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khwxbeeda · 3 months

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At the age of eight, I first learnt jealousy. I learnt it by feeling it, by grabbing it with both hands and tugging it close to my heart; my mother kissed my baby sister's forehead, but not mine. Never mine.

At ten, I learnt betrayal. Someone I though would be a true friend turned her back on me in the blink of an eye, and I spent the days alone, no one to hold hands and laugh with. She walked with the popular crowd, and I walked between the shelves of the library; maybe the books would be better friends.

By the time I turned twelve, I had learnt loneliness. I sat alone at lunch tables in school, I sat alone at the dinner table in my home. My sister was six and a monster for taking away all my parents' love, and my classmates were thirteen or fourteen and monsters for trying to take away my books. It was better to be away than suffer, I decided, and I didn't mind the loneliness much.

Thirteen was the age that taught me sadness. I went to school, studied, came back home, studied, ate, and went to bed. I buried tears and suffocated my crying with my pillows, and woke up with red-rimmed eyes that I ran to hide from my mother, as if she would care enough to ask if she did see them. I cried in the bathroom, my head bent over the sink so I didn't have to look in the mirror and my teeth digging into my bottom lip to stop the sounds from coming out. I learnt to cry silently that year.

Fourteen... was an empty year. There were no more tears left. No more crying. No more sadness or jealousy or anything. I did what I was told to do with a book in one hand and my schoolbag in the other, lips sealed shut and face cast in marble. No one wanted to know what I had to say, I did not want to say anything to anyone. (A few years later, I came across an article describing dissociation.)

Fifteen was anger. So much anger. I was angry at everything and everyone; at the world, at my classmates, at my teachers, my parents, my sister. At myself. An eternal fire burned in the back of my throat and in the pits of my heart and it refused to be extinguished: I wanted to scream, wanted to rage, wanted to throw things and destroy everything in my path. I was so so angry, all the time. I read, somewhere, that fifteen was the worst age to be. I pushed the fireball of anger deeper down, and agreed.

At sixteen, I was good at ignoring my thoughts. I looked at the ledge of the roof and turned away; I refused to step within twenty feet of it. I looked at the shine of the knife blade and put it down; I refused to cut fruit and vegetable. I looked at the rope in the corner of the balcony and stepped back into the house; I would not set the laundry out to dry. I buried myself in my textbooks— Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Mathematics, English, Hindi. I got higher marks than I'd ever gotten. My mother ran a hand over my head and smiled at me in a way she hadn't in the last ten years. I flinched away from her touch.

Seventeen... I was in bed. Surgery was nasty business, and throughout the seventeeth year of my life I went through seven of them. I laid in bed, a bandage over my left eye and tears rolling down my right cheek. I'd studied. I'd studied till I collapsed when I was sixteen, but I didn't get to sit for my 12th boards. All my efforts were in vain. At seventeen, I was in bed, and I languished.

Eighteen. Eighteen was the whirlwind year. I sat for my 12th boards but didn't get the marks I hoped for. I forgot that I'd registered for PCM and PCB CET until I got the emails, and then gave up on studying. The results were 95% for both exams. I changed my trajectory, and was granted admission in Fergusson. I yelled at my parents with tears in my eyes and kissed my sister on her forehead with a smile on my face. I made friends. I smiled, I laughed, I talked more and more with each passing month. Eighteen was a whirlwind. Eighteen was good to me.

Now, I am nineteen. Let's see how this year goes, shall we?

Tag list: @orgasming-caterpillar @musaafir-hun-yaaron @hum-suffer @h0bg0blin-meat @yehsahihai @blushlilyyy @budugu

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shehasfallennn · 11 days

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i knew i loved him more than i love myself

when i didn't mind breaking apart on the days he was nowhere to be found if it meant getting to spend wonderful moments with him for short periods of time.

things i never thought i'd write about – shehasfallennn

#love #lovers #heartbreak #love quotes #shehasfallennn #tragic #tragedy #foryou #random #prose #prose and poetry #poetry #books & libraries #books #poem

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think-through-pen · 8 months

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To My Love (7)

Dear Love,

I can't seem to find sleep. I look behind the curtain, under the desk, behind the doors—but I still can't find it. I might find some fragments under my pillow and some clinging to the sides of my bed.

I thought of taking a stroll outside. I find myself at the river again. The obsidian blanket of sky with white pearls remind me of the day I came to know what longing is. If I throw a fishing rod to catch a pearl and keep collecting them, there will be mounds of them here. Then, I would climb on the summit and call your name; maybe, seeing all these catch, you will notice me. Maybe, I will have fished all the stars in the universe only to realise that the brightest star is what I behold in my eyes: you.

Descending, uncaring of the gazes that admire the star-fisher, I will walk towards you. In every eye, there'll be this heap of stars but in mine only you will shine.

