#tumblr poetry

Found amazing Spoken Word content on Spotify that I decided to make a playlist for it. Give it some love and appreciation.

What is worse than not being loved? Knowing that no one loves you.

I’ve never found sunsets to associate with hope, if anything they are the most depressing of the things.

The best love stories are the ones which lasts enough for you to love and find yourself and ironically they are also the worst.

The night I realised I needed therapy

It was 2 in the night, and I was watching

a reaction video on my phone. It was 2

in the night, so I let my mind go and let

it roam freely wherever it wanted to. It

had been on the leash the entire morning.

It was 2 in the night and I didn’t anticipate

what might happen.

I remember distinctly that I was breathing

fine. I was breathing fine, a moment and

the other I was racing along with my

thoughts. It wasn’t too late, and my body

started racing around my room too. It was

2 in the night, so I decided to not wake

people up. People, what people? I’m alone.

Sometimes I wish to sleep this feeling away,

but if I sleep now, I’ll be caged in my mind

where my sleep demon awaits my arrival,

and I am not ready for that rendezvous.

Hence, I’m awake. Trying to breathe, trying

to sleep, failing at both.

I clearly remember, meeting him, them,

when I briefly closed my eyes. It happens,

not a lot but in the night, when it’s 2, that’s

the only thing that my brain does. When I see

them, I don’t see colors, I don’t hear their

voice, I see them and I see myself through

them.

When I look at myself, through them, I see a

sack of blood and flesh, lying on the bed,

Immobile and frozen. I see a pathetic body

not even trying to fight it, using the 21

seconds rule as an escape to not move. It’s

almost as if she wants to stay in this state

forever.

When I see myself looking at me, I feel

frantic. I hate myself at that moment, but I

can’t, I just can’t move. I know if I stood up

right now, I’ll fight it. I’ll fight with everything,

I’ll run away, and I’ll be gone and if I lay there

all night, without moving, my judgement

would stare me down and leave me in my

misery.

They are getting closer with each thought

that chokes me. I want to break the barrier

and just hide in the bathroom. Why am I

resisting this? They are here, reaching out

to me and there’s nothing more for me to do

than join them and live in this vulnerability.

ज़िन्दगी का फलसफा भी कितना अजीब है शामें कटती नहीं और साल गुज़रते चले जा रहे है.

-पीयूष मिश्रा

Translation -

How strange is the philosophy of life, the evenings do not end and the years are passing by.

- Piyush Mishra

25. Anxiety

One moment you are sitting still,

the other you’re not. The worst

moment for anxiety to hit is

probably when you least expect

it. Can you expect it though? It

waits for you to be weak, or to

be your happiest self. It strikes

when you feel nothing and then

your whole world comes collapsing.

Anxiety, holds you hostage in your

own body. Sucks your soul and

keeps it that way, lifeless and

unattended. It’s the feeling of heat

in an air-conditioned room, the dip

in your heart while taking a dump,

the paralyses induced when you

hear about that one trigger that you

just discovered is triggering.

ANXIETY, the word is enough to

render you inactive, perplexed,

agitated, sad, and all the other

emotions you can’t name. This

blank document writing itself

and bringing within it the anxious

scrolling while the heart still dips

and beats in tones not understood

by me.

24. A paranoid hate poem

The walls piercing through their plaster,

as if watching me, mocking me, there

are four. I’m locked in a room and my

demons are feeding on my mind. The

bed shakes sometimes, and sometimes

it refuses to move, it holds me close

and screams that it’ll never let me go.

I’m locked in a room and my demons are

feeding on my mind. My bookshelf sits

there, waiting for me to run my fingers

through it like I used to, but I don’t have

that childlike enthusiasm left in me like

I had in November. I’m locked in a room

with my demons who never let me sleep.

I’m locked in this room with my demons,

and they are feeding on my soul. I’m

locked in this godforsaken room, seeking

an out and these demons are sucking the

life out of me. I’m locked in this room

awaiting my sweet release.

I know it’s a difficult time and a difficult world that we are living in. I hope you haven’t lost your hope. I won’t say that it will get better because I don’t know if it will but I’m certain that we can live this through, one day at a time. I hope you all the power and strength.

Love and prayers your way.

23. PSA

Breathe in……..

..2

..1

……..Breathe out

..4

..3

..2

..1

Repeat

22. To whomsoever it may concern

Can you breathe?

The air passing you by, the

moments too. The undesired

quest of knowing and not

knowing. The inability to rest.

Can you smell?

The bodies, rotten and dunked

in blood, with no one to pay

heed to. Then waiting in despair

with no one in the waiting.

Can you taste?

The salt in their eyes, the misery

imposed by the system. The

horrible, sour, bland flavor of

a failed regime.

Can you hear?

The screams, the wailing, the

howls, their cries. They are still

waiting and screaming. Can

you hear them?

21. Notes from the journal

For those who alone did trot,

waiting for a miracle to come,

they often are not looking too,

for a sign to pass them by. Done

with the world, evading their

shadows, holding it by the helves.

For they don’t need anyone to survive,

they are whole in themselves.

20. Incredulous

They tell me not to read mythology and

believe aimlessly what is forever told.

Of the formation of this universe, the

chaos that metamorphed into the sun,

the stars, the planets, you and me. The

violent rage and act of defiance by

Amnon and his death acting as a deterra

-nce, probably the first where the crime

did someone free. Did you know of all the

Greek tragedy, my favorite is the one told

bySophocles? It talks of love, honor, the

duty, oppression and tyranny as it unfolds.

