girlinthecity009

[girlinthecity009]

At home yet away from home

 All those people who I once made homes of are abandoned houses now. Its strange how I have left so much behind me that it actually doesn't matter anymore. But I can't deny that it doesn't hurt. It does. When I see them walking the hallways or in the parking lot, it hits me. The realization of what I lost and what I gained. They were my home away from home, yet there is not much in my lap. There is a bucket of regrets laced with bittersweet pain. There is a seething emptiness within the recesses of my chest and a mellow hurt in the pores of my soul reminding me of all my lost battles like a dark gray wind blowing in the graveyard. 

I look at all of it from a distance. It takes me in a state of trance and trust me its buzz never gets killed. Its a hangover which I carry in my heart and mind. Its been years that life has formulated itself around this. I am yet to discover a lot more in life but these past few years have taught me so much about myself that calling me a conqueror of my own little kingdom won’t be wrong. I do live life king size in my own head and space. And this defines my outlays towards the architectural manifestations that a home brings along with it. 

I feel puzzled at times. I have been away from home for so long that at times the feelings remain mutual, even when I am at home and not away from it. The struggle of tucking myself into the comforts of bed is a journey on its own . When the back gets used to the mattress and its discomforts, the heart starts talking otherwise. Its seems a complete pendulum of thoughts continuously going back and forth. It makes me restless, effortlessly drowning into the dark boulevard of  my crumbled notions. I’ve yet to  enter the aisle of mastering my skills of contemplating the basics of life. The conquest, in its truest form, is real and tiring at the same time. This has to continue for defines me, molds me into the shadow of myself.

As Haruki Murasaki says;

“ I don’t know how to put it but i just can’t get it through my head that here and now is really here and now. Or that I am really me. It doesn’t quite hit home. It’s always this way. Only much later on does it ever come together.

It seems like I am painting my path towards home. Taking one step at a time. There is no need to rush. Its like learning to fly with my wings wide open. Its as if its going to happen and its supposed to happen and I know that I will eventually find the reason why. But for now, I pave my hand like a hard stroke of colorful smoke. Slowly inhaling it, feeling it down my windpipe and knowing this is home. My home.  

[girlinthecity009]

A martyr not a saint .

With a muffled sob, she turned and ran. From the place where all the children were. They should have been excited and happily playing, yet their eyes spoke volumes of hopelessness and questions unanswered. When did those worldly embellishments started dictating upon your individuality. When did the world and the traffic around you made you turn into a a sad drunken artist portrait. 

   When??? 

She silently screamed. When did you learn to fake your smiles? When did the child inside you die? When did the colors fade from your first ever painting? When did the sailing ships stop to fascinate you? When did they steal your joy from the simplest of things? When did you become so scared? When did you start seeing a different person in the mirror each time? When did you give away the bucket of your dreams? When did you start wishing for death? When you leave your innocence in the name of compromise, sacrifice? Tell me speak to me. Answer ?

When did all become grey? You were and are a beautiful manifestation of God . How did you succumb so easily and just let the world decide what you are suppose to do. These wings are meant to make you fly.  These were meant to raise your standards high in order to st rules, without any barriers,.

When they forced us to give all of this up.....A voice inside her answered. More than anything, she wished she could do something. But she herself was a martyr, Been through all that they were going through. A martyr who hadn't died but no longer lived. A martyr who inhaled air but never took a breath. A martyr, And she was no saint. 

[girlinthecity009]

[girlinthecity009]

"What i’m learning is that growth is ugly. It’s not bubble baths and self-help books that teach you how to love yourself. It’s fighting, kicking and screaming against the self-doubt that weighs you down. It’s panicking at the possibility of failure while still moving forward anyway. It’s slowly peeling out of your skin and feeling the tenderness of a touch without armour. The process of growth is ugly, but it’s the product that makes it worthwhile". - Audrey Mansfield

[girlinthecity009]

Abyss of Memories

It hits like a truck. On one of the good days, when you think all is going well, when you think you have started to get past it, that is the moment when it all comes back. All it took was one song and I was plummeting into an abyss of memories. When the emotions that swamp you are reminiscent of getting drenched with freezing water on a dry night. Your breath becomes short and your throat constricts. And it takes every inch of power you possess to keep the smile on and pretend everything is normal. Oh the pretension. The bloody pretension. The lyrics the words remind you of a lost friend, lost love. The hardest is when the same reminds you of the lost you. Where did you leave yourself . You always believed that you had photographed everything and everyone around you quite enough but then pictures are the ones that always remind you of how much you have lost. This is a memory trap, I guess. Holding each wing of mine. Clenching me hard towards the inevitable. This thought is scary but then again its a memory. Sometimes bitter and sometimes sweet .