I sometimes look for you in my dreams, but there is no trace of you even there. My mind advocates that I don't care but my heart still beats in the rhythm of your name.

Yours Hopefully,

M

(Please support me here .)

My Supporters: @most-ment @jordynhaiku @somebodyssongbird @sweetwarmcookies16 @yumiraaa @twisted0limbs @hauntedandwholesome @vixen1012 @aaronawbra @a-moonlit-poet

#writers on tumblr #writing #creative writing #love letters #literature #love #poets on tumblr #poets corner #prose #prose and poetry #prose poetry #writersofinstagram #writing inspiration #trending

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nicotine-and-heartaches · 2 months

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today i met a fanboy - at least that's what he calls himself. he said he's been following my socials for a good eight years. he said he fell in love with my writings - that my prose and poetry were drenched in darkness and dripping blood that he'd gladly bathe in. i told him im not worth fanboying over, that i can no longer write like i used to. he stopped me right there and told me not to say that again because it breaks his heart and of those who appreciate my stuff. i jokingly responded that if that's the case, im better off as a concept

my poetry bared fangs and spat acid. it blew my mind how anyone would want to touch it. i would use the word BLOOD far too many times in a paragraph that the paper would resemble a war zone. just a tortured internet poet who could not get over her teenage angst - yet people loved her. you see i still get messages from people online recognizing how my past works impacted them. yet i often find myself downplaying the compliments. idk but she feels foreign to me. i guess i don't identify as her anymore.

she - who would come home intoxicated at 2am and vomit words onto paper. she was all razor blades, collar bones and sharp edges. i did not know how people would find beauty in such dangerous things. but so did i. i still write here and there but mostly on my gratitude journal or write cheesy letters addressed to the universe which i safely stored in a password-locked-folder on my computer. blood has been replaced with words like HEAL. GROW. ACCEPT. it took years for my brain to learn how to generate these words and start using them - even start believing them.

some days i would hear her banging on my chest wall, dying to escape. adults would warn children of the monsters in their closets, but what about the ghosts of all your past versions haunting you even when you are awake. i almost freed her one night just to see what other metaphors she can create out of blood. but i remembered how i've sworn not to dig graveyards just to end up scraping my skin and scrubbing dirt under my fingernails.

so im sorry it's disappointing you that i can no longer write poetry that compares my own blood to venom, or how i glorified my suffering by saying "i tried to look for love at the bottom of countless vodka bottles tonight", or how i would describe the color of bruises on my knuckles as having the same saturation as the skies just a little after the sun sets. i closed that chapter long ago. hopefully one day i am going to figure out how to write with the same voice as her (maybe with a different tone this time) because as messed up as she was, that same voice spoke and resonated to a lot of people.

— alaska grace // im better off as a concept

#poetry #poem #writing #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #prose #personal #poets on tumblr #alaska #writers on tumblr #alaska grace #prose and poetry #teenage angst

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mybestfriendmysoulmate · 2 months

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Miss you so much

Miss everything with you

Miss my heart beats

Miss my cutting breath

Miss my shaking hands

Miss your touch

Miss our laughs

Miss the way you look at me

Miss my hand on Ur face

Miss times and days with you

Miss my home

My favourite safe place

Miss you

#love #couple #my best friend #quotes #poems on tumblr #autos #love quotes #love quote tumblr #love quote life quotes #love qoute #love quote of the day #missing you #i miss him #i miss you #miss u #prose and poetry

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rainonthepillow · 9 months

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i once read that as a woman, the anger for the man who stole your innocence only increases with age. i've been trying to tame myself ever since, in fear of being consumed by my own fire.

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clareguintu · 7 months

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spending my entire day with you

underneath the shining rays

we roll among the emerald terrain

even in the pouring rain

you declare your love for me

at any time and any place

can't get enough of you

i look forward to seeing your face

for i crave us being together

this unbreakable bond between us

could never tether

—clare guintu, from stain of hues

#stain of hues #my words #words of mine #writers on tumblr #poetry #love #my writing #my thoughts #poem #love poetry #prose and poetry #spilled poetry #spilled thoughts #female poets #poets on tumblr #poems on tumblr #lovers #love quotes #longing

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okaywhatabouthades · 7 months

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The ghost of you

Breathes on my neck

Asking me to embrace him

There is no other urge within me

but to tell him

There is nothing I desire more.

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jimuelosity · 2 months

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JUST ONE STEP

The world around me holds its breath -

they watch me tremble.

There is no earthquake

and yet my body shakes

As I take one step.

It's been a while

since I felt this tall, this high

and yet I'm still minuscule

compared to all those glaring eyes.

Just one step and that's it!

My veins contract to the force

of lifting my foot to the air.

All these eyes will behold

how my wings were never broken

and witness my valor and gallantry

as I launch myself to the clouds.

But I will never reach their piercing gaze

unless I detach my feet from the ground.

