The Exploding Girl @70s-sugarmama - Tumblr Blog

Do Not Call My Therapist - I Will Kill You In Your Sleep

This paragraph is the trailer of a really sappy sob story that you might prefer to skip. I am putting it out there because writing it down and reading it on the graves of my children make it seem less like I’m chasing a closure that eludes me every time I think I have just got it within my feeble grasp, and more like I am on a boat that’s floating on the pit-less Pacific of life, on my way to…

#a green lighter that I owned a few years back #after all #after Fernando Pessoa #and I #and I grieved them for quite a while after I lost them. And I stopped buying lighters for a while #and I probably won’t get that kind of love from anyone in this lifetime ever again #and I used to love it. Some would say that I seek out torment and find a morbid sort of pleasure in remaining unhappy. Well #and it has stuck to me for months #and more like I am on a boat that’s floating on the pit-less Pacific of life #and not up for a fruitless #and now I realize that everything is replaceable #and people #animals #any more than they own us. Moby was my adopted gender-abolitionist kid #at probably one of the weirdest phases of my life #‘right’ being definitive this time #because had I not been negligent #because I had the habit of getting attached to things and losing them one fine day #being a child at that time and not realizing the gravity of the situation #Bellona #but does that mean that the companionship of the lighter #but I haven’t named it #but I wanted her to stay. I wish she stayed. I wish we had some more time. But time is not our friend #but now I do. It’s the ending. It’s incomplete. And it leaves without saying goodbye #death #don’t they. Everyone has felt the torment of separation in some way or the other #ends. She used to wait for me #especially lighters. While remembering Moby today #ever #everything

If this poem makes you uncomfortable, remember it's still gentler than the reality of children and dogs swallowing dust where their homes once stood.

#an animal who cannot understand #and routine have vanished suddenly? Who will tell her #begging for food on the streets #did not like the little bugger Scurrying around her foot at dinnertime- She wanted to relish her Mushabak Halabi in peace #dog #Faaiz Used to have a lavish cuisine On Sundays. He used to feed the scraps #Falasteen #home #Imagining blood and soot on their faces Instead of delicious scraps. Who will tell her #imli #muffles screams #palastine #rubble #soil #sunday #taste #that her family exists only in memory now? Who will tell her #that her family&039;s nameless grave can be found inside the rubble? Who will tell her #that home is buried deep in Falasteen? Rooted deeper than the olive trees? Who will tell her #that life will be forcing us to reckon with the brutality that can erase entire families while the world looks away? Who will tell her #that life will be like this from now on #The neighbour&039;s son next door #To his dog Imli Sneaking those beneath their large dining table. Falak instead #what allowed this barbarity to happen? Who will tell me #what will be the life of a dog? Who will understand the profound loss of just a silly little dog? Who will tell me #why love #With her eyes closed #With only numbing sweetness in her mouth. When she opened her eyes the next Her mouth was full of soil Six feet under the rubble. Imli still #without her masters? Who will tell her

Bellona's Eulogy- This Is Not A Goodbye

Bell, this is not the first time I’m writing to you, nor would it be the last. You took your last breath on my lap a few days ago, and closed your eyes for the final time, and you took a part of me with you. A part that believed that building a good world with no matter how few people, is possible, once they are organized. And since then, nothing has been the same, and something tells me that it…

#"It&039;s okay my love #) and you loved anyone and everyone with a heart so pure and full of love #10th April #6 years ago #a kind of an eulogy written by my dear friend Ishan #a selfish deed for a selfish world that masks and presents itself as wholier-than-thou and whatnot. But did I give you a good life in the en #about whether the demise of a dog or a cat could affect someone the most. At that point #adventurous mind #also passed away #and chased butterflies on my back porch #and closed your eyes for the final time #and I disagreed with him at that point. He then told me #and I see you everywhere. I think of you before I go to sleep #and I usually tap her so that the snoring stops for a while till it starts again. One night when you were still alive #and I will #and I&039;m not okay with it. It&039;s been 15 days since you&039;ve been gone #and it is how I sleep at night these days.#and nobody could hear me scream no matter how loud I got. But you heard me. I know you still do. You #and nobody knows what they are doing #and now I have to look after my other kids: your brothers Deu #and now that you are gone #and now with your demise #and something tells me that it never will.#and the first thing I remember when I wake up is that you are not there to lick me awake. I wish there was more time for us- but there is ne #and the media I have of you in my phone. My mom has an ugly habit of snoring when she sleeps #and to the universe and never back. And I know that you understood. And I know that you loved me back. All my other kids love me back as wel #and told me that of course #and when you played with him it looked like you were playing with your own kid. Ulysses is your own kid #and will eventually lead me to you #and you showed up and shooed them away because you wanted all that love for yourself. You were a selfish kid sometimes

