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pro lifers

a man twice my age tried to blackmail me into sleeping with him yesterday.

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happy birthday, love <3

Heyy love, it's good to have you here - this utterly scarred tissue of mine, this exposed nerve, this journal, this jar of secrets, this account that very few have heard of and even fewer have witnessed.

I've used several metaphors over and over again to describe what you mean to me, the thunder in my heart, the lightning in my veins, my life, my breath, my everything. I am devastated because no permutation of letters justifies my feelings. The enormity of my affection for you is beyond anything language can explain.

The best way to tell you how much I love you is to tell you this- once, my sister and I were joking around when I mentioned something about you. She looked at me dead serious and said- "You're happier with him." Her expression told me a million other things she felt. "You've deserved him all along." "You've been so hurt and I'm glad to finally see you happy." All of this, she could tell by the way I smiled like an idiot while on a call with you. I really do love you like that. <3

I have never missed you so much as today, as right now. I wish I could hold you and tell you everything I will write here. I wish I could kiss you and talk to you for hours. While all of that is true, it is also true that this summer apart has taught me a lot of things.

Patience, the power of communication, the intensity of our feelings, the endless joy in a fifteen-minute phone call, yearning, sadness and happiness, and so much more. You've given me more than I could ever ask for and more than I can imagine. The unconditionality of our love will forever be mind-blowing to me.

I'd love you if you had a broken nose (yes, like that dream), if you were in a room full of supermodels and even if you were a worm. I'd keep you in my garden and feed you apples every day. Well, anyway :/.

To talk about the end of an era and twenty, I realise how intimidating it is. But I think we wanted this more than anything when we were a single-digit old. Now we have it. We have enough time to get everything we want - all the money, power and glory (yay, Lana reference). I hope you fulfil every single daydream of yours. I hope you have a beautiful birthday and a beautiful life, and I'm with you in it. Happy birthday A, I love you. -Ak

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Hey I can't remember if I ever answered the message you sent me thanking me for sharing your poetry! The poem I remember, was about anxiety, and it rang so right, so despairing and yet long-suffering about that old news "person" following you everywhere... Really touched me! Today I posted a poem for the first time in...pfiou, very long! I then wanted to check if you had, too. And then I remembered maybe I hadn't answered that ask. Made me happy to see it! But anxiety...makes it hard talking to people. Even online. I hope you're always writing, even if you don't post it! That's all we can wish to each other I suppose haha. Sorry for the rambles/being weird, and have a good night/day, whenever this finds you!

I was inactive on tumblr for a while and I just saw your ask. This means more to me than you'd think, when i post all my poems online, all I hope is that somebody connects with them.

I'll be sure to check your poem and I already know it's going to be great.

Thanks again <333

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The Dark Side of Heaven

 I was thinking no more than usual Of life and death, some crimes, a recent scandal When she slid in with a serpent like grace Fire and fury frame her snatched face.

"No, no, no" I almost scream, "not today" Never in a dream will you take me away Her intentions and pupils dark as an abyss My blood paler than the red of her lips

She pulls me closer and holds me tighter Then whispers ungodly deeds into my ear "This mortal world, the realm of man Will never understand the supreme plan"

"Come with me", she stares into my eyes "Allow me to take you to God's  paradise Euphoria unmatched, an all-time high A feeling like no other, a trip to the sky"

"You are no apostle, you are no angel Just a mere seductress, a worker for the devil Darling, I could die to get to kiss your lips But I am cynical for I know your tricks"

"Shhh silly mortal, you don't know what you say There is neither black nor white, only shades of grey There are shadows in heaven and fireflies in hell I really wanted to take you honey, but oh well"

And with that she vanished into thin air Her bright orange dress first, then locks of her hair Now, I clutch my head in a frantic fit, "I need her" I shout, "I need the hit"

I desperately rummage through my drawer I know I got the thing which has the power To unite me with her, my best lover The brightest flame, the darkest flower

Through keys and useless cards and some cash I finally find my precious stash She calls me again "Come dear heathen, Let me take you to the dark side of heaven."

