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I'm slightly hedonistic and writing makes me happy

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prose

void heart

my heart is void of it’s quadrants, there is just a gaping hole. nothing touches the endocardium, my heart should collapse. but here i am stuffing things into it and hoping i feel complete. it’s like a jigsaw puzzle. and everyday i find a new piece. but what i talk about here is where my heart fits in. it lives in the tiny spaces between reality and pain and guilt. where it can stay safe. and illusioned. temporarily.

tiny loopholes lay

where my heart can be content

just for a jiffy

me, writing a haiku after rejoicing that those RT for luck, ignore for years of bad luck, your family dies and your dog eats their corpses and dies too and the world implodes and you fail have a loophole. If you are made anxious by them, you can RT / share and then immediately delete them. Or well. Acknowledge them. Hence, you’re not ignoring them. There. Problem solved. Or, don’t be an asshole or don’t share them and put others in a place of anxiety and paranoia if you can help it.

happy belated poetry day
talk to me on twitter (@anushwah)

whoops

My friend recently referred to me as “one of those people likers” and well, she’s right. I have the ability of managing to find something to love in everyone, and do honestly believe I could love anyone if they let me.

I never thought of this quality of mine to be bad, but retrospectively, let’s consider why she may have implied it wasn’t the best trait to have. So, I was looking up the IG feed of a boy (from my side account) who decided it was best to block my main account (sounds pretty creepy whoops, probably is actually) and my justification when she asked me why was “Well, I still cared for his pasty white ass” and well, yeah I do! I do care about whether he’s alive or not. Unfortunately.

Basically, it’s made me wonder if this ‘loving’ characteristic of mine is actually detrimental to my being. The hard hitting truth, it probably is bad, it probably stops me from cutting off people who couldn’t give a rat’s arse about my existence or lack thereof. It most definitely stems from my coping mechanism that I developed when I was younger, when I decided that I don’t do “crushes”, I don’t expect requited feelings, I don’t expect people to be ‘loving’ to me. So I took up the responsibility to screw overrated that shit and just love everyone because they deserve my appreciation, they really do.

Perhaps I just think I don’t mind the hurt when people don’t love me back. I’ve always found myself embracing the unrequited feelings I have for everyone and I do seem to make myself pretty comfy in the pit of self pity (which I pretend doesn’t exist because I don’t expect things do I? No, I’m some sort of angle who loves people boohoo) Well, not really. I do love my careless habits of being unbearably blunt and flirty with everyone, I do love appreciating people for who they are, it makes living worth it if I’m honest. There’s not much to live for if you discount people off my list. Sometimes I wonder if I put myself through things knowingly just to feel them and write about them.

I reckon I just need to decide for myself, whether the gaping hole in my heart (from when I give away pieces for free) is worth the pining and feeling pathetic lmao

(tl;dr I’m a clingy mf who is trying very hard to improve, I’ve haven’t completely stopped sending emails to people who can’t keep their eyes from rolling at the sight of my name in their inbox ~I imagine~ at the expense of looking silly but well, if I don’t be silly and wear my heart of my sleeve, who will? Alternatively titled, naivety


a concept: me, listening to we don’t talk anymore & somebody that I used to know and not sobbing

another concept: me, studying

yet another concept: me, not whining

best biffles

my friends matter a lot sometimes and my parents always tell me how temporary and irrelevant they are and how I should put my studies first and foremost and then my family and maybe a couple levels later, my peers.

They’re wrong sometimes. And this is one of those times; you see, they all had around 10 siblings and never needed to seek love and affection from sources that didn’t share the same blood or house as them.

But god, how do I make them see, that when I’m home alone everyday, with my dog for company, all I can turn to is my friends. How can I begin to explain that when I hear my friend laughing as if he was a malfunctioning radiator auditioning for a role as a mouse, it became one of my favourite sounds in the world.

When they’re the ones who support me no matter what, always push me to be better, and lift me up with silly jokes, how do I tell my parents, “I know you love me, but so do these three!”

