Posts Tagged ‘creative writing’

math

13/09/2017

our love lasted
for two hundred
and forty five
text messages,
fifty-four
traded pictures,
endless pining
on dark nights
and thirty-nine
undercover kisses.

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long distance

28/08/2017

you just keep saying
“as soon as I’m back,
I’ll come and see you”,
but what’s the good
in visiting
if you are never staying?

how long must a lover
make a bed
if no one’s ever laying in it?

how long must a lover
live alone;
always a one,
never a two?

tell me: how is it good
to live a fairy tale
of messages on your timeline,
and never – ever –
hold you in my arms
nor call you mine?

weight in gold

24/08/2017

i am sorry if it seems
like i never listen
or start conversations,
or if you feel my gifts
are consolations
for my absence.

i am bad at saying
what I mean;
baring my soul
and revealing my words
was never really my thing.

it’s all family heritage,
as are the rings
that adorn your fingers.
(as are the silent gestures
that you can’t seem to hear.)

i’ll cover your collarbones
in necklaces though,
as if you are goddess –
i’ll stud them with stones
for every word i keep in,
i promise.

i am sorry if i am a show-er
not a say-er.

you want love notes
and adoring quotes,
but i’ll give you platinum
until you look like an actress.

sorry
for i can’t help it
if i like how the silver
shines against your skin:

the image is akin
to the sliver
of light that enters our bedroom

when the night is quiet
and the air feels right,
in the rite of silence
that blesses our affair.

old ways

22/07/2017

i was ready
not only to spill the beans
but to spew out bees,
or spoken bullets:

to all my enemies,
flower wreaths
for their early funerals.

I was angry at the world
(and at myself).
a mean thing I became;
a name
not to be called,
a friend
not to be trusted,
a cornered
feral animal
baring my teeth.

i bit the hand that fed me.
i also spit
on the plate i ate from while
i was at it.

but the words
i spoke
carried no truth
behind them.

(they were just heavy on my heart)

it was an ugly facade,
and just this:
a mask
to protect myself
from more pain.

i pricked
others’ skins
so no spear
could prick me:

built an armor
of thorns
to close guard
my heart,
my weary soul
so no foe
(and no friend, unfortunately)
could come near.

stand by me

20/07/2017

we laughed in the face of danger,
we rioted,
young wild and free.
we lit our cigarettes
in Molotov cocktails,
we drank ’till the night was day,
the day was night,
the in was out
the end was another beginning.

we labeled this
our adventures,
our experiments.
we called it “living
like there was no tomorrow”,
“rebel yell”,
and excused ourselves
“’cause boys will be boys”.

we, middle children
of white, middle-class, bland parents,
wanted to have “our own story”.

we said that we
were just expressing our individuality,
that this was what molded us,
what made us unique.

thus, we romanticized
our suffering,
thought our mental illnesses,
our emotional traumas
were absolutely necessary:

that this would make us,
in the end,
stronger,
the next Kerouacs, Poes
and Baudelaires.

we were in the tortuous path
of “finding ourselves”.

we entered our adult lives
not with a foot on the world’s door,
but kamikazeing.

addicted to uppers
and downers,
things to make us,
casual alcoholics,
(not to mention chain-smokers,
pill-poppers and broke)
functional.

miserable,
but “having the time of our
amazing, blessed lives”
on social media,
while on slow-drips
of homeopathic detoxing
to bear the sheer pressure
of being
emotionally unbalanced,
frustrated,
dreamless, jobless,
frail.

frail as broken kids.

behind a facade
of cool wayfarer ray-bans,
we were cold-turkeying children,
ego-tripping and jet-setting
to fill bottomless holes
of pure insanity.

’till the first one of us
fell.
the one that least deserved,
the one that never asked for it,
the one that picked up our pieces
cleaned puddles of vomit,
took us home, bathed us:

among us,
the one true angel.

thus, we rebuilt.
among the ashes and the stones,
we gathered what we could
from the fire,
and we redid it.

***

(now is time to be strong
for the harsh times
that are coming.

it is time for me to be your rock
as you were mine)

standing in the way of control

19/07/2017

on a rare, dark moon,
you feel cold shoulders everywhere,
and shiver, scared, cornered,
like you were kicked in the teeth.

it’s like a world, too busy
staring at its own belly button,
ran over you.

used and discarded,
you – always so loyal,
a righteous knight, the protector –
feel like, in the exodus, were left behind.

thus,
you tether dangerously
on the edge of despair.
you think
you ought to give up,
before its too late,
you must run and hide.

but its a conundrum, really:
how will you fix your loneliness,
your crave for attention,
by isolating yourself even more?

so you stand frozen on the spot,
spiraling out of control,
socially anxious,
paranoid;

a mess inside your head!
you can only conclude:
loneliness is a lot worse
for those who always always smile.