Spilled Prose - Blog Posts

You're sticking me with pieces

Of someone else's journey.

Weaving in some strangers theories.

But just know that

I'll never be enough,

I'll always be empty.

Starving,

For a truth of my own.

Waiting for my own soul,

To be mixed with the newness in me.

Because I'll always be a reject,

Of someone's memory

Unless I write my own.

Only then

I'll be enough.

-simra . T

Out of love.

Why say goodbye when you dont mean it ?

Why did I do what I have done ?

Why did I cry Infront of you, begging you to come back and you let me go once again.

And I was left on my own, for the hundredth time.

With love left in my heart for you.

And as I waited for us ,

I ran out of love for you.

"And one day I realised all I could do was give up and lay down, let it go. Or," They talked like they were stripping. Taking of their layers and showing them the ruined city beneath, daring almost pleading for them to run away from her darkness. "Destroy their dreams as finely as they did mine. Make the stars combust and become something so destruction that I laugh as their cities are blown away by burning starlight falling from the sky. I think my body had become too cold and numb for real fury, so that I decided," she looked up at them, regretful but also... defiant, andry. "To let fire speak for me. Because justice darling" cynically they ended "was never an option. "

All that blood was never pretty,

But they did so love the sound of warhorns,

Perhaps they went into every battlefield thinking,

This time it'll be rubies instead.

I was made from mismatched pieces,

God's leftovers,

A warrior's heart,

And a dreamer's mind

And a gentle soul

And a chaotic existence.

Then they shoved me in this tiny little useless body, and sent me into battle.

Without ever teaching me to fight,

Or bothering with armour.

—I was never meant to survive, was I?

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Maybe we're all tragedies,

Covered in skins

too stubborn to be tragic.

I'm don't think I'm a person,

Anymore.

I'm likely just a place

For daydreams to rest before

Finding someplace better now.

But is that something to mourn when I never truly knew,

What being human felt like...

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Do you think

The boy who eats nightmares,

Cries sometimes,

At the violence and sorrows

Hidden in the shameful crevices

Of our fragile minds

—That even his immortal self can't imagine.

Don't mistake me

When I say I'm lovely when I cry it's ugly,

cheeks red and wet with snot.

It's just that I've made a habit of finding tragedy beautiful.

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I was raised to gobble on harsh words only,

My food pipe has stretched to swallow slanders,

My stomach has a special kind of acid to melt metal;

And my intestines are meant to grind any remaining matter to fine dust.

How to deal with kind words?

Of that, I have no idea.

Are they supposed to loll in my mouth like caramel candy

Or melt like chocolate?

Will the honey sting if it touches my bleeding tongue?

It will be lost between the blood and spit before reaching my stomach anyway.

—Be gentle with me please.

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I wish someone would pick me up,

And decide

This one

This one deserves to be loved

In a way

Only hurricanes ever were.

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I wasn't born with my head cut open

For you to fill with recreations of your own trauma

Like a tragedy bin.

I won't let you mangle

My mind and body

Till I can't see skin beneath the scars.

I will resist;

Brutally and unattractively;

— With fire and blood.

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Do you not feel the birth of a star at the touch of our fingertips.

Your lips caress my skin, turning the blood coursing through my veins into stardust; stardust that cannot be tamed, for all it knows is chaos.

My love, I ache for you to tame the stardust in me.

Make me yours.

Icarus has abandoned me:

The cosmos cries comets, the moon bleeds lullabies, and here i am, icarus; i, who can bear the quarrels of fate and time no more. you sought the sun, but did the sun seek you back? does it mourn you, or am i the only one doing that?

Who's stars am i aligning, are they mine? certainly that is what i was told (did you not tell me that, icarus) . those promises that I kept safe so dearly in my pockets, how did they find me? who am i to chase after the remarkable  (i thought i could, in the name of you, icarus).

i, who sought icarus, can hear him no more. i am searching. where are you?

it is your time to find me, icarus; search for me. heal me. answer me.

I get that you might not be able to understand my point of view, but that doesn't mean that you misunderstand when I'm trying to convey. Don't twist my words to form those judgemental opinions of yours.

And then all of a sudden, it feels like January again, and you're all alone in that blanket of yours, dreaming of sunsets, stardust and peace.

I am not lost;

I just don't wish to find.

not anymore...

I remember you.

- the invisible life of Addie LaRue by V.E Schwab

And there in the dark, he asks if it was really worth it.

Were the instants of joy worth the stretches of sorrow?

Were the moments of beauty worth the year of pain?

And she turns her head, and looks at him, and says,

'Always'.

-the invisible life of Addie LaRue by V.E Schwab

I seek for the universe yet it does not seek me back; a travesty, it called me.

The moon weeped the stars alive, and then me. It weeped me alive.

So mon amour, I am not just any travesty, but the moon's.

I am the moon's travesty.

What's meant for you will be all yours at the end. The constellations are in your favour, so my little star-bright, what are you worried about?

Cloudy mountains or mountainy clouds?