When they act as my parents, lovers, enemies, children, siblings, etc. all rolled up into one, who am I to deny them? Our relationships go beyond the realm of platonic, they push the boundaries of romantic and leave me satisfied with my care; how can I not acknowledge this requited love served to me on a silver platter?

 

last year I realised how many close friends I have, that care about me and would go to the ends of the earth for me. I love them all so much and hope they stay in my life till the end of days.

 

Happy new year!

I’ve been dreading the thought of the zero’s lining up on the 24 hour clock because I realised that there was much about me that I need to change this year. Because, well, new year is just a thinly veiled excuse to make those amends we should’ve made ages ago, but didn’t. The idea that we can change ourselves regardless of the planet’s movement is brilliant but too overpowering for me. So I guess I’ll stick with the whole overrated ‘New Year, new me!’ shite for now.

So let’s see what I need myself to be this year –

  • better achievements in the future near
  • learn from the slate, not wiped clear
  • don’t avoid the dark, don’t you fear!
  • you can afford to be a bit more queer..
  • be considerate to those who are to you dear.
  • sometimes, when you have to, do sneer.
  • don’t let anyone at you leer.
  • to your instinct, please do hear!
  • don’t lie to yourself, dissolve the veneer.
  • please, no more self destructive behaviour
  • and maybe for now, say no to the beer
  • stop doubting yourself, you’ll have a career
  • (at some point surely)

other irrelevant things I should change include – less whining and dining lmao, no crying, no comparing, no dying and all that good stuff ya?

colours

She wishes things weren’t the way they were, but she knows wishing won’t get her anywhere. She wishes that they would. All she ever gets are looks, looks from everyone for all the wrong reasons. Judging eyes raking over her flaming red skin at every given moment, no matter how discreet they try to be, she can feel them. She would never be as happy in her own skin because it was the only thing that set her apart from everyone, and oh, not in a good way.

For fitting in requires being normal, and being normal requires you be a shade of a primary colour. She could assert that she was born that way but her parents swear that she looks pink in her baby pictures. She knows there are ways to change your colour, both temporarily and permanently; but she also wants to prove everyone wrong. She wants to shout it from the rooftops (she’ll leave that to the bright and confident activists) nevertheless she settles to be the noise that says ‘different doesn’t equate to bad’ (or at least that’s her excuse) but the problem is, she isn’t quite sure of that herself. Then she meet-cutes a blue girl and decides that she can be nothing short of beautiful. Her colours don’t define her, they aren’t inherently evil. But she could surely do with some purple in her life.

beauty is found

beauty is subjective

It took me about 14 years to understand this properly, and to be honest, I still forget sometimes. I had a hard time feeling aight in my own skin. It’s hard work when you’re not conventionally beautiful and haven’t ever gotten any positive feedback about what you look like. It’s hard to believe you might be gorgeous because no one told you, damn it! I didn’t get the memo either, so here –

