Girl with the gla...
|scars are the cracks through which the light comes in|
I was struggling with my life, dealing with fear, failure and frustration like one would deal with a broken umbrella during a downpour. He came up to me, suited up, blue tie and went- 'Coffee on a rainy day?'.
I was in my PJs, last night's ponytail and nerd glasses. 'A pity date for your charity bucket list?' I shot back.
' Fine, 'suit' yourself', he said with a chuckle that warmed me up like sunshine.
I shook my head at myself.
Words. Every single Time. Words.
She was looking out of the store window, drinking her favorite coffee. When out of the blue a man showed up and sat down at her table, looking straight into her eyes...
'Sorry?' she asked, taken aback and slightly disturbed.
'What kind of strong do you like? I mean, I work out..also, I am not really the vulnerable type, just so you know.'
'I don't..what?' she exclaimed.
'You might already have noticed that fair is not what I think men , real men need to be. I like being dark, got no problem with it.'
'You better start making sense, stranger...' she muttered.
' what? They said you like it strong and dark. '
Her smile was a flash of the ocean blue after a lifetime of the city grey.
'They were t...
The shadows kept her safe; the light gave him away. Freedom or friendship?
Diary is much like the utopian best friend. It takes in all the scribbled hearts without a snicker, all the exclamations and underlines with grace, yet never breaths a word about the tears which may have rendered parts of a page unreadable.
I never write in one, I have so many notebooks though, crowded with tales of heartbreak, longing,first love, prayers, dreams and nightmares. A diary scares me for if I keep one, I am scared that the grey would seep into the pink and red, the yellow would be scared of the thick tarry black...I am afraid the demons in me would crawl out of the pages into the ones that have my dreams and my hopes. The ink would not fade like some scars have...so I leave it al...
#SKYLARK CHALLENGE 104
Bang bang goes the gun,
Violence as regular as the sun
Morals gathering rust,
Kindness forsaken; empathy to apathy, like particles to dust
You pray for it to stop,
For people to think...
The all consuming rat race
Gives you a mocking wink
When tolerance is banished to an old abandoned room
Creased shirts and scuffed shoes march hand in hand onto a glorious doom
Everytime hatred horrifies me with it's filthy look
Everytime..My escape lies in a book.
It is difficult to write this with the stamp smiling at me, but I do not think the noise is ever silenced, the lists ever laid aside. Melancholy has taught me more than smiles ever have, sighs have made me want to reach out more than a giggle ever has. It has been a never-ending search to keep others happy hoping that will somehow fix me.
I am haunted by humans, by the constant struggle of want and should, of 'I have' and 'I wish' and how they can be so exasperatingly mutually exclusive.
My eyes looked around the old abandoned room, a primal fear forcing my sluggish brain to think. I recalled the bang bang of the gun, the hand that held it, the killer's creased shirt, a thud like a heavy book being closed...a shooting pain, a mocking laugh with a whisper "witness turns victim" and then darkness : black, thick , restless.
My eyes threatened to droop..a slow lull spreading inside. "My escape!" I thought, hands strained against scuffed ropes, blood in my mouth gone stale like rust..my eyes dreamily looking at particles floating away towards the light..and I felt myself spiralling back to the darkness as my mind screamed at me.."light! Is there a window? Lo...
Thank you for making me feel the way the sky must feel at every dawn,
Thank you for making me realize if heartbreak is thunder, I am the storm.
Thank you for the pride in spite of the wound,
For when hope gave me shelter; you were what I found.
With a heartbeat that still falters
I wear my bruises like colours of the fall
But with you burning in my veins,
I know I shall rise above them all.
Even as I imagine myself as a phoenix rising to the sky
Even as I imagine; deep down
I know I am too tired to try
When all your sandcastles, dollhouses are a ramshackle mess
And the chaos threatens to spill over the face
The battleground of the mind touches base..
and tells me to make things matter less
I want a white shore, waves, moon and so much more
I want music and laughter wafting out of a door
When I don't know enough to have power...yet do know enough to not have bliss
When I am yearning for a hand and afraid of a kiss
I want rain, fairy lights, your smile and a bed...
I want some ink to tidy up my head.