From Bengal’s famine fields to Gaza’s siege, from Hindutva’s cow vigilantism to the mass suicides of India’s farmers, hunger remains the empire’s sharpest weapon. Read, remember, and rise before they starve us all. Let our bodies control food, before their policies of food control us.

#) looking at months of toil #10 #200 deaths each year are the direct result of an eating disorder - that&039;s one death every 52 minutes #a Cadbury bar - is not just symbolic #a disposable cog in the machinery of greed. The people who should sit at the top of our social hierarchy are instead dying in debt #a farmer stood in his own field of parwar (pointed gourd #a Muslim cart-puller #a new famine is engineered with equal brutality in Gaza #adapted to a modern occupation: a slow #after guarding them against pests and disease #after nursing each plant with water he could barely afford to pump #agonizing descent into death. These famines are no longer distant tragedies; they are live-streamed horrors #agonizing massacre by hunger #always cloaked in “purity #And #and a place of honour in our society. The demonization #and back-breaking labour. What he saw was not just crops ready for harvest #and blocked humanitarian corridors #and cold.#and countless other places haven’t tasted a vegetable in days #and Dalits ignored. Indeed #and denied dignity. Eating meat becomes a political act of resistance #and Gaza’s Siege of Death #and grossly underfunded. We do not treat them with the urgency they demand. We do not give enough voice #and honour every life above any ideology: our mouths remain chains #and Manufactured Catastrophic Famines #and music is nothing but a sound swallowed by silence.#and Muslims are labelled impure for the foods they consume #and oppression of farmers must end #and reaching Bengal - is ferociously anti-Muslim and anti-Dalit. People are lynched simply for carrying or eating beef. In one brutal case

In the name of the books I have read, in the name of the kisses I have kissed; May I live to see the downfall of all the western powers of the US, EU, UK. And may the fascists, imperialists, racists, sexists, colonizers, capitalists, warmongerers, and lastly, the Zionists, be defeated.

Why Is Poetry?

A poem about poetry needs to exist For people find solace in poetry. But poems are often forgettable To people who don’t get to eat Two meals a day Or when a child dies screaming under the rubble in Gaza, Looking for a maimed body-part of her mother So forgive me if I feel too broken To give birth to a futile poem When I scream and scream and scream But nobody cares to listen. So I…

The Conundrum of Blue and Grey Ticks: Overwhelming Companionship or Self-Created Distance?

In this era of digital reliance, it would suffice to say that even though most of us in our 20’s have a platter of different flavored friends, dashed with a side of social exhaustion, the grey ticks are a life savior from the incessant fraternizing, also known as the party of life. Some of us neurodivergents need to hibernate inside our cocoon of misery and self-loathing, especially those who…

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Let There Be Miracles

Oh look mama - I found a miracle!

Miracles happen all the time.Here are the top 3 which make more sense than the most:3. The Butterfly Effect2. Deja Vu1. Loving someone who loves you back.And then, there are some which are willing to drown in their own profoundness (but mostly, they swim):11. Watching your parents grow old and wrinkly10. People in your life who are willing to listen to your drunk, shitty poetry9. A home of your…

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He Who Is Answerable To Us

What if God is a loser like us?A film's candid shot blooper like us?A restless lucid dreamer like us?A hopeless drunk on the way to his homeOn the phone with God, all aloneWhat if God is a sinner like us?Sticks a needle on his arm like us?Whams and bams his mate's chick like us?Hones the cloak of invisibility and shameBut at night, creeps behind women as a gameWhat if God is as hopeless as…

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The Tale of Lightning Scars

Your authenticity shines brighter than their ignorance ever will.

