Maudlin

I’ve been oscillating between reasons to write, and reasons not to write. My motivation for the first, the second, and both, has been my simultaneous need to feel. And the pure, sheer fear, of what I know is coming.

That if I allow myself to shake, I’ll fall apart. And nobody, not me, nor even you coming back would be able to put me back together again.

So I’ve been allowing myself some words. Mostly technical words. Dry, desiccated facts, terms and phrases that would drive a rock to boredom. I trapped every instinct pushing me to let everything screaming and hysterically laughing out, or even in words approximating it. I have been systematically, intentionally, exhausting myself to the point where my restless brain is forced to shut down by my aching body each and every night. There has been no space to feel, to think, to let any of this come anywhere the visible, palpable surface. Because it would make everything real. And I’m not ready for real. I’m not ready for the barest mention of real. Real means me having to face an endless stretch of truths.

But these lies, they sit like a hot coal in the middle of my chest. I don’t know which pain I prefer anymore.

I’m so, so alone. He’s not there. He’s not there. And that’s become the sum backbone of my existence. My days are propped up by stacks and bricks of work and responsibilities, because they are interspersed with.. nothing. Not him. Not the mention of him. Not even the fact that he doesn’t belong to me anymore. Not that I don’t belong to him. And never will.

I’ve been breathing in a handful of maudlin words. Admissions and tiny, tiny permissions of grief that I let myself briefly touch. Smear the closest letters I find onto a surface, pretend it’s poetry, and fall back into the forced, safe, nothingness. I’m craving solitude, terrified of my loneliness, and growing heartsick of the people I’m filling every inch of my day with. But the nights…

I miss him in every inch of the pale night. I cannot fathom how it can be this heavy, to carry a hollow inside. And I wonder. Which of these exhaustions will finally drive me to sleep.

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Wisdom 

If I knew any better, I’d see you starry eyed.  
Instead of laughing at your wit and sharing our mutual disparagement of an abundance of topics, instead of reading your work out loud in my head as I know you do mine, and having the full satisfaction of understanding as much as being understood, of being as hopeless and defeated a romantic as me- of being as defeated by your own intellect and perception as me- instead of the realization of these things, if only I had wonder instead, I could love you. I would love you. I would love you with the potency of our singleminded writing, the intensity of furrowed brows stringing words in breathing sequence, in the light of quiet sunsets of two people who understand- god, who understand! I could love you- I could! 

If only I could.  

I look at you, as you look at me. Two people who should but are plainly not meant to be. We stand on two neighboring shores, you chasing your ocean and me, drowning in mine. We hold hands in our solitude, both alone together, with love to find, and love to divine.  

Till another time,

Cookie ❤ 

Greenstick Fractures

Greenstick Fractures

Days after the apology
Mornings of the aftermath
The sky isn’t really blue yet
The pillows still suffer my wrath,
No, I’m not yet okay
And I don’t know why it’s so
Difficult to wash with a thousand ‘sorry’s
The blood off a bruised ego
Bared in the light of day
My vision blurs, at the oddest times
The world is gray, semi permanently
You riddled holes through which colors leached away
Even your smile doesn’t stand out to me

I don’t know, maybe I can’t see
Maybe I don’t want to see

Let’s count this one as a lesson learnt
Even love needs some time to fill fury’s cracks
Pride does not suffer greenstick fractures
Spines can bend till they break, and not always
Grow back
No amount of alcohol can atone for
A drunken night’s sins
Even angry words are more potent when laced
With whiskey
You’re hung over, and I’m struggling to re paint my sunrises
Rather ineffectively
And I can’t
-you need to hold the brush
Because these are colors
You have to give back to me

©CM
13.11.2016

Anorexia 

Anorexia 

Thought starvation, for a period of time
Doesn’t do me any good
The pathology’s the same, like the stomach
The brain too needs its food
Denied a victim, the gastric acid
Into its own walls leaks
-similarly, a concentrated vitriol
An empty mind keeps

Atrophied ideas, dessicated hope
But what’s a hungry girl to do?
When muddied flirtations blend into one another
Faded bruises written black and blue
When nausea becomes a sentient sensation
When you’ve cauterized your heart with self wrought ablation
What’s a girl to do?

I thought too much, now I want to be thin
Your beauty’s enough for both of us, who
Cares about my within
I’ll be like you, just words and skin
Hollow cheeked and empty eyed,
But it’ll do
Hungry, but
Just
Like
You

© CM
21.10.2016

I learnt that being hungry for love is nothing compared to being hungry for respect.  There are some things that just strip you of your dignity.

I don’t remember the last time I felt this small. I think I need to take a break from everything. I might be offline for a few days.
My love to all of you,

Cookie