Mitta

Sometimes I write.

[mobeenhakeem]

[mt-1992]

The witches are burning the men alive

Do you ever wonder about fires?

How one spark

One careless act can reduce us all to ashes?

How something so minuscule can turn into something so majestic?

Wild and uncontrollable

How something so beautiful

Can be so damn dangerous?

Here's the thing

You didn't know what you sparked

But now you'll never forget

As you watch it burn you alive

- Mitta T

[mt-1992]

And it goes like this

The world is magical and beautiful

Tragic heartbreaks become poetic

and death seems so mysterious

They weave flower crowns through the rips and tears

Fill the cracks with honey and chocolate

Soften the sharp edges with hushed whispers

As they lose themselves in fields of sunshine.

It is all about that moment of extraordinary peace

Before they realise that they are stood in a room of shattered glass and consumptive thoughts

When the flowers wilt and honey trickles away

When the whispers turn to screams & the sunshine turns to thunder

Those writers - they lie

- Mitta T

[mt-1992]

My depression is what sends me head first,

plunging into the depths of my sanity

Clinging onto lost words to save me

So it would be dishonest of me to not use those same words

To describe the darkness that lives within me

[sunsetablaze]

maybe we’re tired of tragedy maybe the world said: welcome home, it’ll be a beautiful ride. maybe the world lied, maybe the lifelines on your palms are no more than some ancient tragedy dragging its teeth on your skin like an animal that refuses to die no matter how many times you shoot it. maybe i’m applying lipstick in the front seat of my car and the leather smells like my friend rushing out to throw up. we are all rushing out to throw up because we live in a time of cataclysm, every day might be a new catastrophe. nuclear apocalypse is the new black and we are already putting shotguns in the trunks of our cars. you blow a breath of smoke and i want to know why everyone tells me that cigarettes are bad for my health when the sky over my hometown is no longer the blue my grandmother remembers, and why you think that i am destroying myself when the world is being destroyed and you just throw the leaflets away. we are not trying to kill ourselves here, we were just born exhausted, and i don’t see people in the streets, i see moving muscles and bones. we all want enough breathing room but our lungs would break apart if we got oxygen. there are people who have never even seen the stars and now you tell me that elon musk wants to launch us into space. to do what? to destroy, which is the ancient tragedy, which is the only thing we know how to do right. i weep for the stars and for the galaxies and for some passengers two centuries into the future, the child with curly hair pressing her nose to the shuttle window as Earth burns burns burns, the only legacy we ever left.

Nuclear apocalypse is the new black by Lana Rafaela (via sunsetablaze)

This is what talent looks like.

[mt-1992]

An air of sadness surrounds her, as if the world she was so cruelly torn from still haunts her

Harsh foreign tongues drip from her honey sweet mouth

Adorned in jewels and majestic robes

She is a queen in her own right to any sane onlooker

But these men and women are not sane

They sneer down at her vibrant, coloured fabrics

They tell her to water down her spices to become less “exotic”

Patronise her with sweet words coated in ignorance

In her land, she was a doctor, engineer, a mother - yet all her achievements fall short

If they weren’t accomplished in the superior tongue, then surely they have no value at all.

All the while attempting to replicate what they mock.

- Mitta T

[mt-1992]

There are the days where I look at myself from the outside

I know that I'm supposed to be in control

But I just feel like a bystander

Watching the waves crash into the shore

Powerless against the universe and its schemes

Most days I stow away my dreams with my discarded clothes

Not really believing that I can

Always believing that I will never be good enough

Maybe some dreams are meant to live within my mind

Setting them free and watching them drown is a pain I haven't yet learnt to deal with

[mt-1992]

It is wild fists pounding into soft flesh Moulding it into something raw and ugly It is shattered screams and hoarse throats It is blinding pain encasing every inch of what makes you who you are Like burning except you never turn into ash It is everything you believe you deserve and so much more

- Mitta T

[mt-1992]

I look at you and try, really try

To feel something

Maybe so much that I convince the depths of my mind that there are sparks instead of tumbleweeds

That this coldness is better than nothing

That maybe, just maybe, I won’t have to do this alone anymore

I almost convince myself that you’re real

- Mitta T

[mt-1992]

