listen,
I was still covered in placenta when they locked me in this golden cage
fast at work,
they didn’t care how calloused their hands got
rough ropes fed through the pulleys,
and sewed into the heavy haze of distraction
listen,
I promise you,
if they could leave this pedestal and share the warmth that is burning and bubbling for them, they would do it;
but the fall would kill them first
listen,
there are two ways to rob someone of their humanity-
to idolise them
and to ignore them;
perhaps we all share the same emptiness that way.
I saw a dream at sunrise
I won something
Something I didn’t know I wanted
Something I didn’t know I needed
But it felt like Uncharted Territory
As if I was trying to make a home for myself at a place where I didn’t belong
It felt a bit like loving you.
Did you know I changed cities? I heard you did too
Will you sing Hey There Delilah for me, now?
Opposite continents and timezones
I would stand at the Tropic of Cancer, just to melt a little more
Because you were the summer of my solistice.
I saw a dream yesterday at sunrise.
It was about winning you- because that’s what it was; a contest.
To your shattered heart.
But it felt a lot like Uncharted Territory.
You scroll through your social media where people have sworn not to show what they feel like so their ‘profiles’ can be aesthetic to look at. You look at dog videos and swear not to think about your dead dog with whom you never got to cuddle one last time. You walk through streets you’ve never been to hoping that it’ll lead to a story. You kiss boys and girls you don’t really like and pretend you’re waiting for the three-days-later call. You constantly listen to Cardi B because you can’t take another Bon Iver song. You fake a smile, an orgasm, a brave face. You look at where you’re staying and pretend not to long for that one little park in Paris where you could spend your entire life. You unblock the ones you lost and feel a fleeting sense of comfort in knowing that they’re not happy either and block them again, to feel ‘powerful’. You look back at your journey and sigh because you haven’t done enough. You curl into your uncomfortable bed.
And then you realise you’re not done.
You realise your journey is just starting. There’s so much left for you to say and do and teach and feel. You realise that the best part about yourself is that you’re hopeful, despite it all. You realise that despite all the bad that has gotten to you, there’s still good, and you can create it. You realise that you’ve places to go and people to fall for. You’ve learnt to become your own teacher and your own pupil. You realise that the sky is not the limit for you. You think people calling themselves a work in progress is a cliché, but you know you’re one yourself. You’re not magnificent. But you will be.
So you light up a cheap cigarette and you play the Bon Iver song. And you wait.
Maya Angelou asks me to continue to be who I am; to astonish a mean world with my acts of kindness.
But where does one draw the line between being kind and being stupid?
You know that you should be kind to everyone, because you never know what someone is going through. You know that there’s so much hate in this world that the only way it can be salvaged is through kindness. You know that if you ever were to believe in any kind of religion, kindness should be it.
But where does selflessness end and self-love begin? When do you know that you’ve had enough? Is it when you stop focusing on your mental health because listening and thinking about theirs is taking a toll on you? Is it when you ask if their cat is okay now and they don’t reply to you because not replying to someone’s genuine concern is somehow cool? Is it when your life gets filled with toxicity when all you wanted to do was eliminate some toxicity from theirs?
We have somewhat learnt when to walk away from relationships and taxing friendships, but when and how do you move on for yourself and not be labelled a bitch?
Many poets weave poems out of a lot of beautiful words which roughly translate to ‘no matter what, you should follow your heart’. And you should.
That is, if you know where your heart is.
What if you were the one who always grew up with a new ambition everyday; and that never changed as you grew up?
What if you have always been a hopeless romantic and fall in love with every second stranger on the metro who was reading a book you always adored?
What if you’ve always been a master of all trades and a jack of none; and are always destined to be one?
What if you’ve been a dreamer all your life and there’s a new dream that you wake up to fulfil, everyday?
Do you start living backwards then? Go back to your younger, dumber self to tell her that she should be a little less fickle? A little more specific? That the world will only remember her if she excels in one particular field and label it as “Oh she followed her heart and changed the world”. Because the world changes only step at a time, right?
Or do you forget all this?
Do you break the shackles of the definition and procedure of bringing change, while breaking the shackles of society and actually bringing change? Do you stop giving a specific definition to ‘home’-neither confining it to a cosy house in the suburbs, nor to two hands and a heartbeat? Do you make the whole wide world your ‘home’, and give it your heart, and then follow that?
Vincent Van Gogh used to eat yellow paint because he thought it would put happiness inside of him. Many called him stupid since the paint was toxic, never mind that it was obvious that eating paint couldn’t possibly be related with making someone happy.
But I never saw that.
If you are so unhappy that the maddest of ideas could work, like painting your internal organs yellow, then so be it. Really, it’s no different than falling in love or taking drugs. Everyone has their yellow paint. My yellow paint drives me insane and pushes me to the edge and makes me want to rip my hair off. My yellow paint makes me feel alive. It’s perhaps the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced. My yellow paint helps me heal.
know when you said you wanted the world, wanted us to take on the world?
to read strange eyes and stranger smiles off of strangers’ faces;
to see what makes you laugh, bawl, shatter, feel;
to knit stars into daydreams;
but your mama never gave you pocket money.
so you needed a runaway girl to fund your self destruction
and now you’ve been living backwards because
there is a place in your memory where your hand clenches my autumn kissed green hair that you never really liked
I’m all out of midnight phone calls and wilted rose petals.
I’m all out of throwing out letters out of windows and building cathedrals of sand.
I’m all out of the avalanche of goosebumps your touch caused.
I yearn stillness now.
I yearn indifference.
I yearn to keep my head above the water now.
And so, your eyes are graveyards and I bury all words unsaid.
“Ssh, don’t talk so much about it”
“Well what’s the big deal, you should feel flattered about it”
“But are you sure you weren’t in the wrong, like wearing too clothes too short or having a personality too loud?”
No.
Stop.
It’s not my fault.
I was going about my life when that person came and tried to take control of my body without asking. And no, just because I’d let someone else touch my body with my allowance, it does not become a ground for you to question if the wrong done against me was justified.
Ask me and i will tell you what was done was wrong. Ask me if I liked it and felt flattered about it and I’ll tell you that I didn’t. Ask me if I’m telling you this because of fame/publicity and I’ll tell you that it is not. Ask. Do not assume. Because you do not know what I went through.
So I will not stay silent. I will speak up. I will talk. I will say it out. I will scream, and I will not stifle those screams. I will keep raising my voice till it gets heard.
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