w a nd e r i n g

And as she peeled back my skin to look further within; Revealed my hell Cause together we would play the sweetest serenade of inhuman evil decay; Aphrodite was her name 

[tenaciouskittennut-blog]

Take me someplace where I can feel something—I want to give away my heart. Tell me his name so I can know love when it speaks to me. Give me someone I can write about.

(via me lol)

[tenaciouskittennut-blog]

The Stranger

Does it make you crazy? To think he saw you—his eyes passed over you and if only there had been some small mishap in that pivotal moment. A spilled drink, a stumble through the door—his hand reaching out to steady you and it would have happened. A whole new world would have opened up like a vortex to swallow you both into blissful delirium. But you turned away, out of shyness or indecision and by the time you turned back, he was gone.

How do you explain it without sounding unsound? That click you felt when your eyes met his, like the switch of a train track, transporting you for one miraculous moment, to what might have been.

Then reality intervenes and with a shake of your head, you tell yourself to stop chasing shadows. But I can tell you now—what you felt was real—and you must always listen to that click. For it is the sound of your fate beckoning. It is the voice of your destiny calling. Sometimes it only calls once.

[hushed-words]

My words are true to who I am, in all my aspects of dark and light, soft and hard. I don’t lie on paper in order to hook a shallow love. No dear, I live poetry. That’s me in real life. I’ve always been a deep thinker. You can put me under a magnifying glass and discover I’m the same as I was since I was six. I am a larger, fuller version of myself. I feel sorry for those who live a double life by wearing the incomplete idea others have of them whenever they leave the house.

B. E. Barnes (via hushed-words)

[hushed-words]

Escape and Adventure

He said he could tell by the dreams I dreamt that I want adventure. He was right. I dreamt of people falling in love with me. I dreamt of flying away from people that were trying to get me or harm me. I wanted to be free, and I wanted to be loved. I wanted kisses. I wanted an embrace. I wanted to move near the clouds away from everything. I soared. I wanted to get away. I did get away.

- B. E. Barnes || deep sleep

[luthienne]

Persephone had it right. If you must go, might as well take all of spring with you—

Cathy Linh Che, from Split; “Letters to Doc” (via luthienne)

[poems-and-words]

[tenaciouskittennut-blog]

Never.

[magicfolk]

[quotemadness]

She should have done science, not spent all her time with her head in novels. Novels gave you a completely false idea about life, they told lies and they implied there were endings when in reality there were no endings, everything just went on and on and on.

Kate Atkinson (via quotemadness)

[tenaciouskittennut-blog]

the morning after.

the morning after we first met, i woke up frowning. one would think after meeting the soon to be, ‘the love of your life,’ you’d wake up with a smile. but no, i woke up with a frown because for the first time in weeks, i didn’t wake up in the middle of the night.

the morning after our first date, i noticed i slept with my windows open. and i couldn’t understand how a person like me, who cannot sleep with the thought of someone breaking in when she’s sleeping, had left the window open.

the morning after our second date, i realized i was not alone. you were there, sleeping on the makeshift bed beside mine. and i was confused how you stayed because i had promised myself that i would never another boy stay the night because they never know how to react to the fact that this girl has nightmares of people that she met when she was 11, and even though they didn’t leave any bad memories, she still gets nightmares.

the afternoon after you said, ‘i love you,’ i wrote. i wrote after 3 months, and it wasn’t even you i wrote about, it was everything you felt like. and for the first time, it was nothing sad and for a person who has always written about incomplete endings, you brought out this weird part of me that wrote about happy things. (not sure if i’m okay with it)

the morning after our first anniversary, you were beside me, drooling in your sleep, thankfully you didn’t snore. there was a basket of cheese popcorn (that we never got to finish because we were busy, watching tv of course) and a vase of yellow roses. that confused me because yellow meant friendship. i woke you up with a, “do you not know yellow means friendship, you smart arse,” and naturally,  you told me to shut up. lazily, you got up and dropped something in the vase. and slowly, the once yellow roses turned red. you turned with a smirk, “we started off as friends, didn’t we?” I responded with a facepalm and a tiny laugh.

the morning after you first moved in, i woke up to the smell of something burning, something vaguely similar to pancakes or waffles. you half-burnt my kitchen but it’s okay, i would have probably done the same therefore it’s okay. i kinda just love you a little too much so it’s okay.

the morning after our first big argument or the morning after we painted our room or the morning after our first breakup or the morning after our second first anniversary; i had come to terms with the fact that whatever ever happens, there are always good parts and I’ll wait for those, I’ll wait.

