Tag: #hope

creased canvas

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I lay awake at 3:07 in the morning
I groan and wonder should i sleep?
Can I sleep?
I want to paint that one image I have in my mind for days
But I can’t make myself to do so
The colours on my palette seem to annoy me, i can’t look at them
Yet I get up and reach for my brushes
They feel so fragile and satiny between my fingers
Like they might slip away just like my peace and resolve,
So I hold them tight.

I stare at the blank canvas with unblinking eyes
the crisp white acrylic paper looks unnerving.
It isn’t the darkness in my room weighing down on my shoulders but
the nothingness from the blank canvas that aggravates me.
My thoughts are blurring out,
Still I am able to make out indistinct letters in between the crease lines of the blank white paper.

Those letters seem to mock me
For being a let down,
for hating everything i am not supposed to,
for being unappreciative of the people that still hold on to me.
My head aches severely
Lord, how I wish I could cry!
But my tears probably have dried out.
I want to scream but all that falls from my lips is a faint sigh,
I wince at the sound of my own voice.

You see, anxiety is too chaotic, it fogs my senses
but I don’t let it loosen my grip on my brushes
I hold them, tight.
There might me creases on the paper but my strokes are as smooth as silk.
I can delineate my way through this nothingness into something graceful,
I just get lost sometimes,
Only to find myself back through fine strokes and elegant colours.
I can flawlessly blend the crease lines with my hues to make them appear almost non-existing,
I am skilled at it.
So, you see it gets blue around me sometimes yet i paint the canvas pink.

Scribbles that I can’t name (1)

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Ghosts of your stories are breathing in the fire /
I am sad just like every other person tells you, the only difference is I don’t complain about my life rather there are  raged ghosts suppressed deep inside me, feeding on my sanity and slowly  sucking the life out of me because of  things which weren’t supposed to go wrong. I don’t claim to be broken, I prefer to call myself scarred for I have burned in self-vacillation for years now. Yes, I can heal if I want to but I don’t have immense emotional energy in me to try and little of which is left I need it for my “routined life.”

You hold the key to the light of your life /
You tell me that you’ll always be with me, that we are in this together. I believe you because you treat me well, hold my hand when I’m cold, we fall asleep at night talking to each other on call. You preach about light of one’s life and the key to it but I reckon I have found it, in you to be more precise it’s you. You also write poetry about me and make me feel like a goddess. I start to think I am in love with you so I tell you everything, everything you ask me about my life, my darkest of secrets, my ghosts. I open my scar for you to perform a autopsy of my soul and I think I feel no pain because I’m so in love with you. I let you dig deeper and bring out the tiniest of things from within me till there’s nothing left and you write more about me? On me?

Oh, but you lie it got too hazy in the comfort of your love /
It’s been a while and things are quite different now. Your eyes seem so cold and your words are distant. Is it your guilt or is it my inculpating eyes gawking at you wanting justifications for why you lied? It hurts to think how you plump out the bloody scarps of horror and misery from my soul just to make it look like yours. It breaks my heart as you place these scraps so carefully in between the words of your labrynthine poetry to portray the persona of a heartbroken and lost writer because people like a sad writer more and you can’t fit in that character because you never experienced misery. It amazes me how cleverly you vended my soul and vulnerability to prevent the death of your not-so-thoughtful “poetry” and I did not realise any of that because I was so hazed by the idea of what you described as love.

Song:- Ghosts of Your Stories by Short Round https://open.spotify.com/track/29sUqcYMA5X3QRQORarmMR?si=QFkSn0ZTRUqbHHhbGTZlHw {PS. this song is the one I ranted about so yeah it was basically my inspiration for writing this piece :)}

HOPE and YOU

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Okay umm, I want to write about “You.” So let me tell you the time we had was great even though it was for a while. I never really dreamt of a forever with you and honestly I didn’t exactly love you, not in a way people in love do. I never got all those butterflies they talk about. I know you didn’t either. Yet there was a feeling that surged through me, I don’t know what to term that as, fulfilment? or adoration? or a gleaming light of hope that makes us believe in ourselves, makes us love ourselves, that heals our scars, makes us happy a little more? Or all of them? I don’t know. But it felt just right. I felt more alive, more hopeful. It was because of You.
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‌You made me find love and joy in little things, things that revolve around us maybe without us knowing that and things that makes us who we are. You made me  realise that flaws are nothing but through which we hurt ourselves or the people that surround us intentionally or unintentionally. It’s okay to have flaws and it’s okay if you make mistakes because that’s what acceptance is. You can’t be happy and make everyone happy at the same time, even if you can it takes time. And we need that time.
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‌You and I, we never held hands let alone those hugs and all. But the way you perceived everything, the way you framed your sentences, your sarcastic humour and the way you fiddled with the hem of your shirt and sighed deeply too often everytime you talked about your favourite book or recited the poem you loved. That was enough to give a warm, fuzzy feeling. A feeling of hope. Maybe I am using that word too much cause that’s what you were ‘Hope’, that makes us realise the worth of ourselves and makes us love a little more, hold on a little more and dream a little more. And also makes us let go sometimes. But you weren’t a forever you said that I remember it. I believed it myself right from the beginning because you, You felt like home but probably not meant to live in.

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