They tell me not to read mythology and

believe aimlessly what is forever told.

I recall now that I once read, of woman so

strong, warriors she fed. Madhavi was her

name and she bore it with pride, she was

used as a fortune by them. Alas, it was

written by men. Forever, I did try to find the

genesis of his highness Macbeth or of

Sisyphus, who twice cheated death. If you

close your eyes, you can hear poor Orpheus’

lore.

They tell me not to read mythology and

believe aimlessly what is forever told.

When they ask me to believe, I do often

gather, the four horsemen making their way

to end the world, but I’d take hurricanes and

tsunamis rather. Fearless as they are, it’s the

women who call me from the narrative they

are written in, always longing to be at par.

The mightiness of the men, their heroism is

at what the story is often sold.

They tell me not to read mythology and

believe aimlessly what is forever told.

19. Questions unanswered

In the quest of knowing and not

knowing, the remembering is

what baffles me profusely.

For I shall never know

what it holds for me

and what it holds

against

my solemn

self.

18. Yugen

Can you hear the music

echoing in the streets?

There are voices too doleful

to take no notice of.

Can you hear them scream

and crying in the streets?

The voices now deafening

destroying the credence.

Can you feel their voices

calling out for help?

The agony, the distress

still calling, but now it’s too late.

17. We exist

I don’t know which type I am. The A

type which is always ready to for an

adventure, would want to talk on the

phone and not really on the message

Or the B type, the one who really lie low,

loves to be left alone with their

thoughts, just need a book and coffee.

I don’t know which type I am. I am the

one who wants to be there, always,

with my friends, having fun and seeking

adventure but not always, I carry my

favorite book to my favorite places

alone and in that quest, I start feeling

lonely, the kind of lonely that comes

when you’re surrounded by people. I

don’t know which type I am, I think

these types were created by us to make

the people conform to the set principles

and to understand ourselves the way

we perceive everyone else, ordinary and

vanilla. So, I don’t know which type I am.

I am the type who gets a bout of spunk

only sometimes. The kind of courage that

forces me to download a dating app but

doesn’t help in actually going out and

meeting people. The type that enables

my every act of sneering insolence and

makes me believe that I am a product

of these baseless by-laws, and I’m ought

to be like this and act like this. I don’t

know which type I am, but I know that

I am not what the world wants me to be.

We exist.

16. Welcome to my Ted talk

I’ve come to a halt. My body

doesn’t want to move, it is

breathing out air, inhaling and

exhaling but moving, no. It is

done, I am done, my brain, my

body, every nerve in my system is

done. I recently watched this

show called “Feel good” in hopes

to feel good myself, and it hit me

like an epiphany, how comedy

often masks the complexities

of nature, we call it mental health.

So, now that I’ve watched

something that was supposed to

be feel good, and I don’t feel good

after it, I think that the feelings that

are resonated by my mind, my body,

will go unnoticed. I don’t know how

to feel about it and whom to talk

about it. So, now, my body is in this

state of self loathing with an ounce

of anxiety because I wanted to watch

something that’d make me feel good,

but instead I watched something that

made me miserable.

She became convinced that the measure of her existence hung in the balance.
That the complexity of her calm fell in the number of idle breaths she took a day
That her beauty was a scarcity of times that she glanced at the mirror without feeling repulsed.
She is fragile.
Picking up the broken pieces that were once amassed to create a woman. Beautiful and resolved.
All it takes for such a woman to fall, is the absence of someone to pick up the pieces.
And instead of being her own someone. Her own harrowing warrior.
She fell.
Cracked under pressure.
She was broken. And needed everything she swore she’d never want.
Searched for her own validation in the hands of another. And slowly wept; wilted away into her own self demolition.
She lived shadowed under a blanket of grievances.
They were no longer the materialistic obstacles that used to hoard her time.
The were deep and dark and ugly.
She’s slipping into a black hole of her own creation. In a list for validation to find value in herself hidden in the arms of another. When will she realize that she is the only person that will give her worth. She is the only one who can understand her value. And she must fight to be comfortable in her own skin and bones rather than listlessly searching for a piece of her, hidden in a puzzle of broken souls.
She is fragile.
But she will live. And she will learn to love the pieces that have gone astray, the rounded edges and the bitterness that keeps her up till early hours. She will learn to look into the mirror and be content. She will pick up her own pieces. Put them into place.
She was fragile.
But now she is found.
Pieced together the broken.
And the broken;
Now forever bound.

r.t.

If you want to talk to him: go ahead
Dial his number and press call
But when he feeds you the same lines again be careful not to fall.

Life’s too short to worry.
Does he miss me?
Or did he move on?
But if you find out he does miss you, be careful not to fawn

If you’re still in love with him; that’s okay.
Just protect yourself from the games he plays.

Don’t let yourself break
Don’t let yourself fall.

But by golly if you want to see him, Just call.

r.t.

Why does the storm rock the flower
That gives it’s sweetest pollen to the bees?

Why does our God promise prosperity,
Then leave us tortured and broken on our knees?

Why does the sweetest fruit in summer
Always get picked away to rot?

Why does the happiest moment of our lives
Turn into just another nostalgic thought?

Why do the bad things come
To ruin all the pure?

Leave the faithful broken,
Equip the corrupt with the cure.
Why do bad things happen?

A question I can’t understand
As I stare into his pained eyes
And try to feed him some comforting lies.

His father left, and mother has cancer
How can I give him a satisfying answer?

He doesn’t deserve all that’s come his way.
All he did was love.
And what he loved was taken away.

r.t.