The Devil and I 

I don’t mind the Devil 

He lies, he spits venom

Drinks too much 

Sometimes he sets my home on fire

But he’s honest, doing everything in his power to 

Lead me astray 

Still, we’re okay, the Devil and I

With him, I know where I stand 

It’s a process, but

It’s okay 

It’s these crooked halos I don’t understand 

All the good people around me, whose rot I can smell 

a page of reality away 

What kind of God’s golden children are they

The purity doesn’t fit, their wings are all wrong 

I read the Devil was an angel 

It makes sense why he left 

Even I can see that he didn’t belong 

The Devil and I 
©CM 

22.03.2017

Better the Devil we know… (very well). 

Why Are Men Strong? 

Why are men strong?

Is it because they are providers

Hunters, gatherers

Or just poachers?

Is it because they can 

Stand up and hit us 

Because we lack the girth 

To deal the damage back

Because it’s easy to hurt

Someone who can’t attack 

You

Someone who will easily bend

To

Avoid the pain 

But some of us

Climb back

And then you feel like

You must crush us

Because men 

Men are strong 

And a woman who won’t listen can

Be showed, thoroughly 

That she is wrong 

A man who must rely on

The strength of his arms

To show a woman how strong he is

May not be meek

But the defeat is not for the beaten

Because he is already 

Weak 

©CM 

09.03.2017

Hercules

20140730-185407.jpg

 
I don’t know how you are so brave
How everything that bruises you leaves so
un-touching-ly
You smile that secret smile and carry on
As though you weren’t stopped, but you’d paused
And now you were walking on again
Not crippled, just resting one leg
Not sad, not aching
As if you hadn’t built that house of cards so
pain-staking-ly
Then you listen to me
And you laugh
And I forget what I was even angry about
Because you are so brave
So in-defeat-ably
That just the aftertaste of you is strong
enough to
make-me-see
Courage is as much about not mourning
as mourning
everything-that-could-not-be-saved
Or
Loving that fish,
Respecting a donut
Not wearing underwear on principle
Waking up early on thursdays to shave
And just as much shrugging
nonchalantly,
making a wrinkly nosed face, and
carrying on, because you are
that brave

 
Hercules

(c)CM
10.02.2017

Malediction- A Four Year Anniversary Curse

I am told he had ink in his veins
And she, suffered unspoken miseries
He had his heart crushed to pieces
She lived in a cottage by the sea

He walked barefoot, searching, learning
She wrote each day a different song
He grappled his whole life with intoxication
She? Delighted in being considered wrong

He was a man of a different kind
She was a girl with a bent, touched mind
He refused to conform, his will was rebellion
She had left all societal norms behind

At least, these are the reasons I could find

I have none of these, and yet all of them
Writing demented, born of a whim
Compulsion, impulsion, imprudence beget
Some reasons I cannot, some more I forget

A common disease, this malediction, this curse
To sit and remember what never occurred
Distort reality, fever blind wide open eyes
Scratch and claw paper with ink wounds incurred

Till the fit passes, and the inspiration fades from sight
We have our demons, and our redemption-
We write

 

 

Malediction

©CM
15.01.2017

 

My reasons for writing may keep evolving, but that’s alright. As long as they never run out… 🙂

 

Four years at WordPress. four  years of Calliope’s Lyre. I can’t fathom what directions my life would have taken, had I not had this blog to fall back on mentally, at so many points.

Thank you for taking this journey with me. It goes up and down but I promise, the excitement never diminishes. And as the great man said, we have miles to go before we sleep.

 

Stay tuned, dear Readers. I have just started telling my stories to the world.

 

Love, light, and monsta-sized hugs,

Cookie ❤

Letters To No One

Dear Spence,

I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while. Only it’s been twelve years and I don’t know where you are, anymore. The last time I looked for you, I saw that you’d done a live performance at a bar near your house that got a huge turn out and blitzed everywhere on Facebook. That made me so happy. That you were still pursuing your dream. Some dreams shouldn’t ever die.

 

Things have been strange for me. Recently my boyfriend got very drunk and said a lot of things, hurtful things, that have made me think, nonetheless. One of those things is that I’m an ’emotion hag’. I’m not sure if you know what one of those is. It’s like fag-hag, a gay man’s female best friend, only according to him, my area of expertise is people who want to talk about their emotions, not gay men.

