six-white-venus

[six-white-venus]

fun fact: grief is a wonderful hallucinogen

i first hallucinated when i was 14. i think. it's all a bit blurry. it's syrupy sweet and comes with a sharp sting behind my throat. honey, but not quite. i pick up a slice of mango and eat it with my bare hands. the juice drips down my forearms, the back of my elbows. i lick my fingers clean and wash my hands. scrub, scrub, scrub, scratch, tear, ruin-

the water is steaming hot. i've been in the bathroom for an hour. my sister looks at me with wide eyes. we haven't bought a mango in the last 10 months.

death does that. makes a film out of your worst moments and stores it in the back of your mind. innocent, stealthy. harmless. deadly. you close your eyes and watch the soap opera unfold. you are laughing! oh, look! it was all a bad dream, after all! you wake up and tell your mom you're going to visit your uncle. he has been dead for 10 months and 10 days. you are laughing! you are laughing!

there is a man in the corner of your room and he watches you with slitted eyes. you used to be afraid of him, when you were younger. then, you started seeing nothing but shadows of coat hangers and chairs dancing under the glow of your night lamp. but you are 14 and you look at him and he brushes the hair out of your face. you don't breathe. he doesn't have a mouth, but he is screaming. you would too, but you don't have a mouth either. he has a million hands and he is holding you down. no, he's not. he is holding you with all of them. in front of you is everything you've ever loved. you can't scream. the hands around you are cold. the kingdom falls and you watch.

you wake up. the hands are still holding you back and the kingdom fell 10 months and 10 days and 10 minutes ago. you are laughing! are you laughing?

-for @nosebleedclub 's prompt- hallucinogen

#my writing #poetry #prose poetry #words #writeblr #grief #hallucinations

[six-white-venus]

it’s there now with 7 other posts that i look at all the time

HONOURED!!!!!!

#digi you're so sweet and for what reason. #vi talks

[six-white-venus]

[six-white-venus]

the worst trait of me and my family is probably this: we never learned to say the word sorry.

i) my best friend and i, we are no people. knives? maybe. liars? definitely. but people? i’m not so sure.

knives were never forged to be tender (what a shame, what a shame) and we too, fall and slay what we meant to protect. him and i, we go for the throat when we clash. we hurt and bleed and oh, i should be terrified, i should be running for my life, but all i am is tired and a bit lonely and would really like his arms around me.

( “can we please stop fighting now.”

“oh god yes please.”)

because time and time again, this man has held my heart in his hands and cleaned its festering wounds with cotton dipped in alcohol (always the healer, always the lover) and wrapped gauze around them with clinical precision. and i have walked through the maze of his head and tended to his withering garden, have dragged the sun and fresh air and all the oceans to the barren land to make it bloom (always the poet, always the lover).

him and i, we have never needed words because we are knives forged in the same fire and at the end of the day, we both know that he will be the one who wordlessly stitches my broken heart and i will be the one who sings him to sleep.

ii) let me paint you a picture:

blue that fades into red that fades into black that fades into blue that fades into red. loud, clashing and nonsensical. a pit in your stomach that was dug with desperation and blunt fingernails. how do you colour anger that is also pain, grief, hate, love, fear and truth? the smell of the paint is foul and clogs your windpipes. blunt fingernails and blue and black and madness. can you bear to look at what you created without flinching?

that’s what anger looks like on my father. a horror. a mottled bruise. a hellfire.

all his life, my father has been scorned, belittled, beaten, spat on. his mother didn’t love him right because her mother didn’t love her right. my dad loves like he hates. something is fucked in his head and heart and his words fade into black and blue and red and this shitshow always ends with me sobbing, bleeding, dying on the floor. my father watches with his hackles raised and his eyes red and wide and glowing. once wounded, an animal never sheathes its claws. it strikes the ones it loves and walks away with its head held high and hands trembling.

but here’s what happens when the curtains close: he pulls me into his arms and brings me tea. he wipes away my tears with hands that has moved mountains to make me smile. he kisses my forehead and tells me that his mom didn’t love him right. my grief is like anger and indignation and love. i wrap my arms around him and cry all the tears he never had the luxury to. who should say sorry, really? is it him or his mom or his mom’s mom or this stupid fucking world? my father has never said the word sorry. he never needed to. this is what love looks like on us. a horror. a mottled bruise. a hellfire.

iii) despite it all, i am not usually an angry person. i take after my father and my mother, after all. i rage like my mother (quick, loud, fire that burns out almost as quickly as it sparked to life) and fight like my father (aim, shoot, bullseye). my sister does something even mildly upsetting and before i know it, i’m cursing her to be miserable till she dies. not even an hour later i’m draping myself over her shoulder and bugging her till she rolls her eyes and smiles ever so slightly.

