profit for you.The first time I read your poetry, I wasn’t that shocked
that you wrote about us- more about how you lied. And you can deny it all you want, you can play the victim with all your friends, but just know that when I read your poetry- I know the truth.
Maybe if you had warned me, I wouldn’t have cared that you took our story and turned it into a cheap drama.
But now? I think I deserve my chance to speak up. Remember when you threw your phone at me? Remember when you told my mother I was bipolar? Remember when you made out with my best friend?
Yeah, I guess I was the villain. I was the one who ‘broke you’, the one who ‘shattered your ribcage’, the one who ‘took your love and gave you nothing’. Fuck you.
You and your metaphors can both go rot. I am not your dark sky, your snake, your cloud, your murderer, your shard of glass or your last love.
Maybe if you had told the truth about us, I wouldn’t have been mad. Maybe if you hadn’t left me for him, I wouldn’t be mad.
Maybe if I wasn’t still hung up on you, I wouldn’t be mad.
But I am.
Fuck, I am.

Honestly, You’ll Burn

Honestly, you used make me want to shred my ribcage
just to make it easier to show you my heart.
Honestly, the last time I saw you,
it felt like lightning had struck.
You didn’t even look at me then.
Honestly, I have been so infatuated
for the past few months that
every time you hit a roadblock,
every time you sentenced yourself to hell,
I resurrected you.
I resurructed you like the fool I was,
I was willing to look past it all.
Honestly, I was being delusional,
honestly, I just wish you were honest.
I just wish you were there for me,
I just wish you hadn’t given me hope.
Honestly, I just wished you had kicked me
at the start of this all instead of waiting,
instead of waiting and letting me slowly crumble.
Imagine how different this would have turned out.
Imagine how I would have felt.
I’ve wasted the last six months thinking about your hands, your lips, about you and honestly?
I’m over it.
Lightning is no longer striking my heart,
it’s striking you dead instead, and
honestly, I hope you burn.
If you hadn’t been a coward, if you
had just made your intentions clear,
I don’t think I would be writing this.
But you didn’t.
You didn’t.
So now, every time I see you,
every time you pretend you don’t know me,
I’ll set you afire.
Because honestly? You’ll burn as easily as paper, as wood,
you’ll burn in an instant because
talk is cheap, talk isn’t made to
withstand my wrath, and
since that’s all you consist of, yes, you’ll burn.
And honestly? I can’t wait.

Judgements

Here we are, clashing
furiously on our
principles- I’m an
unstoppable force, you’re
an unmovable object
and things like
what you did that day,
where you made
proclamations about
someone you didn’t
even know, this is giving
me the drive to keep
going, things like
this are going to
mean the end for
you, because I’m
pushing hard and you’re
bound to move soon,
and when you do,
maybe you’ll realize
how the constant
judgement feels, maybe
you’ll realize that you’ve
had it easy all these
years and maybe you’ll
realise that you’ve
been in a position
of privilege, maybe
you’ll see that I’m
here to even the
playing field