Plagued minds

I wish there was a method to this madness To this disease that seems to have no beginning or end It rages on inside, even on the quietest of days I could be sat with my favourite people My feline friends curled into my lap Clutching onto my mint tea But for some reason It feels like my throat is closing into itself My eyes a split second from drowning us all My heart trying to violently wrestle its way out of my body Like it knows what darkness is taking over and would rather jump ship Then deal with the carnage that leaves no prisoners All of a sudden the air is too thick The laughter too loud And this world too small I find myself wanting to run and never stop. - Mitta T

[mt-1992]

restless souls

There was always something a little bit wild within her In the glimmer in her eyes when storms broke lose In the lightness of her laughter In the sharpness of her tongue A little bit wild and unrelenting Bored by the cage they shoved her into Driven half insane by the docility of it all - Mitta T

[mt-1992]

It’s like this, every battle cry turns into a sob for help before it even leaves my lips

Some days I conquer, reign and grin

Other days I shrivel up into an empty shell of who I used to be

 It goes like this, I’m the bad guy. I’ll always be the bad guy

Because I’m flawed but I’m trying and that will never be enough

Everything you say is sunshine on a cloudless day

Everything I whisper turns that sunshine to rain

 So I’m backed into a corner with everything to lose and nothing to gain

But I was made for hopeless disasters and endless wars

There is no turning back now, only one of us will leave this place intact

Because if I let you win now

Who is going to save the girl who is all sunshine from the monster that lurks within you?

 So I’ll sacrifice my soul, to save my sisters from the real demons of this world

I’ll be the bad guy because no-one would ever believe what you are.

- Mitta T

[mt-1992]

The becoming of the fire

It starts off as an inexplicable spark in the hollow pit of your stomach.

It catches onto the simmering hopelessness and turns into a wildfire.

It makes its way up to your heart, turning it to ash.

Builds the smoke up your throat so you can barely breathe.

The tears stream to put it out but it’s just not enough.

They call it a panic attack.

I call it burning alive.

- Mitta T

[mt-1992]

The Immigrant

An air of sadness surrounds her,

as if the world she was so cruelly torn from still haunts her

Harsh foreign tongues drip from her honey sweet mouth

Adorned in jewels and majestic robes

She is a queen in her own right to any sane onlooker

But these men and women are not sane

They sneer down at her vibrant, coloured fabrics

They tell her to water down her spices to become less “exotic”

Patronise her with sweet words coated in ignorance

In her land, she was a doctor, engineer, a mother - yet all her achievements fall short

If they weren’t accomplished in the superior tongue, then surely they have no value at all.

All the while attempting to replicate what they mock.

- Mitta T

[mt-1992]

Thunderstorms

Because she is a paradox.

A whirlwind of emotions dressed as a simple girl.

When she laughs, the stars fall from the skies to be close to her.

She cries rivers of honey and chocolate.

Her smile eclipses the sun.

Her anger can bring down galaxies.

They wrapped a thunderstorm in the body of a human and told her to be polite.

Sweet words tumbled out of her mouth like sugar laced in venom.

It is in the way she holds herself; half human - half tempest.

Too much for this temporary world, but not enough to keep herself together.

- Mitta T

[mt-1992]

The battle cry of a feminist

I guess they forget. Forget that our skins are our own battlefields Our appearances are not to appease some misogynistic man's desires Our voices will not be hushed when they make them feel comfortable. Our bodies are our own, to bear or not bear children – but if we do; oh how they should fear the unapologetic girls to come.   Most of all they forget that they should stand back For they will be cut down when this ceiling shatters.

- Mitta T

[mt-1992]

Battle Scars

I think it’s important to know the difference between when something is broken and cannot be fixed and when something is cracked.

The only time you will be broken beyond repair is when the last breath leaves your body.

Up until then; every wound, every war will only create a crack.

The more cracks and tears you have; the more you have survived.

Bloodied knuckles and broken bones.                      

I think that’s what makes you so beautiful.

Because you can fill those cracks with anything you want – honey, chocolate, fire or ice.

And there you will be;

A fierce combination of everything that hurt you and everything you fought to become.

- Mitta T