[girlinthecity009]

Tangled Emotions

Those nights are countless. And they seem to be never ending. Like a thrown rock, they resurface every few waves and press down upon you. It does not seem to matter how rhythmic and constant the rest of the waves are, that pressure is all that you can think of. It threatens to choke you because you refuse to let that dam of emotions out. It does not matter how much time has elapsed, it will still douse you with ice water everytime the thought comes to mind. The sheer agony and the blinding pain that hits you then and you are helpless except to close your eyes and hope for the moment to pass. On the good days, it does. Otherwise it sticks, it sticks till you lie down with a tired sigh and think of all the tangled emotions your body and mind lock around .

[girlinthecity009]

Exhausted

I’m just so exhausted, you know? If I spend over half of my time playing buffer and referee between the two of you and you tell me I’ve gotten used to listening to bullshit, complete the thought - whose fault do you think it is? I feel older and older each week, like even the powers of pretense are slipping from my very fingers. I seem to no longer be able to hide how dissatisfied I am with my very existence, my own self, how I am never content with who I am. I compromise and compromise and compromise, until I realize everything I want is insignificant in the face of reality.

 Anyway and then it occurs to me, what I am doing anyway, and what's the point. Passivity is appealing, yet repellent. I would leave the country, but I have no money. I would run away but I have no money. And no place to go, of course, but that is secondary. So I shut up and write useless blogs.

 Cars go whizzing past my window, even during the darkest hours of the night and I sit up to watch the lights flash by, full of stories and lessons learnt and grief forgotten and desperation that overwhelmed. I think of all of them, who have owned some part of my heart and then discarded it, and I wonder, maybe I am cruel and uncaring like you say. I’m almost glad that I don't have your number so I can't call you, and I lie back to watch the streetlights glow over my walls, waiting for sunshine to paint over it and reassure me that I have another chance. How did I become this person? I could track my footsteps back until I reached who I used to be but what good would that be. How did I end up sitting here crying over how many people could betray me and keep going.

 Over how many could use and abuse and forget. I could crawl back on my hands and knees and gather her into my arms and cry desperately over her and tell her never to grow up. To never make all these mistakes. To never let so many people sell her so short she started believing it. How much hurt will you take little girl. Broken jagged shards of your innocence will rip you apart some day. And no one will ever see, damn you, you stupid child, no one will ever even see you fall and bleed and die and fight back and not a single fucking person will see your rage and how it layers thinly over the depth of your pain, you poor stupid child. What I would do to spare her. Her and me, myself and I. There is nowhere to go anymore. And how grievous to realize I have come through these last 23 years completely alone.

[girlinthecity009]

"I will teach my daughter not to wear her skin like a drunken apology. I will tell her ‘make a home out of your body, live in yourself, do not let people turn you into a regret, do not justify yourself. If you are a disaster it is not forever, if you are a disaster you are the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen. Do not deconstruct from the inside out, you belong here, you belong here, not because you are lovely, but because you are more than that." — Azra T.

[girlinthecity009]

Worth Everything

Right at the beginning of everything, I stumbled. I fell. Hard. I was so feeble it felt as if I had summoned up all my courage and strength in a box and thrown it a thousand seas away. A time i could only look up to the blue sky. The blurry clouds that made me think of the mistakes and the sins I had done in my life and how they had blackened my heart like charcoal.

How they had corrupted my anima like a plain white paper drenched in blood, how I had only one path left, the boulevard of shattered and crippled dreams. Maybe the ones I was oblivious of. In this bottomless pit of grim, fierce, blackest murk, I could only picture a slight glimpse of the vividity in life. In fact, the life itself.

But now when I look back, its the sky that has given me valor to try, to fight. I am yet to learn the art of letting go. My heart shatters into a billion pieces when I am told or asked to let go. The mere thought of the word itself creates  a thousand trembles in my body. Maybe its the fear of loosing. I really am not sure but these clouds are no more blurry or maybe I have just succumbed myself to the infamous conjectures that make there way towards me. I sit and inhale under the sky, trying to absorb everything around me. It brings peace if not answers once I do this.

Someone once told me not all the pain fades away, not all the questions are answered. You just learn the art or skill of endurance as I call it. Each night a thousand questions are left unanswered, a thousand stories are left untold or unsaid. But I have stopped fighting the odds in order to know them. Time brings all the answers and if not, some things are better unknown. Because in way or the other life is worth everything.  

[girlinthecity009]

I know 2AM

I know  2 AM, I know it backwards, inside out. I know the tread of tired tip-toes That against the silence shouts. It is when the night time has its guard down About to swap watch with the day, And it will talk to you of truth If you can coax it the right way.

