Writing and Rambles

I am multifaceted. One lives in the real world, all of the rest prefer the Internet. I'm a revolution looking for a cause. #poetry #spilledink #poets+on+tumblr #writeblr #writing

[artisticveins]

how easy it is for you to erase yourself from my life; reorganize, recategorize, restructure, rewrite.. re re re till there is nothing of you left in me; my palms come up empty with just the paper cuts left behind; dry mouth, you have even stolen your name from my tongue; i should not be surprised at the blood i find in the corners, crime scene of what used to be, but the smell of rotting iron gets to me; i speak, you decide i am unworthy while blinded by pain; i watch, unmoving, accepting of the versions in front of me; i stay, just in case you turn around and try to reach me.

[artisticveins]

i see your affection; hidden in meals covered with passive aggressive hurt that sit in your womb that was my first home; the distance between us grows even though your name is whispered to the skies every night; sometimes alone i weep in mourning for the refuge of your embrace that i did not grow into; my existence in your world is always tethered and shaded by his and the world's perspective of me wrapped in your false reality; i am another crack in the family portrait swept under the rag.

i wish i was only your daughter.

[artisticveins]

the king swore under her breath, she was losing too much blood. the chaos of war fading, replaced by the thud of her cursed heartbeat. fingers slipping off the grip, the sword's steel turning into stone. she hears the fall instead of feeling it in her knees. is this how she leaves her kingdom, bathed in blood of her people? she felt herself dissolve into the crimson warmth, the thud slowing down into silence, rescinding the ribboned curse. morphing into the hidden truth of pale skin and cold limbs, while soft white figures chant around her, awaiting for the king to finally rise into the bloodline and face herself. will it be disgust or acceptance, only time will tell.

[artisticveins]

i read the words and was left frozen, like my soul had left my body to avoid this reality. hurt, pain, anger: a postmortem. an echo of scream grew and grew in my throat till my eyes were wet, hold it in. a secret to carry, a secret to keep, a secret to accept, a secret to live with; living is a burden. swirls of memories, where was i, how did it happen, how did i let it happen. anger, anger, anger. pain. right now murder feels like a good option.

[artisticveins]

all my life i have tried to run away from my name tried to be more of me than more of you tried to cut myself off from the family tree

all my life i have tried to run away from my name thinking that is how i will not inherit your anger i will not become your abuse then maybe i will breathe

all my life i have tried to run away from my name except it was just me running away from a part of me no matter how much i run we still share blood we still share history

[artisticveins]

i should not have to carry your pride inside me and yet i do

i find it stitched into my fingers when i explore my body consumed by shame

i find it sealed in my thoughts when i kiss a boy that shames me

i find it tucked in my sighs when i kiss a girl that i call home

its always there, craved into my skin when all i am trying to do is love bits of me

[artisticveins]

walking away

a treasure in my dreams, a promise of a new life wrapped in a pearl. i wake up with it in my pocket and carry it around into forgetfullness, into adulthood. whenever i am an abused wreckage melting into the bathroom floor, the pearl burns like a cold fire against my thigh, reminder that i own it; a promise of my own. next time i want to bury myself i swallow my promise, a painful gulp tickling down my throat and a burst of forbidden sweetness. its too late, if i stop now i will choke and if i swallow it whole i will fall into a blissful grief in a world of my own. is this what colour of mourning looks like, trembling bones and expected disappointments ringing in my head from being intoxiced with manipulation. choosing myself over them, is this what dying to relive is?

[artisticveins]

childhood, lines drawn around me teachings passed down i swore to not copy

youth, i draw lines around me till i can't leave abused on repeat

[artisticveins]

bones cold most days numbness shattered mind jitter covered limbs blessed with her smile like soft of first light reminder of humanity my body sighs i love afterall

[artisticveins]

this body that wears my soul

grounding me to this undesired existence

an endless dance with pain

[artisticveins]

ghostly visitors

my feelings are visitors, sometimes the good kind and sometimes the other. from long lost beautiful friends to long distance awkward relatives who barely speak but are forced to spend time together, the range is lenghty. they find me at the weirdest of times, when i'm standing at the super market queue with the a child wailing for chocolate in the next line or in middle of eating my instant ramen. one would say are all wavy and compact like the said noodles.

like everything else in life, brushing my teeth or feeding myself, managing feelings is something my younger self learned from the gaints. feelings were indeed visitors, mostly scary loud ones that possesed the gaints. after the so called possession they usually forgot that we had visitors at all, how odd. ofcourse i took notes on exorcism in cursive writings on my four liners.

