Archive for 2017

Saturday, December 23, 2017

The Devil


When I was a child I was convinced that the devil had no name.

 I used to think that he was an entity that was literally everywhere all the time, slipping through everyone in every corner and that was just how it is.
I used to sleep on the left side of my bed and made space for him, just to let him know that he doesn't have to slip through me he can just lie down next to me instead and mind his own business.
I used to pray before every meal just to let him know that I'm famished and protected and totally not alone and he can just go do something else that doesn't involve my female gastro rage that I think is a lot more vicious than what he makes of himself.

 Even when I didn't know any better, I was so sure that whenever your body feels like an uninvited guest is crawling through the depths of your flesh and shivers you down to your spine,
You are supposed to pretend that you're not shaking and really trick yourself into thinking that you can beat this. That you can manage this. That you can take this. That you own this.
When years went by and I had the privilege to learn better, I learned that the devil was not who I thought he was.

 He wasn't an invisible entity that could transform into whatever your mind wants him to become.
He doesn't just die when you strike him down with your faith-based sentences or your mythical gun or your fictional double-edged dagger.
No; The devil did have a name.
He had one so easy to pronounce that it rolled off my tongue instantly the moment I learned what it was.
Its name sounded so familiar, it almost sounded just like yours.

 The devil does not die when he leaves.
He comes in a figure that was so human you almost feel sorry for him you offer him shelter.
The devil leaves a mark so big and visible that he is now much more alive than the last time you left him.
The devil doesn't leave; He stays,
and you become his reflection.
You become his fingerprint.
You become his epilogue.
You become him.

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Saturday, December 16, 2017

The Pivotal Moment


One night I managed to not sleep at all pondering about the word 'pivotal'.
I mean, okay, sure, pivotal.
You know that one moment where you have absolutely no idea where you've plucked the word from and why, out of all the words, it just had to be that one that endures?

I looked it up to figure out what it meant in which it showcased words 'vitally important', along with 'serious', and 'critical', and 'all-important', and 'substantial';
and 'burning'.
I stopped and went with that one.

The world recognized this and I am fazed.

I am fazed knowing that for something to be substantial- and important- and glimmering; is that it has to be burning.
The world recognized this and noone bothered to leave a yellow highlighter on it.
Now, I thought, I finally had a word to highlight it with.

You know; The scene when I came to your rotten event and you told everyone that I wanted to be there and you actually thought that I did and all your friends thought that I was edgy.
The scene when I waited 4 hours in my parents' living room for you to come by just to tell me that things aren't going the way you pictured and you thought that I could handle it.
The scene when I listened to my favourite track off of my favourite record and the first thing I saw was you tying your shoe laces on my front porch and that it didn't matter.
The scene when you told me that I was your saviour and for a moment I almost believed that I was.

 Isn't it spellbinding how the mind can steer you in full auto-pilot to something that you didn't even know existed and makes you go, "Hell, that's a fucking good one."

 Your mind is a compass that moves in a reckless but precise motion and wherever it takes you,
You, you are supposed to just follow it through and expect your worst to become your best.
It is a gift to have been brought to a beautiful holocaust that will leave you majestic and non-forgiving and prosperous.
This has to be this way and you,
You are meant to be this way,
Burn this way,
Walk this way,
Win this way.

 Girl, let them run from you.
Let them kick and scream and be terrified of you,
Look at you;
You are beaming bright in red and orange.

 You see that?
It becomes one of those moments.

Those pivotal moments.

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Thursday, October 19, 2017

Things I Am Good At


Nineteen.
The present never indulged me in a way it did for people.
Having a notable meaning is a thing that they searched for,
Searched for; scraped, weeped, and moped for.
Wars were built on the process of finding.
I instead searched for the way to unlearn meanings.
I am good at unlearning.

Twenty five.
A hideout is a place I come back to in every moment in between agendas.
I carry it everywhere within every mile and it is not because I wish to escape,
But mostly because I never leave.
I would never desire it and I would never need to.
I've made a home out of every wreckage and it is what I do in my victorious days.
I am good at making a home out of things.

Twenty eight.
Colossal beings does not make me feel paltry.
I am bigger than most of them and it is a curse that I think this is exact.
Being an ocean does not mean that every traveller will roam in you eternally.
I carry the world on my backbones because I am able to.
I am good with being big.

Thirty two.
Time is a foreign thing.
I've managed to destroy most clocks within my space because it keeps looking;
Looking and making disreputable notices that involves me and the things I am not doing, the verbs I will not say, and the things I can not become.
Time mocks me in the most unrecognisable language that I seem to still understand.
I am good with foreign things.

Fourty seven.
Trains take people to destinations and away from them.
I do not grieve on this.
Departures and arrivals are plain meals people swallow in,
We stay in and yet we move lightly.
Moving is a thing we were built to undertake.
I am good with vehicles.

Thing is,
The thing about being good;
The dangerous thing about being good,
is that it still does not fill.

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Thursday, August 3, 2017

Mighty Mights




The monsoon has arrived.
Who is the tall dark figure that kneels before my disfigured porch?

The monsoon,
            has arrived.

It has come differently this time.
The pace was tighter.
Most landscapes changed in most sights,
The hills grew damp and the tides moved lighter.
What are these?

All these crippling heights,
                        and mighty mights.

It's just not quite the season.

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