  • They say beauty is only skin deep and in the eye of the beholder, and for fucks sake, it’s true ok? It doesn’t seem that way when people only make fun of you for how you look but it’s true.
  • “Cute” starts sounding like an insult. You find that people say it because they don’t know what to say without lying. The whole “you’ve got a wonderful personality is something one says about ugly people” seems to be true.
  • For heaven’s sake, you’re adorable, do you really need to nit pick compliments? Wouldn’t you rather be a fabulous person than just look it?
  • But don’t fall in too deep. The problem I’ve come across is, I’ve pretty much lost my aesthetic, I don’t know what my definition of beauty objectively is. A person who’s reading literature turns me on, or listening to dank bands, or is passionate about economics or pharmaceutics or history or mathematics or whatever god they all seem really hot.
  • What someone looks like starts to matter very less when you concentrate on the features they choose to have.
  • Someone is a nice person and sweet to animals, BAM I’m in love.
  • Ask yourself, would you really let someone who’s beautiful on the inside get away for the sole reason that they don’t look like every other ‘hot’ person ?
  • You forget, we start to love everything about someone we already like. Example – I didn’t give a shit about blonde people, like paid no special attention to them. But then, I watched Merlin (BBC) and there he was, Arthur Pendragon, a hot prat, a blond. BAM I like blonds now.
  • I couldn’t care less about proportions, large ears are the most endearing thing I’ve seen (google: Colin Morgan) crooked teeth? fucking sign me up yea?? (google: Bradley James)
  • I see normal random people on the streets all the time, it takes very less for me to fall in love with them. Their smiles damn it (read: my achilles heel), their colours, their interests, they mean so much more than what they look like!!
  • Yes, I’m aware, there’s apparently difference between loving someone and finding them attractive i.e. wanting to bed them (eh why ? why not have the best of both worlds) but honestly It’s a blurred line to me. I can’t tell what I want to love and care for and tuck into bed and what I want to sleep with.
  • Once you start finding beauty in people rather than just their bodies, you find so much variety. You can’t choose! When you’re in love with fictional boys with cute soft tummies, it’s hard to fat shame them. Your brain won’t have MCQs that go
    a) skinny girls
    b) thick girls
    because you’ll be in so deep that there’ll be things like
    j) girls who like fall out boy
    k) girls who love dogs
  • You find it hard to follow what society wants you to want. You need to remember, this is about you. What you like. Let’s just hope there’s people who see beauty in personality and traits.
  • I like to think there’s people who think this way and I’m not some odd duck who doesn’t understand the meaning of “aesthetic”.
  • When you look at people this way, it’s hard to not look at yourself like just another one of them; you just can’t find yourself ugly once you find beauty in literally everything and everyone around you.

this was just me trying to say ‘help idk what hot means anymore ffs i think cute misunderstood boys (read: Kageyama Tobio, draco malfoy?) are hot, really. This hampers my objective opinion of people’

also ‘i think i could fall in love with everyone if they let me ffs why is everyone so ethereally attractive damnit’

‘beauty can be found in the darkest of places, if only someone tries to light the match’ inspired by guess who dumbledore thats who

the offensive swing set

If the little girl won’t swing, who will? Her elders won’t swing but they’ll tell her of the times they did. Her friends won’t swing because they all like dolls and boys better than squeaky swing sets in nearby abandoned parks. The boys won’t swing, they ‘have better things to do’ like breaking hearts and hiding behind goal posts and immature jokes.
Her dog won’t swing, she is troubled by the high pitched cacophony that the swings squeal to her in. Her cat won’t swing, but it’s not like she has one. Her teddy bear won’t swing, she guarantees that the only place he likes is in her arms. Her books won’t swing, they only have potential energy that won’t help in swinging for long without exerting that futile push. Her choice of inanimate objects won’t swing, she has learnt that they can’t.
The girl knows no one else is in line to swing, so why don’t the others understand? It doesn’t matter to her whether someone is by her side or pushing her, whether it’s dark or not; what matters to her is that she’s fulfilling the purpose of existence. Both her’s and the swings’.

home is not a place

There’s a boy in the North, with skin as pale as the eternal snow that he lives in. He doesn’t have anything other than the snow that surrounds him. To him the globe is home.
There’s a sweet little girl in his life who is capable of turning it upside down, and oh, she does. He doesn’t even mind it, he doesn’t seem mind anything when he hears her giggling. His chest broadens at the thought of being the reason behind it.
One day all hell breaks loose, his snow no longer eternal; his home is taken away from him. But all his attention is drawn by the girl with tear tracks down her face, smiling at a doll handed over to her to get her to stop bawling.
The girl gingerly places the doll next to the boy, she introduces them to each other and lets out a shaky giggle. The boy feels at home again.

don’t pull the pin

An artist isn’t an artist, they’re a time bomb, a grenade; just waiting for the clock to strike 12, for the pin to be pulled. They speak in shades of their chosen palette, their words don’t always make sense but they are accounted as beautiful.They need their brushes as much as an addict needs their fix, there they feel safe, at home.
They feel alright when they have their brushes in their hand and words to be said, they feel alright but it doesn’t last forever.
Nothing lasts forever they realise, when they are held up to articulate their feelings, when it doesn’t feel right with their empty hands balled up in fists due to frustration of not being heard in the medium they speak in.
We aren’t meant to wait for them to explode, we aren’t meant to question their work, we’re meant to respect them and be there for when they don’t feel alright.

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