-Ak

//PS: This one was born from a Tumblr prompt. Image Source: Google search.//

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The Glass Wall

She once had gilded fingertips and wings of ice Honey like laughter and fire in her eyes Chuckles of carelessness and joyful screams Freedom, hopes, and naïve dreams

"Santa will be here on Christmas eve. I want a pretty reindeer, and I'll call it Steve." "Mom, tomorrow, can we go for a picnic?" "Look, Dad, I learned a new magic trick."

They told her, "Curiosity is the greatest sin." Snow White ate the apple; Aurora touched the pin. Unfazed, she reached out, and the glass wall turned to mist. Adieu, land of dreams, thou shall be sorely missed.

She stepped undaunted into the dark and dreary haze Unlike her simple home, this realm was a maze Her icy wings were gone, her fire extinguished Her endless energy and spirits suddenly diminished.

"One way," said a little sign on the glass wall She had been too thrilled to notice it at all Bloody graffiti on the wall said, "Coming of age." Our dear heroine was filled with shame and rage.

Eager to learn, she began to understand, The straightforward and lucid law of the land 'By hook or crook', 'by flattery or bribe.' There are no brethren; there is no tribe.

Tears and sweat of toil drip from her eyebrow The carnival beyond the wall is just a reverie now Her ankles are bloody; her wrists bruised The ship of childish innocence has cruised

A fiery and ferocious warrior in battle Her armour is made of perseverance and mettle Braving the lows, sailing through the highs She still dreams, but now with open eyes

Raw wounds and scars are her decorations Victory and success her only celebrations And yet she has this odd satisfaction For nought is as sweet of the fruit of thy action

This morrow, a young lark took a bold flight in the distance “Oh”, she sighs, “the gentle crimes of adolescence.” "Ahoy, little birdie, I know you have no clue There used to be a time when I was just like you."

                                                                     -Ak //PS: I wrote this one for a poetry slam competition at college. Theme: Coming of Age. Image Source: Google search.//

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Red Apple

I’ve looked at you a little too long tonight, I shouldn’t have realised your damn beauty. I never wanted to crave you like forbidden fruit.

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That Guy

He startles me. I do not understand him at all. The complexity in his behaviour, combined with his confusing stare, drives me insane.

I pride myself on my ability to understand people. I can generally tell what they like and what they abhor. Even more than that, I find most people transparent: see-through. I adore looking into their souls, travelling through the infinite dimensions in their minds and searching for their elixir of life. Love, lightning, thunder, the smell of fresh earth after rains, water flowing on round pebbles, butterflies and rainbows, wanderlust, the subtle brushing of hands while walking with a loved one - most people are too simple.

And yet he is incomprehensible. If there was ever a God, and if he ever made perfection, he did not mean for human minds to understand it. I usually do not stop talking, but he manages to answer all my questions with plain logic and ask even more complex questions where there are no answers. His silence is impenetrable, and yet it is a language. His preferred language. His heart aches like mine, but he does not speak of it. He conveys so much wordlessly, but I find myself falling short, failing to comprehend the unspoken.

This boy, this genius of a man, is a little child. His head is filled with trivia, the technical know-how of everything, practicality and tricks, and the power of dealing with vendors, and yet he finds solace in walking on dry sticks, watching them crack. - Ak

P.S. Wrote this character after being inspired by a friend’s personality.

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Blue.

For a moment, I thought I'm nothing without you. But then darling, even if it is slightly, or completely true, I'd rather be a nobody than a burning shadow of you. And tell me, how does one seamlessly sew, Intricate tapestries torn mercilessly into two?

- Ak

PS: some of us writers like to stab ourselves, the blood writes better than ink and wounds are food for thought ;)

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Springtime Love Story

We sit under the blue sky, the colour of your bright eyes. Holding hands, fingers locked, our breathing warm, and souls longing.

