She was the innocent child thrown out to the wolves and learnt to crave his knife to lead the pack instead. Adventure was her snowflake that beckoned her to come out and play. Through the looking glass at the end of the tunnel she stood; taking her breath away was the last thing on his mind. She was never his or her own. She belonged to something far too unknown. She detested recycled stories of boy-meets-girl. Yet, she got entangled in his dream catcher and all she could do was stare. Weak men ran away from her cause they lacked the strength to fix the broken. He was a fixer and knew exactly how many and where the stitches go!
Teach me the art of breaking hearts,
I for once want to learn how to turn the ordinary into a poetess.
It wasn’t my intention to find heartache, it was to find love;
But like loose change that is stored in the deepest corners of your wallet, I drowned into the crowds while the ‘krasivaya sluzhanka’ captured your heart and attention.
Like a five-minute cigarette break, we were over!
It’s a beautiful body not a beautiful heart and thoughtful mind that wins at the day’s end.
Of course it is true, do not deny! You can’t expect a charcoal pencil to draw you a rainbow.
Charcoal can leave you a stain called love that is a dangerous Pantone to wear, for it is one that never bleeds and never weeps.
Who knew I had it in me?
Those who took the time to get to know me.
Much like you, unaware of what your intense gazes meant!
One day I’d like to take a walk with you to some random place
And have the most random conversations with a glass of wine, whiskey or rum.
As I tell you honestly how much I love you without fear of knowing why, or how we are where we are;
Without the fear of the Russian krasota, who I know I lose to every day you breathe her.
It doesn’t work out, I know!
Maybe why I would settle for just a walk as we talk,
About how the universe gave me this one night and we sealed our lips, knowing that your sunrise tomorrow will be next to her and not me.
Your eyes will sparkle looking at her radiant young fair skin, and not my dusky tones.
Her sculpted body with chiselled in features that are pleasured by your fingertips; It’s not my pottered curves that round-up hissing like an angry coiled snake.
For I cuss how the Russians intervene right from the US Elections to the love interest I take, how they ruin the world before it even has a chance to unfold!
I hang like loose change in your pockets, there;
Making the noise but never getting your attention while the Ruble rejoices in the songs of her praise!
I know you have tried and that you have been hurt. I know that feeling inside you wanting to give it another shot but at the same time, wondering if it is worth it. You start to think he does not care enough about you because if he does, he would have said something by now. He would have put in the effort and made it undeniably obvious that he wanted you despite what happened. You would have received that text or call you have been waiting for as you endlessly check your phone.
In silence, you realize that you want this to work with everything that’s within you. You want to love him and all that you ever ask in return, is for him to take care of your heart. Yet somehow, when you start to love someone so much, they see it in the way you act and the way you look at them. They know. They start to think you will never leave followed by a string of actions that suggest he is taking your love for granted.
At first, you make excuses for his actions because you want to give him the benefit of the doubt. After several occasions, you realize that you have made too much compromises and have been let down way too many times for you to count. You find yourselves stuck between trying harder or letting it all go because you will hurt either way. You struggle all night to decide between following your heart or following your mind.
Then you picked up the phone and dialed his number at 4am because you can’t take it no more. You need to know what he is thinking. You want to know if he is just as restless as you are. And then it happened, he picked it up but there is something different about the way he speaks it was half-hearted. You hung up, tired and broken. You’re thinking to yourself “Is loving someone supposed to be this difficult?”
As the sun rises, you eventually come to a painful realization that he is taking your love for granted. Yet, with your broken heart, you text him for closure. You choose yourself over love because you know you have given it your all. You choose yourself over love because you loved with all of your heart. You choose yourself over love because you know you did everything you could have done to make it work.
Your phone rings. You look down to a preview of regretful messages but they are a little too late. Your heart is broken. You choose yourself over love because you know your golden heart is too precious to be wasted on someone who fails to see it.
The feelings rush into your heart as fast as gasoline setting on fire. It has been too long since you’ve felt this way and it burns deep. You try to play it cool as much as possible, but you’re the type to wear your heart on your sleeve. It’s inevitable – the wants, the needs, the desires.
Everyone tells you to let him come to you. At this age though, why is that still a thing? You’re over the games, you’ve dealt with being alone and you’ve experienced love followed by heartbreak. You know what you want and that shouldn’t be your fault.