You push me in your little boxTo fit right inAn apple in a box fit for an ant.And when I try to break outYou talk to reduce me to the size of a pea.There’s a reason why they sayWords hurt more than woundsAnd a lightning breaks down my backI don’t dieYou see, we are survivorsWe’ve learnt to be resilient to everythingWhether it’s an act of vile brutalityOr bolts of lightning which should burn you…

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Nolite Te Bastardes Carborundorum

The trophy on my wall is not of conquest, but resilience, for I've discovered the power within, an unyielding strength forged through pain, and with every step, I am an army of wretched women, armed with roses, pens, shotguns, and an unwavering defiance.

Trigger Warning: Rape, Self–Harm/Injury, Suicidal Ideation, Gore, and Violence I am done waiting for everything to end Once and for all. They tried to strip me of my dignity, But they are the ones who are naked. What trophy should I put up on my wall to display, When it comes to them? Blood is on their hands, The blood which seeps through my underwear Into my clean, white, fresh bed sheets. I…

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The Elegiac Triptych Of Hierarchy, Dignity, And The Vanishing Symphony Of Existence

Paint a world where sentient souls thrive, unburdened by heedless interests that consume the innocent.

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE, DEATH 1. Unrelenting Bite Of The Scales Of Society: The Dance Of Predation [A Bengali word: মাৎস্যন্যায় ; Pronunciation: Matsya-nyay ; Meaning: It is the law of fish in which the bigger fish preys on the smaller fish and this law fits into our society. In our society, the government resembles bigger fish and the public resembles smaller fish. In this law, the state of…

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Is There A Way Out Of The Mind?

Amidst the storm of your mind's deepest blue, remember, there's a hidden path to brighter hues.

What do you do on a blue Saturday? Do you bury your dead dog In the ground, to be chomped on by some ridiculous maggots. Or do you drown yourself in misery Disguised as alcohol Forgetting the world, making it forget you in turn. Or do you hide behind a veil of disgust And paint your face blue So that nobody can recognize The ugliness within you. Do you play a game with your sanity And hope that…

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Rebellion's Resonance: Fire, Freedom, And Forbidden Love

Dissent For Change: Rebel for a world where justice, freedom, love, and equality bloom.

1. Love In The Times Of Fascism Imagine a land without lovers, with saffron skies and crimson rivers Hues of death lurking here and there; food so scarce, people beg to share. Mouths sewn shut and hands cuffed together; a land where nobody asks about the weather A silent agreement between the powerful and the rich: the lovers’ bodies rotting inside a ditch. Two little birds of flight, in need…

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Echoes Of The Ravaged Cosmos: Nature's Lament For A Betrayed World

Time is precious, and so is our planet. Act now to save what's irreplaceable.

After being creatively stuck for over a year, today I found myself pouring out words that have been trapped inside me. It's like a dam has burst open, and these poems are the flood of emotions and thoughts that have been building up. Through the first poem, I confront the damage we've done to our planet, reflecting on personal experiences to highlight the harsh truth of our actions. In the second…

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March's Cruelty

The snow is stainedWith the bloodied frothOozing from the mouthOf the martyrs.And the newest bloomsAre getting corroded awayFrom the acid from the rain,Marking the beginning of March.A little girl sobsAdventure in one clenched fist,Artistry in another-But nowhere to go,Amidst the barren Spring,Lost in the mist.

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So Long, 'Fraid'

So Long, ‘Fraid’

they have found open water amongst the ice caps in the north pole.i knew the world was ending,but i did not realize that it would be so soon.so much of my life has passed harbouring hatredi never got to fall in love.and now i’lI have to bid farewell to people i am yet to meet-that i would never get to.how do i know when would be last time i am seeing someone?t minus n hours remaining for the…

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