Until the sun sets yet again, bleeding red like a wounded soldier, and blending shades of pink and orange slowly into the movie like landscape.

Emerald green grass, yellow tulips, my lilac dress with a satin sash, your crisp white shirt and cheap cologne - classic setting for a springtime love story.

Your lips tremble, eager to say a truth, about yourself, or me, or us. Crimson - indigo : the wounds on my soul. Don't shy away, tell me again. You don't feel the way I do.

I'll spend another night wondering how does one manage to not fall miles and miles into the pit of love when they lie in my arms all day, their hands all over me at night.

Maybe I am what's wrong, lacking. My love is crippled, it does not give you wings.

- Ak

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Agony.

This agony is fire. Its flames sweep across my fragile heart. They illuminate your face in shadowy alleys, and city streets lit with neon tube lights.

This agony is fire. It tells a pathetic cliché story, of losing, and trying to drown your thought in the acidic fluids of my void stomach.

This agony is fire. You and I were intense. Intricate, like the engravings on the handcrafted sheath of a deadly sword.

This agony is fire. But I still want to study you. I want to study our late-night rendezvous, Abandoned like ruins of medieval monuments.

This agony is fire. It’s satanic, and it reeks of blood. It’s pure and smells like lilacs, fresh mint and your cheap cologne.

- Ak

Below, I tried to put into words what I’ve been struggling with in life. It includes mention of self harm.

Post Scriptum: A lot has changed in my life recently - I moved out, had a couple of arguments with who I thought were good friends, and the classic relationship problems. I did not cope very well for the first few weeks and my mental health was at its worst and I even tried to self harm. I can still see the red handle of the very sharp knife that I used when I shut my eyes. I have been struggling to pen a good poem, or anything else since three to four weeks. No writers’ block of mine has ever stayed for this long. It makes me even more paranoid because - what if good writing was just an era that has ended?

This poem is not my favourite, in fact it is as flawed and bruised as my soul presently. Yet, I am putting it out here because it motivates me to write more. Positive reinforcement and the reassurance that I get from even a couple of notes on here really help me heal. 

Hope. Resilience. Love. 

One day, I’ll want to live again.

-Ak

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Journal - (11/05/2022)

It's been a long while since I wrote. It's not like I did not try - I've written hundreds of syllables and then scratched them because I hated what they said. I still feel a little inept. I find it impossible to mould these words into those oddly structured - half nice poems I usually write. But, I feel the need to put this out in the world for no one to see for my sanity.

Writing for me is therapeutic. In a way, it allows me to pour the overwhelm, stress, self-doubt and negativity onto paper. I can write things I struggle to say.

Moving out of the house, living on my own, with people my size and no parental figures, is difficult. Juggling studies, laundry, and cleaning is complex. Yet, the tangy taste of newfound freedom cancels the bittersweet pinch of homesickness. I realised I have been too hard on myself.

This is a significant shift from an overprotected and sheltered baby to a young adult, and everyone copes with it differently. Then how is it fair to rebuke me based on someone else's productivity or achievements?

I have been trying, haven't I? It is impossible to do a single thing right when my mind is shrouded with guilt. I wonder if starving myself to lose weight and constantly getting bruised because of clumsiness are forms of subtle self-harm. In any case, they certainly scream neglect and lack of self-love.

On top of all this, I lost him. I was there for him when he needed it - asking him to work, asking him to eat and to sleep- but he vaporised just a few weeks ago. Leaving me when I needed his care and concern, when I wanted someone to ask me if I was doing alright and when I needed a chest to bury my face in.

So today, I forgave everyone, and I begged for forgiveness. I have been condescending and rude, not intentionally but that does not change that I have hurt people who have been there for me when I needed them. It was unfair to project my insecurities onto them. I enjoyed some good camaraderie and coffee with my flatmates and sobbed on video call with my sister. Then I plugged into some good music and sat down to write this.