And just one step is all it will take

to not let myself and everyone down.

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namitha · 1 year

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like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.

🌿 Richard Siken

.

#richard skelton #poetry quotes #prose and poetry #words #moods and feelings #photograph via pinterest #book quotes #books & libraries #heart taking root in your body

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khwxbeeda · 4 months

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two days ago, if someone had inquired about my favourite colour, I would have answered sea blue without even thinking about it.

yesterday, however, when my sister asked me, "tai, what's your favourite colour?" i immediately said, "purple."

specifically, royal purple.

i did not say that two days ago you had playfully swiped royal purple paint on my cheek when we were painting the banner for the college fest, mischief lighting up your pretty face. i did not say that i had retaliated, and that both of us had ended up on the floor in a fetal position, stomachs aching with laughter and tears running down our purple-stained faces.

i did not say that you looked celestial, with a smudge of that brilliant colour right on the edge of your bottom lip and cheek covered in three streaks of purple by my hand. i did not say that the way you smiled at me— brown eyes bright, brown hair matted with purple paint and pink lips pulled back to show slightly crooked white teeth— had my heart jumping from my chest to my throat. i did not say that i imagined cupping your cheeks with my purple hands and pulling you into a kiss, soft and gentle and loving.

i entirely avoided explaining to my curious little sister why my favourite colour had changed overnight.

but if anyone asks, my favourite colour is purple.

specifically, royal purple.

.

Tag list: @musaafir-hun-yaaron @orgasming-caterpillar @yehsahihai @hum-suffer @h0bg0blin-meat @mad-who-ra @kanha-sakhi

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rhllorthered · 5 months

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I forgot you, briefly,

as I woke.

Agrieved for moments

from love's sick joke.

I forgot us,

briefly, as I spoke.

How could I,

sweetest dream, yet provoke?

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think-through-pen · 8 months

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To My Love (8)

Dear Beloved,

I haven't smoked in its breath, but the intoxication lingers: love. To love you without having met you...seen you...heard you, I feel the warmth in my cheeks—maybe this warmth is the feeling of infatuation.

I wake up to a hollow wall; the door has only my fingerprints; there is only one toothbrush in my hand with only my reflection in the mirror; the sofa has two pillows but only one is warm, the other is stained with tears sometimes; the windowsill has only one circular coffee stain; my wallet overflows and I have no will to spend—to spend on whom?

But I promise that we will meet soon. Do you wait for me like I do? Even the moon smiles, that's why it has assumed a crescent shape today. Will you welcome me like the sea welcomes the moon, occasionally caressing it with its waves?

I will not compare you to the moon, for today, the moon is pale. But wouldn't it be better to compare you with the eyes of the owl devouring the stars? I would like you to sit on a lotus pad, to watch fireflies for the first time. And I will not watch them with you, but the sparkle in your eyes as you behold them, pointing out the brightest one. I will be blind to the fireflies reflected in your eyes, but not blind enough to see happiness brush against your lips.

Yours Infatuated,

M

Taglist: @most-ment @jordynhaiku @hauntedandwholesome @somebodyssongbird @sweetwarmcookies16 @sunlovemoon @twisted0limbs @distilledmelancholies @fordothepoet @vixen1012 @a-moonlit-poet @aaronawbra

#writers on tumblr #love letters #love #letters #writing #creative writing #writersofinstagram #poets on tumblr #writing inspiration #poets corner #literature #poets of tumblr #poetry #prose and poetry #prose #prose poetry #prose poem #trending

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wordlessea · 1 year

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delicate-savage · 1 day

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I don't feel so alone

When I write.

I might even feel

Alive

Delicate Savage - Tales of a Delicate Savage

#delicate savage #tales of a delicate savage #poetry #poems and poetry #poetic #poet #prose poetry #prose #prose and poetry #poem #prose poem #tumblr poems #poems #poemsbyme #poems and quotes #love poems #writer

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nicotine-and-heartaches · 1 year

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where do you go when you want to go home, but home doesn’t exist anymore? when your current life you’ve worked hard to build from the ruins and remnants of your past feels unfamiliar?“there's no going back”, you whispered to the ghost residing in your cupboards.

each scar on your skin is named after your childhood hopes and dreams. you try hard not to think about them anymore but at 12am when the city is asleep, they would resurface like an itchy scab that never seems to heal.

the imaginary friend you had when you were six, where is she now? sometimes when you close your eyes, you could still see bits and pieces of her. then the image would spiral like van gogh’s starry night and you're left with this longing in your chest for a thing that didn’t even exist.

when you were a teen, why did you want to run away from home so bad? why did you want to grow up so fast?

“there is nothing here”, you realized that now.

— alaska grace // where is home

#spilled ink #poetry #poem #writing #spilled thoughts #2am thoughts #alaska #prose and poetry #prose #homesick #writers on tumbr #nicotine and heartsches

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