– f.

[tenaciouskittennut-blog]

to the boy who feels a little too much. i’m so sorry you still feel so unloved and i’m sorry your mother has made you feel like a burden. but how do i make you, a beautiful soul, understand that you have come to this world with such a wonderful meaning that these little hearts cannot find it in themselves to love you. they have tiny hearts, bear with them; they’re giving as little as they can to save it for the ones that come later. it doesnt make much sense, it’s a complex theory. but that’s all you have right now and you can go looking for a different theory if you want but this one is still going to be here once you come back. you cannot spend your whole life thinking of yourself as a burden, as an unwanted creature that somehow stumbled upon this awful place because as ugly as this place might seem, there is so much of beauty hidden in everything and everyone. think of yourself as a math problem, when one doesnt find the answer after repetitive tries, he tends to believe the question is wrong but perhaps it was the method that was wrong. but not everyone will be able to look past themselves. it’s always been easy to just give up, and putting it on something else has been the easiest of all. but that doesnt mean, you stop being what you are. you are still a math problem and with so many formulae out there, you dare believe you wont be solved – have you not been paying attention in math class?

(firdaus s.)

[wnq-movies]

You just do it. You force yourself to get up. You force yourself to put one foot before the other, and God damn it, you refuse to let it get to you. You fight. You cry. You curse. Then you go about the business of living. That’s how I’ve done it. There’s no other way.

Elizabeth Taylor (via wnq-movies)

[tenaciouskittennut-blog]

we had subway thrice a week and our room smelled like the ocean. surprise parties excited us and the bursting of balloons scared us. we loved like our physics professor loved light laws and taylor swift puns. we found lost leaves in old journals and phone covers. there were saturns painted on our cupboards and we made playlists to pass time. we’d sit on the floors and get high on soft drinks (others called it sugar rush.) we made red velvet cookies and wrote poems together in forms of texts. we sang to each other on birthdays and stole (borrowed) ice cream from our neighbors. we built mind maps of words that made partial sense and joined them to lose all the sense. the scent of mint leaves calmed us as our words became the broken stems, coming together to make fire as if it’s all the love left. but in the end, it was always we that burnt and it was always we that dissolved into specs of light and grey ash. our love faded at the end of every month, but our beds remained the same; arms and loveless cuddles. sometimes hushed words were involved, sometimes only faint snores. we were a forest fire and our love, the warmth. for, they say warmth is the only thing we’ll find in a world built on fire. we were all the flaws of everyone we have ever loved, and perhaps that’s why we could never be what we were to be 

-f

[tenaciouskittennut-blog]

things i’ve learnt by hurting (others and myself)

things i’ve learnt by hurting (others and myself) - a. never let someone get inside your head. b. do not ever tell someone what’s really inside you because somehow you end up hurting them and then they end up hurting you and then in the end, you blame yourself and call yourself a fuckup. c. eating oranges thirty minutes before you sleep is somewhat comforting. d. no one is who you think they are, they’re all different faces with different emotions. e. do not be ashamed of having trust issues. f. you cant always save everyone. g. living in a shell is okay as long it is you that has built those walls. h. scarred thighs or minds do not define who you are. i. it gets easier to keep track of everyone you’ve hurt after a while. j. you don’t have to apologize if you don’t mean it, you don’t owe anyone anything. k. there are no demons, they’re only words you’ve made up as an excuse for why you’re hurting. l. there are no saviors. m. when your stomach feels heavy with guilt and regret, puking does not help. because nothing except jagged breaths and sour tears will come out. n. you’re just as bad as them. o. having a weak memory is more helpful than you might think it is. p. after sometime, it all stops. - f.

.

[tenaciouskittennut-blog]

She

She was the sound of glass shattering—the sharp ringing in your ears. The perpetual motion of a spinning ballerina trapped inside a music box. The sad, tinny tune of La Vie en Rose.

She was the zigzag in your straight line. The absence in your direction. She was every turn you took when racing through a hedge maze, against the setting sun.

She was the tide that came in and out, like the breath of the wounded. She was the blood that flowed between heart and head.

She was the book that was not written. The sentence that was not scripted. She was the word you wished you could have said.