I forgive myself. I am not guilty of anything. Less than two weeks of life to get accustomed to a change of such enormity is justified. I am grateful to everyone who dealt with me during this period of insecurity. I am back - and I am here to stay.

Cheers to change. Cheers to making memories. Cheers to hustle. Cheers to love and friendship. Cheers to a new journey.

- Ak

Image source: my camera

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Mother, tell me what to do. How do I breathe without also choking on the air? How do I grow up without also losing my innocence?

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The Flesh I Burned

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goodbyes suck.

this morning, i woke up to take a final look at my home before i left for hostel. i looked at the kitchen and my mind was filled with vibrant images of us. cooking bad pasta, overspicing everything, me whining over something i didnt want to eat and the routine conversation i had with my mom everytime she cooked.

"what are you cooking?"

"really?"

"yay! mammaaaaah you're the best cook ever! "

...

i looked at our favourite hideouts where we played hide and seek, the corner where red vented bulbuls had made a nest one summer, the spot where i slipped and sprained my ankle, my favourite spot in the balcony, my dad watching television as usual even though he wasn't, my room, the bed, the table, the chairs, more tables, and more chairs. furniture. i looked at the place where my mom was crying. crying because i was leaving. crying, because i grew up.

...

i think we all have this strange tendency of thinking our home is perfect. that one leaky tap, that one creaky door, and all such minor inconveniences don't seem to bother us at all. home is heaven. one more time in my life, i stood helpless. how does one explain to mere stuff that i'll only be away for a short while.  these things are inanimate, but so alive and so full of life.

ps: these bougainvilleas are from my balcony back at home

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Undeserving.

Seven hellish flames and four fountains of endless love. That maniac crafted my soul like an elaborate oxymoron.

I write you letters every day, of wanting and mad adoration with ink and tears. Then I burn them like a true lover.

I pluck your scabs like wilted roses then blot your bleeding wounds with grafts of my skin. Heal him. I'll hurt instead.

I look into your eyes to see deep blue oceans, warlike passion, Paradise and the garden of Eden. You'll only ever see in mine the earthly flash of neon car headlights.

I etched words on stone. "I'll burn those who hurt you." So as I set myself alight, I hope I've made those words come true.

-Ak

PS: The credit for the last (and amazing) stanza goes to a friend. <3

Image Source: Google

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Everyday.

The fluorescent glow of my laptop screen flashes on my face. Fingers curled over the keyboard, I patiently wait for magic to flow through them. The night had not yet ended, the morning still began. Like a cruel conqueror, eager to overthrow gracious benefactors. Maybe that's the reason my dark circles look particularly prominent today.

My thoughts are a cruel concoction of cumbersome assignments and their deadlines Of people that I love, who don't particularly love me back Of doubt, of fear, of desperate calls for help Yet my head feels light and empty Devoid of humanness and the emotions that characterize it.

I am desperate and longing, but for what I do not know. Is it unconditional love? That does not exist. Is it the desire to be unbeaten? That would be preposterous. Is it to be great? I could hardly do that. Is it material and tangible, or fluid or abstract? Is it you?

For today, I will continue the same old dirty ritual Of invalidating my feelings, shirking responsibilities, ignoring needs Of choking my dreams till they die, and then feel guilt and shame And cry myself to sleep at night, until morning stabs at its throat again. Tomorrow, I will be a better person.

-ak

Image Source: Google 

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you :)

never-ending chatter each sentence stretched like rubber to twice its length words heavy with the weight of the unsaid eyes avoiding each other preserving some sacred secret

and then silence loud enough to burst an eardrum invisible forces pushing us closer howling winds insinuating my heartbeat and lighting, and thunder, and you

- ak

Image Source: Google

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Pause. Breathe. Play.

i don’t know who needs to hear this (me), but it is okay to take things slow. do it at your own pace. your self worth is not subject to other people’s skills/ knowledge/ talent. you’re doing great, just keep moving forward.