I know 2 AM, The way it weaves throughout the city, To settle softly on the things That in the daylight aren’t so pretty. I know those safe beneath sheets Will never see the dark so deep, And there is a reason that the dreamers Aren’t the ones who are asleep.

I know 2  AM and I am the same dreamer who does not sleep Who choose to put herself out wild in front of the sky and submit into the silhouettes of the dark. To embrace the darkness as her own . Because she knows pseudo happiness and forced satisfaction slowly poison the heart. She has carved herself around 2 AM as such that it gratifies all that is around her. 

[girlinthecity009]

Herself

I sold my soul tonight. She walked wearily across the carpeted hallway, her feet sore and her heart numb. Run. Run. Run. While there is still a glimmer of disappearing light on the horizon. Run. Maybe I can escape. My memory, my identity. Escape and start again. Maybe I can escape myself. In this degree, work, love. In addictions that can drag me under so seamlessly there will be no trace of me. Mystic, deep purple skies, silver stars scattered across, swirling with promises of the unknown. She looked into the mirror, met those black eyes looking back at her, knew them. Collapsed at the sense of loss. How shall I say, now that all that was has been washed away, now that every memory and every crystal dream has shattered, instead of sparkling in the sunlight to reflect dancing colors of my love, and you have turned away, quietly, unseeingly, and I have succumbed to fate, and to what I knew what would come, and now that there is truly no space for my name between all the names of those who make up the core of your life, how shall I say to you, and yet hold my pride intact... That I dreamt of you again?

[girlinthecity009]

"You could see it in her glittering eyes, on her tear streamed cheeks, the things she could never, would never speak about. So she turned her pain and anguish into overflowing compassion for others." --Chrissie Pinney--

[girlinthecity009]

To everyone out there , who might read this, someone, somewhere loves you. More than know, more than you realise. And sometimes, more than themselves . For all of you, if you ever feel lost, here, remember, love hides in places you cannot imagine. And it keeps telling you to hold on. It's on its way It'll get better, I promise.

[girlinthecity009]

War Child

A massacre. Bitter one A room full of targets The blind smile I wear It is triumph Dominion

I want to fly High up in the clouds Like a sparrow with a white heart Singing for peace Humanity and freedom The need To change the longing to reality

I was told by my dying mother That I own the sky, the whole sky But the sky I see is blur With Red clouds and shards of grenade Bangs of bombs are set on replay I can see the beauty of the dead blossom

I walk, reluctantly On debris under my feet Young eyes See this side of mankind My innocence snatched from me

I would like the draw Paint the future I have never seen I want to draw wind The fresh breeze The oceans

I want to draw the colorful smiles I want to draw family Eyes who have never seen a mournful cloud I want to draw wings to fly around the globe I want to live with no address

A starving land A stolen home And a bullet for me I don’t want to be A lost face in the war I was the future

I gradually fall Fall of the innocent Finally free I am remembered Never forgotten

[girlinthecity009]

As Oscar Wilde states,

             “ One should either be a work of art, or wear the work of art.”

[girlinthecity009]

The lights must go dim, eventually. It's all going to be dark, very soon. The ones who'll make it are only the ones , who've learnt to be their own light. Who learn to surrender to their own knots and tangles. They nestle into the velvet's of their own warmth . 

[girlinthecity009]

The Feminine Boomerang

You’d wake up thinking everything was fine. A surge of relief at the pleasant wind and the soft sunshine would surround you and you’d praise the Lord for such a beautiful day to be alive. You’d probably be singing a 1950′s Disney song (with birds helping around with the dishes, of course). You’d finally realize that you’re at harmony in the world. But wait. Do I detect a hint of melancholy in the air? MELANCHOLY? Of course not! You’d march straight outdoors with a skip in your step. And then fling your best china at the nearest flamingo because you’re generally unsatisfied with where you are in life. (Squawk!) “Ah, life. Weren’t you supposed to start working on your latest project three months ago?” Oh dear. There he comes. “Hallelujah! It’s been a long time since we talked.” Save me. “And, poof! Good morning, sunshine! Don’t you look dreary today? Have you gained weight?” Eye roll. That’s Mr. Finnegan, my inner critic. He strongly approves of nocturnal panic attacks. At least he’s altered visiting hours. I should probably call my parents. Or exercise. Actually, I should go hiking. 

I’m like a boomerang, continuously going back an forth in my head. I’m generally of the inability to maintain a plausible predictive attitude, but I don’t think it’s just me. Aren’t all women feline creatures of emotional wrath? After all, it’s just mood swings. Here’s how the general population of the girl world spends their day

 Mr Finnegan is still babbling on. He needs to shut up. Where’s my happy beanie?