(“do you have no shame?”

“yeah no i don’t think so.”)

my family and i, we never learned to say the word sorry. because the word sorry never meant sorry, not to us. because at the end of the day, that’s all it is: a word. and it sticks to the back of my tongue and the dents of my molars and gets tangled in my mouth when i try to spit it out. so i grab it by its throat and thread it into my being. i find it so much easier to hide my pathetic inability to do one thing that doesn’t scream that there's something wrong with me with the truth of another three words:

“i love you”

and they are always echoed back to me, just a few million times more tender, in ways only we can understand.

“yeah, i know.”

“that’s great, but there’s no escaping dishes duty.”

“oh, shut up, you.”

“what’s that for?”

a pause and a hum.

“i love you too.”

#prose poetry #poetry #my writing #self rb #love

[six-white-venus]

How will the kingdom fall?

#dude i've wanted to write for this for so long #for a change here's something pretty which will not destroy you emotionally! #my writing #poetry #prose poetry #words #writeblr #poetry prompts

[six-white-venus]

hi ur poetry is super cool

that's so sweet, thank you!!

#vi talks

[six-white-venus]

new theme update!! me and @stars-and-wildfires are black and white loser dogs <3

#guys pls don't unfollow me i am the same emo poetry blog you know and love #tbd

[six-white-venus]

written for @lady-shadow-and-darkness 's prompt, 'translucent'.

#if you saw me post something else before no you didn't #i hated that one ngl #this one i'm more satisfied with #venus i hope you know your prompt killed me #ok woo. one more prompt to go #my writing #poetry #prose poetry #words #writeblr #love #prose

[six-white-venus]

Sylvia Plath "The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath" / Anne Sexton, "The Sickness Unto Death" / Simon Stålenhag / Sylvia Plath "The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath" / Friedrich Wilhelm Theodor Heyser "Ophelia" / Louise Glück, “The Unpainted Door" / Max Ginsburg "War Pieta" / Mahmoud Darwish "Memory for Forgetfulness: August, Beirut, 1982" / August Friedrich Albrecht Schenck "Anguish" / Sylvia Plath "The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath"

[six-white-venus]

for @nosebleedclub 's april prompt

9. vivisection

#my writing #poetry #prose poetry #words #writeblr #tw body horror #tw vivisection

[six-white-venus]

"so, two gods walk into a diner..."

entry for @skkbigbang-2023 for THIS FIC by my beloved @starrynightarchive

#art #this is wildly different from the content i usually rb but forgive me I can't not do it #this was made for my fic and it's GORGEOUS

[six-white-venus]

#poetry

[six-white-venus]

#web weaves

[six-white-venus]

perhaps if your still doing poetry requests i could make an ask for something silly about green apples? maybe even polaroids ^_^

#you ask and i deliver #here's your smth silly evermore #<3 #context: this is written based on a friend's au but #it can also be read as a story #a teen murders his abuser and writes her a letter #tw sa implied #tw grooming #my writing #words #writeblr #prose

[six-white-venus]

spring is here and we are surviving

annasinthewalls / "two on a bridge (2nd edition)", igor krapar / comfortfrogblog / "the green trio", salman toor / anonymous & b0nkcreat / sunsbleeding / satans-poptarts / "light V", autoneurotic / buzzkillgirls / david hettinger / kristina100000 / jennifer pochinski / hopepunk-humanity

#web weave

[six-white-venus]

in my dreams, i carry my school bag and go to my hindi class. she is waiting for me. she always is.

