The demon sitting on my chest
Is the only weight I feel
I’m the pet, it’s the master
It commands and I steal

I thieve myself
Of my time and peace
Clanging chains deafen me
And I, respond only to the leash

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Faraway Friend

 

What must the terrain of your mind be like
Mountains being rolled like old carpets to be discarded
Beaches attempting to swallow you whole
Explosive eruptions that drown out the only thing you can raise against authority
Your voice
I see you running from one nightmare, straight into the arms of another
Skies rain ashes and tears of metal
Swiss cheese concrete blocks
Are no shelter from the enemy
When there are so many of them
Till your mind becomes one to yourself
Hounding you
Even in sleep

Free.

~Wise Night Owl's~

Free.

Is a word. Understated. A word so sprawled across, it defies its very definitions. Winged with defiance it invites us, to realms we perceived to be off-limits.

Free. Like one of its many symbols, is a bird, overtaking the skies with its magnanimity and its shadow is equipped with solidarity, a mere dark heraldic shape, of hope.

But free. Freedom. Isn’t pure. It bathes in the waters of those who have inflicted without cause and reasoning, and those, especially those, who have inflicted. It’s a pain that knows no good, no evil –  Its affliction blinds it of discernment. And in its moment of existence, all it identifies with is fire. Molten in veins, charred skin, and salt rubbed in wounds kind of fire.

Free. Is a release. A contamination which brews a preference to rather be  burned than sustain off the poisonous swamp its planted in. It’s an…

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Just that

Pain begets poetry. 
Pain begets art. 
A fact so often glamorized 
And glorified 
But past the layers of reassuring illusions 
It’s just that. 
The sickest of truths.
For what gives pleasure 
To one’s senses 
Probably came into existence 
After slit veins
Charred throats
And all sorts of metaphoric 
And literal 
Forms of pain 
Wove their way into an artist’s life.
Such is the sick
Twisted beauty of creating art. 
One must burn
So another in another time
Doesn’t. 
Having found solace 
In relatibility.

2nd anniversary, and getting emotional.

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Wow. 25th February. My blog turned two years old today! 😀

Um. I’m not very good at writing normal blog post type of blog posts, where I have to express myself in a non-poetic way. But I’ll say this:

This blog, has been a journey, or should I say, it has been chronicling a journey of sorts. I have grown, as a person, as a writer, poet, and it is only through the pieces arranged so chronologically here, that I can determine the depth of these changes, these transitions. 
I can see, where I faltered and why. The times I posted so much poetry and the months I completely disappeared. 
A kind of journal, a memory of memories with words that induce these emotions and vaguely paint replicas of experiences, in our head. As opposed to our memories that mostly contain images, sounds, and smells. 
And I want to thank the people, all of you, who stop by, and read these pieces. Those few seconds and minutes you take off your time, I can’t return them, but I can only hope, that they’re worth it.
So thank you. 
Some of you I’ve known from the beginning, and I still see you guys around. And it feels great. Thanks for sticking by. 

Voids ~

To put the dark, haunting truth simply
Everyone carries a void within
Voids so deep 
Monstrous apocalyptic creatures 
Would cringe at the mere sight of them

Voids as humongous 
As tiny planets 
And we humans
Significantly tinier bodies of mass
Carry them inside us
Like individual entities of their own

We come into existence 
Blank and whole 
Devoid of craters and blemishes
But as we grow
We have entire galaxies 
Of grief, memories, and experiences 
Revolving around these chasms

And we start out young 
Digging into ourselves
With miniature shovels
We mature, we evolve 
We implode
We get lost and find comfort 
In our emptiness 
We let it breathe and burn
Echo and die

We humans let our implosions
Live inside us like celestial bodies
And call them 
Voids

G.B.F. – Gay Best Friend (2013)

So I just finished watching this movie called GBF: Gay Best Friend. It’s sweet, fun, hilarious, and contrary to what people assume it to be after seeing the trailer (i.e a stereotypical portrayal of gays in a high school set up); it is actually about fighting stereotypes, being yourself,  not giving into labels, and how misleading and damaging, labelling people can be.

The character I liked best was that of Sophie’s. She’s one of the best friends of the protagonist, and pretty much was the only person who held it together throughout the movie. Pretty much.

Tanner,  the protagonist, is outed as gay when he wasn’t even planning to come out of the closet.  In fact,  it was his best friend, Brent, who was intending on coming out.

So when Tanner is outed as their high school’s first out homosexual,  suddenly every popular girl wants him as her GBF.  Because apparently some magazine/trends stated that, and I roughly quote from memory, “Every popstar and celebrity has one (GBF), and every teenage girl needs one.”

And then begins the story.

What the movie is basically trying to and succeeding in conveying is that you cannot treat anyone as an object.  Not even a GBF to glorify your social status. And being gay does not equal to being into things that are  stereotypically perceived as “girly”.

Special mention to the parents in the flick. One of them had only one concern – if the kid wanted a snack or something to eat.

P.S: The cast includes Evanna Lynch! Her role was unexpectedly homophobic. Haha, didn’t see that coming.

P.P.S: I watched it on YouTube. You can find the full movie there. 

 

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Dally

Don’t let thoughts of letting go,

Molest your peace of mind.

Don’t let death seduce you into its outstretched arms.

If you wish to consort with pain,

Do so by dreaming dreams that can break,

But also allow you the pleasure of rebuilding.

Let the ‘p’ that tantalizes your overthinking,

Be of possibilities and not problems.

Don’t scoff at the prospect of befriending hope.

All it ever wanted was to be of help,

When whorls of addictive sleepless thinking abused you,

Substantially bullying you into seeking sanctuary,

Under the deceptive security blades could offer.

The warmth you yearn was never externally present,

It has always been internally accessible.

Intangible but susceptible to your needs.

A light you’ve carried by subconsciously disguising it,

As worthlessness and a self-deprecating opinion,

Of your true worth that is a hundredfold,

Brighter a flame than your self-immolation.

You say it’s all clichéd and unconvincing,

But undecorated truths are always preferable,

To court with all their nobility than ornamented lies,

That caress your sense of reality and perception.

For once dally with pain that accompanies,

The rebuilding of your structure at the hands,

Of your own novice architecture.

Let the uncertainty be a guide pushing you towards,

The untried pursuits of happiness,

You do not believe to exist outside of imagination.

But if you want to believe anything,

Know that you are the candidate most deserving,

Of your friendship and kindness,

That you are unwilling to bestow upon yourself.