 

And he meant it in an insulting way, because he was drunk and hurting and trying to be as hurtful to me as he could. It’s just one of the things he said, and one of the things that stayed with me, but I’m not sure it’s a bad thing at all. I tried explaining to him when he was sober that he’s right, it is a pattern of my behavior. I do ‘listen’ too much, and let people vent to me, but that’s because that’s all I can do for them. These are people who are hurting, and the least I can do is to listen to them. I don’t have the finances to help them and I don’t have any way of changing their situation- Hell, I can’t even change my own. All I can do is listen, give them someone to bounce thoughts off, so I do that. It makes him uncomfortable because he doesn’t like my ‘range of emotion’, or at least, the amount of emotion I fluctuate through on a daily basis. It’s not that he doesn’t feel the same. He does, he just doesn’t believe in acknowledging it.

He likes to think he’s above such base human tendencies such as feeling. Only he refuses to see, and I’d never point it out, but every time he gets that drunk, he does just the same thing we all do. We feel. We let ourselves feel.
I thought of you that day. It was not the first time I’d seen an angry drunk, but the frustration, the desperation to lash out at someone, to see them hurt the same way he was hurting… It made me think of you. You got just as furious every Friday, when you could drink without having to worry about work the next day. The odd beers in the week days would just leave you dour, and sometimes surly, but never full blown bitter. That was reserved for weekends, when you could drink yourself blind and blame me for being sixteen when you were forty already. For being young when you weren’t anymore, for having a future when you hated your job, for being smart, and for not moving to UK to be with you, or for having guy friends were closer to my age.

I think a lot of that went over my head at the time. I was just a girl, even though I won’t deny I was perceptive even for my age. But that only helped me handle your bad moods. It didn’t help me understand them, or understand that that the relationship was fundamentally wrong. I was not your muse. That sounds a little silly, said out loud. I was not your partner or your lover. I was a damaged young girl who was unbelievably grateful for even having anyone around me who said they loved me, or gave me any respect. Because what you gave me was not respect by anyone else’s standards, but compared to what I got from the ‘real’ people in my life, it was still one of the best things to be happening to me.

 

I got scared, though. Over time, I couldn’t keep blaming the beer believably enough, and I couldn’t justify your resentment of my not being there with you. And somewhere during that period I started growing a spine in secret. Still battered emotionally and physically, but a spine nonetheless. And I’m sorry. The entire situation had veered off from being a place of comfort to a place where more hurt stemmed from. I was an adult at sixteen, like I was an adult at twelve, but even adults are slow to learn their lessons sometimes. And I was afraid of you, you gave me reason to be. I should have been more afraid of you, in retrospect. But I knew then as I know now, you were never a bad man. You are a good man. You were just troubled. And a sixteen year old girl an ocean away was not the answer to anything. Except more pain. And I regret causing you that pain.

I heard the recordings of your live performance. You still brush the hair off your forehead exactly the same way. And you still smoke incessantly. Although I can’t look at you scoldingly for that anymore, given that I’ve started smoking too ( I know, right? Who would’ve thought?) And you smile more fully. And no matter what happened between us, it is so heartwarmingly, gloriously wonderful to see you smile that way.

 

One day, I will too.

 

 

 

Your friend,
Cookie

To A Kind Man

 

A man walks past a child, and
Smiles down at it
That is softness
Another stops his day to console a friend
That is benevolence
But there is a man, who sit miles away
From the object of his attention
And ceaselessly radiates hope
Warmth
He gives freely his affection
And words falter when faced with
Such kindnesses
To him who spends so lavishly his love
In such excesses
I don’t know what to say
I cannot thank him enough in any way
Because I am that corner
Where the sun doesn’t reach
But love does, and I receive
It in such intensity
That eclipses are dwarfed
By the immensity
Of that kindness
And I turn to that radiance
When mountains loom, when
the monsters of the mind hold sway

And I will confess
I aspire to be you, to
Someone who needs to borrow light
Some day

 

 

To A Kind Man

 

©CM
02.12.2016

 

 

Kind men. The world doesn’t have enough of them. Blessedly, I do. People who stop by with love, with comfort, who have no self serving reason to do what they do, but they do it anyway. Ashish, Don, Hershel, Furqan, Samee, Sharath– Thank you for helping me, and thank you for supporting me. I am grateful to you and for you.