Love 

You watch him

You watch him laugh 

He’s holding her hand

They walk 

As if he’s stepping on air

In her wake

You might as well not

Be there

You stare

At that hand

You used to hold 

At that man

Who was yours 

Who walked out of your heart like

He never even was 

She laughs and

He gazes with the wonder

Of a thousand glittering stars 

In his eyes 

He finally sees 

Even though he doesn’t understand yet

For you

That’s what he used

To be

He bobs his head eagerly

Holds the door open

She sails past

She’s amused, he’s oblivious 

to the fact that

She’s not gazing back tenderly

Even from the sidewalk, you recognize 

That bemused expression

That detached air 

You remember your nerves fluttering around him 

And that’s the smile

He used to wear 

You watch the pantomime unfold

Not sure yet if

You’ve seen enough 

If you’re ready to go

You’ve crossed the signpost he’s

Walking towards

She will break his heart, too 

And he too will know 

Love 

©CM

10.03.2017

Blind Woman

Blind woman,

What do you see? 

Did you choose your paths

Arbitrarily?

Was there method to madness, 

did he

Put the blindfold on

Or did you, because 

You didn’t like mirrors

Eyeballs macerated and torn 

All semblance of foresight ripped, gone

Senses leavened, realizations withdrawn

Did you make this, blind woman?

Is this of your hand?

Did you choose not to see 

Where you stand?

Gouged sockets aren’t pretty but 

Your delusions are uglier 

More bitter 

And no, you bleeding fool, 

Reality isn’t fair either 

Ravines and crevices and cracks

Do not a face adorn 

Go away, blind woman

Go, and put some make up on. 

©CM

02.03.2017

I found the image on tumblr. Really, what lies we tell… 

Pathological Hope

img_1796

I suffer
From pathological Hope
Disappointments are bad enough, but
What makes them even tougher to cope
With, is
This nagging uncertainty
Wishful thinking, or just stupidity
That there might, there might just be
Something better for me

I suffer
Because I can’t stop believing
And I may be stubborn, but
Life, is unrelenting
I try not to, but
I keep bending
People crush me, and walk away
And I raise my head yet again
Too hopeful to accept that
There are no fucking happy endings.

(c)CM
26.11.2016

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

Fall

Why did He make me from clay?
What did He do to me?
What sort of vessel am I shaped into
To contain these fallacies?
Blinded, blinded, I don’t know my face
The mirror shows me a stranger
But ask me yours, where your smile lies and
I will know all the answers
Who are you, who gave you this
Power, over me, over my sense
Of reality, how did you change
My touch to thought, to impermanence
The sky is raw and the earth bleeding
How did you construct this bent
world, did God destroy me, or did you
-Did you both?

And what was my offence?

I loved you too much by any measure
I knew there was a gaping void
I promised myself, I’d fill the indifference
I’d push hard enough from my side-
and I did, see-
I’m already crazy
A drunk girl laughing at the edge of a cliff
Inching closer to the precipice, and
The howling promises of the wind- If
Only, if only, I could step away
If I could tell myself I mattered, you’ll miss
The scattered moments in your life
where I appear, where I exist
Inside my head, it’s a nice illusion
A sweet lie to say, if only
If only I could step away

Oh, that fall beckons too much, today

(c)CM
09.10.2016

Some days, nothing makes sense. Nothing you do makes sense. The rain stops  your sky and the walls won’t let you breathe and you want, you want someone to love, someone who will sit with you when you’re trying to make sense of what’s even fucking happening. In a corner of your mind you know you’re raving, but the other corners drown that tiny one out, and the day passes in a bewildered blur.

Maybe you want more. Maybe you want one sign, one small fucking sign that this altar you sit by isn’t where you’re going to starve and die, but grow, bloom, flourish. Maybe you resent everything in the world today because none of it is fucking yours and you have no one to call your own except you- and you don’t love yourself anyway, so fat lot of help that is. And the self pity and bitterness steadily simmers and gains momentum, and you find yourself staring off the side of the building, wondering if today’s the day.

But today is horrible. Today was horrible, which means it can’t be the day. Life cannot fall like this. Today can’t be the day, so let’s sit at the edge and breathe.

Let’s wait for tomorrow.

What I Did Today

choose

 

 

 

Do you want to know what I did today?

 

I came back home and I cleaned my room. Twice. Because I wanted to cry, and big girls don’t cry. So I cleaned my room.

I removed the mountain of washed clothes that had accumulated in the corner. All the dresses I’d bought in recent times, to wear for you. The stockings and leggings to go with them. The light jackets I’d been wearing on our outdoors dates because I knew you didn’t give two shits about my scars, but I still didn’t want people staring at us in public. It took a while, folding and putting everything away, memories and funny incidents still strung on to each and every of those dresses. But I’m not going to be wearing any of those for any of the reasons I wore them for… best to put them away now.

 

It felt like a funeral, like a burial of every happy color in my life. And I was tempted to cry, but I didn’t. Not even when I packed away my lingerie drawer, full of absurd scraps of lace that I’d only bought at all because you’d mentioned offhandly that you ‘like that shit’. And I knew exactly how much you liked each and every surprise from that drawer. But there’s no need for intimates where intimacy doesn’t exist. So I packed them up and put them away. It’s almost funny how many days we spent wrapped around those bits of cloth. Then again, when the fabric of reality itself changes, what possible strength can silk or satin have?

 

So I put them away, too.

 

And then I packed it all up, twice. Because you’re not gone yet, but you’re going to go very soon. And I have no use for these trappings of fantasies that are already evaporating. There’s so many things that are going to cease to be real for me, and it hurts, it really fucking hurts. Moving my bed to a different corner isn’t going to erase the love and the pain I’ve painted these walls with, and when it’s night and there’s nothing but darkness, those colors will show and I’m going to cry. I’m going to be crying for many, many nights. But I’m still going to have to get up and face a hundred people every day, smiling and laughing and doing whatever normal people do.

 

Because you and I were sitting at a bar today, drinking beer and listening to random music blaring- nothing we haven’t done a thousand times before, but something we probably won’t be doing again. And we were holding hands and Fergie was singing that it’s time to be a big girl now.

 

And big girls don’t cry.