Sometimes clouds look like mountains. I like to imagine what beautiful world it would be if we had mountains tall like the clouds. What creatures would live on top of them.

Do you see the cloudy mountain here?

I think often how we overuse words. And how because of that, words that had potency and weight, sometimes now feel trite or even almost empty, half spoken without conviction. "Beautiful" it's almost as trite and vague as it comes now, it's lost it's meaning. There is no singular word that I can give to you to describe her radiance adequately. There is no word to define the way my heart rushed when her skin touched mine. I thought my heart would never be still again. It may have settled but my feelings sure haven't. It's still racing trying to find some sort of definition. It is like a gnat trying to quantify and calculate the breadth width and height of a mountain or some sort of decimal trying to comprehend all of creation.

Life was like an ocean and she was a wave I was just getting tossed in.

I have actually yet to find rest. My Anxiety causes me much pain and distress like a storm that rages with usurping gales. Swirling, Turning, Tossing, displacing what cannot be lost. Costing me negative gain. It makes me fearful and afraid, like trying to clutch sand, only to have the grains slip out of your hands. I cannot find sleep, because all I feel is deracine. Safety is hard to find out there on the rollings seas. My peace is in some far off Rosy fingered dawn. And security and ease of mind are much more memories. It makes me breathe like no matter how much I intake it will not inflate in my lungs. Like my body would much rather pause on this breath, like it means less than to see the rest of the road. All these worries they share the same name. They are called the same as you.

I dreamt of a dark and failing world. Where I met an Artist who wept for his wife. "Oft people believe that better is a lingered life. I tell you different now, which of these would you prefer Rotting or Dying. Dead is better."

And later in this dream a giant disembodied hand that blazed and burned, took the man's aisle and turned it upside down. There he was burned and crucified. Leaving only ashes of an artist and a painting of his wife.

“I don’t need you to respect me, I respect me.

I don’t need you to love me, I love me.

But I want you to know that you could know me,

If you change your mind.” – Rebecca Sugar’s “Steven Universe” (2019)

This is a simple message. But one of the most powerful ones you could and can ever learn. There are many of us who desperately need(ed) this. The message is this. There is nothing wrong with you and who you are. The person you are is worthy of love, respect, and kindness. Not only externally, like from friends, family, and other peers. But also, Internally, from one’s own heart and from the self. I know there are many people who have internalized dysphoria. And they’re restless, tossing, turning and struggling.

The problem is not inborn. It’s developed over a life time. A life time of expectations, and experiences that have lead them to believe that the person they are is not normal, or natural. (For whatever reason, be it the body, blood, mind or spirit or anything else for that matter) And therefore unworthy of grace, love and kindness. However, this is the thing that is not normal. Despite this it has become the standard. A lie, A fatal flaw that now reigns over lives. A single idea of confirming normality. Do not dehumanize your spirit. You do not have to justify your existence. We are not extensions of a society. Strike that reverse it. Society is an extension of us. And if you have felt in any way; ignored, harmed, slandered, disenfranchised or have been left with any other negative emotion, you are not at fault, you are not to blame. You have not committed a failure. It is the collective idea of “Us” that has failed you.

A Simple Message, A Thesis, A Conversation.

You are worthy of love.

need someone to love me like this

19 March, 1937 Letters to Véra by Vladimir Nabokov

Yes! It's not that easy.

Sometimes, it's really hard for me to express myself into words. Maybe, that's because I need to know myself more and more. But it is becoming easier with you now. You might be thinking there are so many things inside my head and I bring out only a bit of it. I don't know if I have the strength to hold onto myself but, I know one thing, I am able to hold onto you as tightly as possible because I don't want to let you go. You can call me selfish and yes I am, because it's you. When I do anything wrong to you, I really feel that guilt, that ache of not being able to apologize whereas my heart actually wants to, very badly. It isn’t right ! But I always believe in showing my flaws to you because I know it's only you who will value them wholeheartedly. I do several bad things out of anger, take wrong decisions but I realize it too with utter grievances towards myself. I start hating myself for not being able to apologize to you for every mistake. I am afraid I will lose you. At times, I don't want you to be anybody else's company except mine knowing that is selfish enough. I am sorry. You have that freedom. When I feel dull and sad not talking to you, I want you to feel the same too. I hope you understand. I don't force you to do anything because it will become a habit. I will constantly force you to do things and in the process I may lose the grip. But I want to have all the rights on you.

That night when you said I must show my right on you, I was so happy, indeed happy to see you are holding me with your all. I want to take care of you. I am a messy person but I would still keep you organized, learn and cook your favorite dish with all my love. I want to stay awake lying beside you when you are sick and caressing you to sleep would be my utmost priority. I take bad decisions to keep us aloof, to keep us safe and not to hurt us. Forgive me for that. I want to dress up according to your choices of attire, to read your kind of books and embrace the new changes in me, to sing your favorite songs, to travel to your favorite places. I want to talk to you about the silly white lies being told to make things work good. These things would make me happier. I guess this is an in-built part of me which I could never express.