#one symptoms - heavier foot steps, silence of other gaints, mistaking you for an animal, low growls and loud calls, alienated handling of doors and house items

#two precausions - bend your neck, avoid eye contact, look smaller, twist yourself into a corner, hybernate under the blanket with an imagination

#three react - when come in contact never look up, sorry is a prayer, yes and no are a religion

#four defense - possession gives super power to turn anything into a weapon, hands are a bulletproof sheild and feet are your fuel

#five reminder - your voice is your enermy, crying doesn't contribute to the exorcism

#six aftermath - avoid human talk

a weak base makes for a weak house so i broke it down. renovation is fucking tiring, plus i need to build extra room for these visitors of mine.

[artisticveins]

i eat my hands in my dreams/ they taste of apricots from a foreign land/ palms stained with green from fruits i never had/ i call out my blood and demand for the farm i reap from/ they give me a heap of butterflies that sit on my back/ strings wrapped around my tired limbs/ a crown made of bees that sting/ a throne made of guilt by birth right/ they spit at me and call me a queen/ i want leave this nightmare of a town

[artisticveins]

“I am aware that I am structureless, my words an unorganized mess, my sentences stuffed with repeated words with repeated letters that do not need to exist, all requiring a little revision and a lot of erasing - a lot like my life; this is not my justification or apology, this is my declaration, my statement, my direction to set myself to flow aimlessly and grow into messes that are filled with tiring wonder and true essence of me, this is a self reflecting admission and reminder that my existence doesn’t have to exist within the realm of pre-existing words, skins or culture, that I can create and uncreate my kingdom and myself repeatedly if I need to without justification, release pieces of myself in little subtle breaths or loud truths.”

— Reminder to self

[artisticveins]

I see her.

I see my queen slip out of her bed in her soft nightgown with the moon reflecting off the knife her fingers pull out from under the pillow as her soft footsteps ghost in the corridors in search to assassin nightmares that once broke her life into pieces with a proof sitting deep on her cheek in the form of a scar that almost runs into her delicate lips.

I see my queen’s eyes run wild with her forehead covered sweat from a fever of fear taking over her body without her permission till her breaths come in the form of hitched waves turning into soft howls of mourning on behalf of a child stripped from curtains of innocence just to be thrown into reformation of her kingdom.

I see my queen fall to her knees to weep while staring at her hands with which she kills to build in order to protect her people who sing praise in form tales of her fierceness and strength to their children who will later pass it onto the generations to come.

While the whole kingdom sleeps soundly I see my queen turn human.

[artisticveins]

black roses

You make me exist Push up a roof Hand me a pot Tell me to make tea

I wear black

You define my existence Condition my living Wrap me in your control Tell me to pour you a cup

I wear black

You degrade me with your rage Ruin me with your hypocrisy Poison my mind with ghost of your words my hands serve you the cup

I wear black

Your lips take a sip My lips quiver Your heart starts to give up You have lost your breath

And I wear black

[artisticveins]

i sink into oceans of my mind till i turn into a sea creature devouring all that is forbidden to my memory, i forget how sand feels under my bare feet with the sun tingling my skin, sometimes i feel my tail recall the feel of having toes like a sensation of flames kissing my fingertips when i was young, sometimes i stare at the bottom of sea vessels waiting for my tongue to remember what humans called them, i want to swim up and call for help but my lips don't move enough to force mundane tongues out of me, this echo of quietness wraps me like comfort till i do know not the feeling of being an earthling, maybe someday i will go back into that cursed labyrinth of life, maybe someday i will remember how to be a person again.

artisticveins

[artisticveins]

starving

over time i have become hungry from being fed this constructed culture. my mouth gaping, my insides scorched with rage from intentionally locked doors. my graveyard is filled with needs, echoes of turning knobs that do not open. always engulfed with reminders of the kind of air i'm allowed to breathe. then they ask why parts of me are dying when i am rooted into grounds that do not want me. so i am always hungry, always searching, lips pulled back with growls. freedom isn't served anywhere around here, so i need to form my own recipe.