poetrydarky

[poetrydarky]

didi

You know, if the world held a pop quiz and my life was on the line, i’d choose you as the subject. You’re like a book that i’ve annotated, only that i had to copy you into a separate notebook by hand and maybe forgot a few things, like how i don’t remember what colour you like more, black or lilac or brown (but only like a good leather boot kind, not a brick wall kind) but i know that its one of them because i heard you talk to one of your friends about it, and when i remember about everything that you've ever said to me, i know that those were the colours that you talked most about and i know that you put body mist like its a lifestyle, but only ones with hints of vanilla and some of them you don't even touch at all because you attach a lot of significance to scents, and if you don't like someone you’ll also grow to hate the smell of their perfume and i like to think that i'm a bit like you in that way as well, cause sometimes in school ill remember what mom smells like and ill spritz a bit of this fancy perfume i have in my cupboard all over myself because maybe then i wont feel lonely. I know that whenever we have the choice to order food and someone offers pan asian, you’ll always say yes cause man asian is your favourite and not noodle pan asian but more like sushi and dim sum pan asian and i know that when someone tries to serve you something with maybe fats or calories in it you'll silently mutter to yourself and try to calm down but it rarely happens and i know that your stress or happiness or love always rests in your fingers, how you strip your nailbeds and make them bleed all just for a catharsis that you don't even notice anymore and i know that you love to hog the blanket but that you hate hugs from people including me and you hate when people touch or take your stuff but how you'll always take my stuff and how whenever we’re together you’ll mention taylor swift at least once to fill the void and how you so intensely hate being reminded of failure but how you never defend it in front of the wrong people cause mentally your head has already made and excell sheet laying out who all is bad but never who all is good for some reason and every night i sleep hoping that i never feature on that list even though i know that sometimes i do. I know that you believe that i can do art and yet you don’t respect my passion for it enough to respect my rituals for it and how i know that you’ll probably never come for a book launch party or a gallery opening but i know that ill definitely recieve a text about it the next morning talking about how im great but will never mention how im not great enough that you took a day off to see it. I know that i read too much about you that i know that im not the most important for you but you still hold a place for me in your heart. Even if all you know about me is that im your annoying younger sister and that i really like chocolate, ill still love you even if you dont have time for me didi.

[poetrydarky]

Mbti personality test is just zodiac signs for burnt out gifted kids

[poetrydarky]

Indian Gothic

The Pandit comes to your home to pray. The pandit never goes to the temple. The pandit is always hungry for blessings. The pandit has been gone for six years.

You look at sidewalks filled with dirt and pollution, you won't be there anymore, but the trash will, it will stay and cave and whisper about your habits with the old lady who sits outside the shop. She's been there since the independence, and has been trapped by it. Don't by cigarettes at the shop, they make you want to die. The ones sold by the women are good, you won't be hurt by the colorful trucks if you take them.

The trucks never stop, they are continuous objects. The trucks are colorful because they think, they think of you, and your sins. It's a poem no one talks about and everyone knows. sidewalks see you, the trucks see your sins, and the cows on the street know all that there is to know. The trucks stop at the gate of the universe, they still need to deliver.

[poetrydarky]

Every time I read another Flannery O’Connor short story I’m like… the amazing brutal descriptive phrases. Incredible.  Prose to wonder at.

Also, what the fuck was that?

[poetrydarky]

dont tell me.

The day that McGonagall and Oliver wood found out that harry and ginny and all the other weasly's was the day that they started planning out the entire all star weasley-potter quidditch team.

Oliver, telling McGonagall about his plan: So, you see, if we pull this off, we will be put into history.

McGonagall, having already done this the day day she realized that ginny and harry were into each other: I have never had as much faith in you, Mr Wood, as I have had today. I shall officially forgive you for failing every transfiguration class of mine.

One year later, at the potter-weasley household.

Oliver, looking at james: See him, he will be a beater, I am telling you he'll make the team, look at that build-

Ginny, losing her cool and saying out of sheer frustration: My son, will be, a chaser. (deadpanning as well)

Oliver, suddenly appalled: I shall forgive you for committing such a horrid crime, simply because he was born 20 minutes ago.

[poetrydarky]

I wanna die in the way that I want to know whether people will miss me, whether they’ll mourn. I want to know if I was the kind of person everyone remembered forever, or the type who becomes forgotten in a few days, nothing but ash, i want to know whether I was worth it, whether my life would become better, without having to live it, cause in the end, thats whats gonna happen

[poetrydarky]

i know I may get criticism but *takes deep breath* Fuck it.

How is it that people NEVER ever talk about how “regular” parents can never bestow upon you the same emotional scars that kids with physically abusive parents can??

my parents go to work everyday, get me gifts, and have amazing reputations with everyone, but how is it that they have cause more problems in my head then freakin society itself?

They make me feel like I know nothing, that I am worthless, if I get second highest in my class, they’ll say,” where did you go wrong?, why weren’t you as good as the other child?”. Not, “you did well, you put in so much effort?

My father makes me want to kill myself half the time cause he keeps on telling me how fat I am. I get it, I can’t reach your unreachable standards cause maybe I’m not meant to. They compare me to my cousins and random people with so much appreciation that to me it feels like at some point, along the way, they forgot i existed.

Why, mom and dad, when, mother and father, where, mama and papa, did you forget that the people who you give all this criticism to is your own blood?