#twcpoetry

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.

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.

He was a walking mystery
The analogue to every metaphor
My hands have written
And my lips have released
An effervescent aura
Surrounds him as he sauntered
Looking like a god
To my very mortal eyes
One tilt of his head and
Then his gaze found mine
Suddenly the embers within
Were blown by a gasp
The fire had been ignited
Heartbeat had skyrocketed
Time had been paused by
Intangible forces but
Then he looked elsewhere
And yet another blow
Diminished the bantam flame

It’s hard to swallow lyrics
You wrote but don’t accept
Because though you left me empty
Doesn’t mean you fully left

And people went and people stayed
But the stain was not removed
And they say it’s better letting go
But it feels like it’s too soon

So I’ll stay here in the clearing
Where I’m hoping to be found
Though outside I’m optimistic
I doubt you would come around

Somewhere out there in the forest
You are walking with the ghosts
They might prey on your attention
But it is I who craves it most

Take my hand
Squeeze it tight
And I beg you
Don’t speak
Talk is child’s play
And the words
Lovers share
Are wasted
In the air
So I beg you
If you really
Do love me
Don’t speak

Flesh to flesh
We lay in bed

My problems drift
As our bodies sway
You eat up my heart
And clutch my brain

Skin to skin
We dive in foreign waters

My inhibitions vanish
As you caress my face
You rip a hollow piece
And tuck it away

Heart to nothing
We look pass the truth

My dream-state slips
As you stand by the door
You steal a part of me
But I will need it no more

Put up another sturdy steel wall

Let sweet apathy be the motto

Every move is casual improv

Absolve myself of all desire

Stone cold callous absolutism

Ether of posthumous heartache

n.a.

If you could feel just a fraction of what I do

You could not see the world so pointless

But rather some grotesquely beautiful creature

covered with needles

n.a.

My consciousness glides

too quickly back and forth in my mind

like a wayward bow on an out of tune violin

incessant tremolo

tremulous cares won’t slow

just swell and dim

an aching hymn

n.a.

April is a multicolored sugar cube melting year by year in the back of my throat

n.a.

Last night I was swimming in the sunset, the way it bled into the ocean was like a hug and a kiss together.

n.a.

It’s like I fill myself with cement whenever I try to move towards something good.

n.a.