The days you’re together are magical, and the nights those lead into are a fairytale. You start getting to know everything about each other. Staying up until 4 am asking and answering every question imaginable becomes routine. He gives no indication you’re moving to fast, no sign of turning back, no thought of wanting to slow down.
Then there come the nights he wants nothing to do with you. You’ve discussed the whole communicating thing and expressing feelings. You’ve had endless talks about your sensitivity and your neediness. At the time, he believes “it’s cute”, “it’s endearing”, but in reality, its pushing him away-until he’s gone.
Feelings of insecurity and hopelessness surround your brain. Second guessing yourself becomes a daily activity. Why isn’t he inviting me out with his friends? Why doesn’t he want to constantly spend time with me? Why doesn’t he try to go above and beyond? You’re used to being the pursued not the one pursuing and it’s killing you.
How is it fair that because feelings overwhelm your brain and because you acknowledge them, you’re in the wrong? I want a love that is pure and magical but apparently that is too much to handle.
I’m an independent woman. I am strong, I am smart, I am outgoing but all of that combined with knowing what I want, is against society’s norms. I am not allowed to express how I feel, I am crazy if I am too interested in someone, I am needy if I want to see the person I like multiple times a week.
I can’t control it though. I deserve a person that doesn’t just “handle” me but truly wants me. I deserve to not only feel happiness from myself but also from my partner. While some might think that’s too much to ask, it shouldn’t be.
For a star to be born,
there is one thing that must happen:
a gaseous nebula must collapse.
This is not your destruction.
This is your birth. Be born.
I would chase down the stars and bottle up all the wonders within.
I would carry all the magic, across the big ocean.
Another bottle of the wind I’d feel at the top of that snowy mountain from where I could see you.
And the sound of the birds chirping, I’d carry that muse to you.
The sheets I’ve been lying on from days, they remember your name now.
The doors I rarely pass through echoes in your whispers.
So I would leave this place to chase down all the stars and take a home, made of stardust.
I’d bring all the wonders to you trapped in my insanity and call it love, this love breathes for you.
What amazes me is the stars on a clear night, if you aren’t the kind of person who is amazed by this too;
I don’t think we can work.
I think I’ve always been half out of my shell and half in.
Sometimes I can be extremely wild and sometimes I can be extremely shy.
It just depends on the day.
I came to realise that there were some things in life you would never get over, some transgressions you could not forget or forgive yourself for, some pains that would not pass, some people you’d never stop missing.
Maybe your first love is the one that sticks with you because it’s the only person who will ever receive all of you.
After that, you learn better.
But, most of all, no matter what, a piece of you forever remains left behind in the heart of the one you loved; a piece no future lover could ever get, no matter what.
That piece holds innocence, the belief that love really can last forever.
It holds friendship and pain, trial and error, that one kiss you’ll never forget.
That one night under the stars you can never get back.
It holds your youth forever, and everything you thought love would be.
Everything that was proven wrong by this one love that will forever be!
Loving him will never be an emotion or state of mind,
But a force of nature brewing inside.
Love becomes a storm you can not outrun
And the lightning lights up the skies.
The thunder that echoed like music,
becomes your endless dance in the rain.
I want to be fucked the shit out of my insecurities
Until the beauty of my soul spills onto the cover that I always hide under.
Until I lay there,
Stripped off my flaws lying ass naked in my desirability.
And then maybe I will attempt to take my clothes off.
Some people have fucked my quivering heart until it has shattered
And I’ve turned those whores into poetry.
A deadly combination of words is my something borrowed from an anonymous and Marisa Crane
The Art of Letting go.
I was nothing less than a train wreck after you were gone.
The memories overwhelm me as I try to gulp the bitter coffee , distracting myself from the lumpy throat.
I talk to the others and fill up the mundane hours of my day but it doesn’t suffice.
I stare at the asphalt roads and wonder why we couldn’t traverse them.
The empty bed resonates of a thousand beautiful moments.
They stay locked up in the Polaroids as I try to sidle a glance every time I decide not to.
I laughed that day after a very long time, and guilt took over.
Today, the coffee doesn’t hurt.
I’ve learnt to hold myself together with tape and glue.
I’ve stitched the wounds.
Maybe I won’t find a hand to hold again but I’ll walk the roads alone.
Everyday I wish things never turned out this way.
I wish we didn’t have to get stuck in a Polaroid.
Now, the memories visit me and they’re more beautiful than ever.
It’s a Something Borrowed from Sayali Patil