I grew an itch that wouldn’t go away

Home remedies,curries and shame only made it stay

I scratched at it and my glory only faded away,so far away

It kept me tightened in its hinges & from its grip I couldn’t stray

Appeasement with powders,care and hygiene but it wouldn’t falter

My soul and self worth I found going lower

Where do humans run to in times when they feel colder?

It could only be the one place where they pitch an alter.

But even in this place I couldn’t find my peace
Only sinking fear of the dark in an orgy with my sanity,please.

The scars that gathered buried me in as they spread
Once flawless,now only comparable to lead.

Love came along but my thin wounded skin it could not heal
Oh damn,a subscription to the wrong category again.
Classic error!

These scars quickly define me,don’t you see?
I won’t expose the remains of my pain,quit asking me.

Instead pave the way to where I’m accepted
Without question, without painstaking stares.
Where I won’t plead with my eyes and cling to my melting sense of self worth.
Point where I can feel safe in this body I can’t hide.
A pool of purification and self love.
Spaces allowing me to be who I am because that’s all I’ll ever be.
My beauty oozes out of me and drips to the ground I mourned on.
Shaming it for attempting to embrace all this loveliness!
My oh my,the release is cheerfully intoxicating!

I’m starting to accept who I am. Are you?

Catch me if you can.

Catch me if you can.

What is it that you said I owe you again?
An apology for my life’s scars?
Shame for the peril it causes your sight?
What is it that you called me again?
A freak bore by nature?
A tasteless haunting of unfortunate circumstances?
The only insipid clown is you & your judgement
I shan’t dance in your circus of unacceptance any longer!

Requited Love.

Requited Love.

Poetry isn’t my first love. We actually have a ‘leave me then love me later’, type of relationship. That’s messy toxic. I struggle with my poetry muse so much that at times I feel the trade is almost always forced. It’s only natural when it forces itself out of me like vomit. The instant I try to hold it in,it becomes a constipation of sorts. Yes,like I said…messy.

Many a times,my gift/curse has been used by my most regular companions to write compellingly pleasant notes to loved ones. Sometimes to even break a heart or two. I don’t mind, really. As long as I have the pleasure to be reminded that my muse is present, sometimes,at will.
I,too, have been guilty of using it to serenade potential mates. I laugh at this thought because I’ve done more exploiting in this relationship, than poetry has done to me.

On other days,we win together. Competitions have drawn us closer many a time & for a little while we believe our compatibility spells out true love. How quaint, right? Then after that victory, it’s right back to the hard,cold toilet seat. The walls in this tiny compartment never seem like they’ll stop caving in.

What’s my first love,then,you ask? Precisely what you’re reading now. Prose. Sweet,flowing, unforced prose. It rules my mind train & sometimes even creates a mental commentary of my life. That’s my first love.
I’m never at a short of words.

Self Care

Self Care

I find myself writing fewer & fewer poetry.I also lose myself reading & listening to more of it. You could say it’s my reading phase. Or perhaps a little time off helps.This very note started off as poetry. Now I’ve pulled all the stanza spaces back for comfort.

I’m starting to think I’m no good with poetry. I heard someone say “poetry is a canvas for the overly-emotional”. I spent all morning brooding over these words. Has this person met painters? Musicians?Writers?What if they read my work? It’s forty-six minutes past midnight and I’m binging on tweets of Mac Miller’s death. This is how I’ve searched out my muse. An attempt at a poem about how it made me feel failed abruptly. My muse will be the death of me if I follow it in these caves more & more. Mental health is quickly becoming very important to me. Not only mine but others as well.

My sentences are shorter & I realise that it means my thoughts are in a better order than they used to be. In a way they are more conclusive. As you may be able to tell,this isn’t a delightful thing to assert oneself with , but it helps. The pace at which I agree and move on with this piece says much as well. But we must move on.

I believe sicknesses don’t end within the usual sections of the body. I believe even our minds can be unwell. Not in the perverse manner at which we easily yell out obscenities but in ways which affect the personal quality of our lives. This includes varieties in how we love, live,think & act. I believe those diversely affected shouldn’t be exposed to forms of abuse or in-action which makes them feel “crazy” or undeserving of treatment. I believe signs of a need of the same should be rapidly taught to everyone without leaving chances of stigma because we fall so simply to that.

Celebrity or layman, we are all deserving of mental peace,health & attention.
I also believe that creativity should not be post-poned,cancelled or held back for whatever reason. This is the shade of our existence, do you believe that? I believe we should all feel safe enough to reflect how we’re feeling in the body we’ve been given as a home. Not offensive or deserving of judgement.

Here’s my poem, okay?

Here’s my poem, okay?

I’m daydreaming a lot,okay?
I forget the minutest details in this season too but that’s okay.
I feel very different about a number of things but I stay the same
The awkwardness of you having stayed this long
And me preferring this like an 80s bop song
Maybe we’re left with a few instances of pretense
Or maybe we’re at our realest now & it’s real intense
Time is an uncanny fellow
We celebrate it but keep an eye open for signs of discomfort
Is it because we don’t trust our self worth?
Or we doubt the lengths at which we are loveable?
That time possibly exposes our blasé & leaves us ugly?
I hope you’re keeping up,okay?
I’m only as scared as you are
Hell! Add another ‘r’ & I’m still with you
I really love you, okay?
Even if you woke up to this non-flowery piece
Realise it’s written with the most care & sense
Also realise it’s a product of my non-ending day dreaming.

Monsters I’ve found under my bed.

Monsters I’ve found under my bed.

I’ve learnt a lot about myself in the last couple of weeks. Ive learnt that my dreams are a direct influence of my fears. Although i like the term” I’ve learnt my dreams are the bitch of my fears” ,teehee! I’ve learnt that my real fears are inescapable disease & ugly puppies. These are also illustrated by my dreams.

I also know that deep down i have a desire to ride a bike in a summerish manner & blog whilst I’m wearing a grass-weaved out hat which has a pretty flowery ribbon around its middle coupled by a deep & thoughtful expression on my face as i ride and type away!

I’ve learnt that I’m a die hard dillatante who now has a keen interest in acting. (Who knew such fun put in loads of un-fun work?!)
The sound of my mother crying is a sound I’ve freakishly memorised in my head. This has become a fear with me as well. Mostly accompanied with an even bigger fear of approaching bad news.

I’ve learnt that indecison keeps me up at night and i passionately love speaking. Yes! I’ve learnt that speaking is the only thing i haven’t half-done and grown out of quickly.
I’ve spoken almost all my life,although mostly to myself but you get the point.

I learnt that i do have a number of fears. I just realise them differently because of my numerous defense systems.(Nigel will understand this part the most)
My fantasy of being abducted by aliens(minus the probing) when i was 7,has catastrophically turned into a fear of being kidnapped,because i don’t have the time now & i have shit to do in the morning!

I’ve learnt i still haven’t done as much drugs as i think i can because the possibility of being a crackhead excites me whilst its still just a story in my head.

I’ve learnt i’ll always question & I’ll always avoid ugly puppies.

Magritte lovers

Magritte lovers

You,my love, are the centerpiece of my garden
You’re the existence that shuts down all of my fears
And makes the snake one a geographical experience
I’m in love with you all through the day and that’s something that will never be wavered
And at night i go to bed with a proud hope that you’ll be there tomorrow morning so I can admire you more
Forgive me when I get distant
Or when my weaknesses send me far from you
Its nothing powerful enough to dethrone you
I just get lost sometimes..
And my aura gets worn down by the times
I struggle with grief,I struggle with pain, I struggle with the silence in my head at these times
Its not about you, my Dearest…