[tenaciouskittennut-blog]

wonders of 3rd sept.

do you ever wonder how the cursor blinks, how it disappears and comes back again? even with no words, this page will never be blank. the cursor will always blink. even with all the dead parts, you will never be empty. you’ll always be fixed again and again.

do you ever wonder how the dead people died, how they were breathing normally just like we are right now and then stopped? inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale. in and out, in and out. and in, in, and in, in, in and just in.

do you ever wonder how the tears are formed, how sometimes even the taste of her tears on your lips comforts you? biologically, tears seem to contain water, lipids and other stuff i never learnt the spellings of. humanically, tears seem to contain kisses and promises, broken bottles with no caps and boys with no hearts.

do you ever wonder how the first word to be ever written was was written, how they must have dragged their pen and made a shape so bizarre and not realising even for a second what a great achievement it was? maybe, it’s still used so often and we dont even realise it, or perhaps it was only a fluke and it means nothing now.

do you ever wonder how the cloth of your t-shirt must have been put together, how before all the dye and cotton, it would have looked. i wonder that about you, how you would look without all your facade and make up, would you look like me or your mom?

do you ever wonder how the person who punched the kid today might have had his reasons, how something must have influenced it? sometimes, people arent always as bad as they look. you only need to dig a little deeper and try to know them. maybe then what’ll see wont be something you always used to see.

do you ever wonder how no one ever wonders about something you always wonder about, how you always wonder about something you shouldnt wonder about? —f

[pakistaniwriter]

‘If I’m raped people will say that she’s lost her honor. How did I lose my honor? Who put my honor in my vagina? It is a patriarchal idea that getting raped would ruin my community’s honor. If anyone loses their honor when a woman is raped, it’s the rapist & not the woman’ - Kamla Bhasin

Rape. I’ve always known Rape as a horrible thing. Most of us do. So horrible even, that I was conditioned by society to not say it out loud. I’d always feel the word get stuck around my throat & come out weak & embarrassed. I’d always see people around me discuss this ever-present heinous reality in hushed whispers & vague overtures. Like somehow the mere mention of ‘Rape’ would make us any less of a woman, would somehow taint & scar us. How absurd? It has taken me almost twenty years to break free of the shackles the society put around my young & gullible mind, & yet I have a long way to go.

Rape is horrible. But it is not horrible for all the reasons that have been drilled into the heads of young women. It is horrible because you are violated, you are scared, someone else takes control of your body & hurts you in the most intimate way. It is not horrible because you lose your “virtue.” It is not horrible because your father and your brother are dishonored. I reject the notion that my virtue is located in my vagina, just as I reject the notion that men’s brains are in their genitals. If we take honor out of the equation, rape will still be horrible, but it will be a personal, and not a societal, horror. We will be able to give women who have been assaulted what they truly need: not a load of rubbish about how they should feel guilty or ashamed, but empathy for going through a terrible trauma.

A few weeks ago, I heard the story of a woman who was raped in a nearby suburb. She came home, went into the kitchen, set herself on fire and died. The person who told me the story was full of admiration for her selflessness in preserving her husband’s honor. Now tell me that’s not royally fucked up? The law has to provide real penalties for rapists and protection for victims, but only families and communities can provide this empathy and support. How will a teenager participate in the prosecution of her rapist if her family isn’t behind her? How will a wife charge her assailant if her husband thinks the attack was more of an affront to him than a violation of her? This is where our work lies, with those of us who are raising the next generation. It lies in teaching our sons and daughters to become liberated, respectful adults who know that men who hurt women are making a choice, and will be punished.

We have come a long way from where we initially started. And yet there is still work to be done. We have spent generations constructing elaborate systems of patriarchy, caste and social and sexual inequality that allow abuse to flourish. But rape is not inevitable, like the weather. We need to shelve all the gibberish about honor and virtue and 'did-she-lead-him-on’ and 'could-he-help-himself’. We need to put responsibility where it lies: on men who violate women, and on all of us who let them get away with it while we point accusing fingers at their victims.

[tenaciouskittennut-blog]

The most relevant piece I have ever read about this issue. Finally someone out there atleast understands that the fingers should not be pointed to the victims rather to those that violate and who are responsible.  “ I reject the notion that my virtue is located in my vagina, just as I reject the notion that men’s brains are in their genitals.”-We need more people like honestly tho ! sigh 

[tenaciouskittennut-blog]

There Is The Worst And Then There Is More

You silly little girl you think you’ve survived so long survival shouldn’t hurt anymore.

You keep trying to turn your body bulletproof You keep trying to turn your heart  bomb shelter.

Stop, darling. You are soft and alive, You bruise and heal.Cherish it  It is what you were born to do  It will not be beautiful, but the truth never is Come now, you promised yourself You promised you’d live through this. –f

sigh