her name means dream. and she stays true to it. she comes to me in flashes and in never-ending sagas painted behind my eyelids. she loved coffee. i learnt how to make tea from her, even though she never really taught me (let it simmer- the longer you let it brew, the more the flavour seeps in). she has the voice of a nightingale. the only way i remember her voice now is like this: the name of her daughters, yelled on top of her lungs because oh god, your little sister has spilled her milk all over the floor, you haven’t done your braids well, you’re late for school, did you tell your dad to buy dinner? can you make me coffee? i’m so sorry that you had to be my mother, my dear. i’m so sorry you couldn’t be a kid.

she kissed their cheeks and told them she loved them every day. she calls her students her children and means it. i called her aunty even though we were no kin, even though she was more like my mother. honey. her eyes and words are honey sweet. coffee sharp. chocolate dark. she loved me. she loved me. she loved me.

oh. oh look. i can’t stop switching to present tense, like she is still with me. like she isn’t six feet under. my head hurts. she used to have terrible headaches that made her awfully cross, but not at me. never at me. she loved me so much. i wish she didn’t.

“parichay itna, itihaas yahi; umidi kal thi, mit aaj chali.”

this is how i love her:

 i hate coffee but its scent is what home is made of. sea salt stained cheeks wiped away patiently by feather-soft hands. red, brown, yellow. the sun and the moon and everything celestial. like free ice cream and memories that feel false and wrong wrong wrong and yet so right and and and it hurts. hurts so much. don’t make it stop. we were supposed to go on a trip. to somewhere. anywhere. we didn’t. honey is thicker than blood. she drips into my dreams and i wish my hands were bloody and not drenched with honey. i wish the ants weren’t eating away at my hands. i wish i took a picture of her.

i love like her laugh: loud and true. i love like the epics she carved in my brain with her quill of crimson ink- like warriors that were doomed before the story was even thought of, like poets that were hailed when they were no longer and spat at when they were breathing, like kabir and tulsi das and rahim and their countless dohas. like the meanings of the words that i forgot but not really- they remain in the back of my throat and stick there. they stick there and it hurts to swallow. i love like this: i wake up and don’t die. i wake up and try. i wake up and open my books. i wake up. i wake up. i wake up. i wake up because she can’t. i wake up because she would want me to. i wake up because i can’t let another person forget her name. i wake up because my name on her tongue will live with me for years and years and i refuse to let it fade before i’m ripped away from the land of living.

her name is kalpana. she is the sweetest dream i’ve ever had.

Can you describe someone you love? (Please do.)

#the quote in between is from a poem written by a hindi poem mahadevi varma #the rough translation is: this is my identity and this is my history. yesterday there was hope and today it all goes away #dohas are a lyrical verse form of indian poetry. usually used to convey values and human tendencies and whatnot #my writing #prose poetry #poetry #words #love #prose #writeblr #grief

[six-white-venus]

what do you think are some important structural parts of your writing? things that show up a lot, little things you like including, the reason you write, things that inspire you, if you had to give a feeling to your writing the one you’d pick, all those sort of things.

(this isn’t for inspiration by the way, genuine question)

hello! thanks for the ask!

answering this in a purely factual manner, here are the things I've written about a lot: love for family and friends, my father, a recurring metaphor about apples, non-linear healing, heartbreak and grief.

as for the non-clinical answer: i write about emotions and things i find beautiful. while i write a Lot about my own experiences, i also quite often lie straight out of my ass. i'm a storyteller at heart. but one recurring theme in my writing is that they are all very very emotional. i write about things that make me feel. good or bad, doesn't matter. i write to evoke a deep, visceral feeling of vulnerability in the reader; to feel seen in a raw manner- the ugly, the beautiful, the happy, the sad and everything in between or beyond. but every poem of mine has an underlying message: this is me trying. this is me at my worst and best. love me. love me like i love you.

i am a person who is very in tune with other people's emotions. every poem i write has an element of truth in it because it's a story, yes. while it's not mine, it's also not completely made up. it's pieces I've collected from people i love. it's parts of me I've stitched into my writing. it's me. it's you. it's this stupid, imperfect world. it's so awfully real that it hurts me sometimes.

i write for and about love. love love love. to love and to be loved is what the human experience is about, and that's what my writing's about, too.

#oh thank god for this ask i've been feeling so bad about not putting out any sort of og content lately #here you go guys im still very much alive. hello #thank you for the ask! #anon asks