Chaos.and.clutter - Blog Posts

hidden conversations

We fell in love from the shadows

professing love through radiowaves

kissing pixelated lips

and whispered longings from under blankets

What are you wearing you ask, heaving.

Insecurities he gave me,

burns, scabs that I still pick at.

You don't flinch. You don't back down

Let me. Is all you say.

and I do.

closer than I've ever come to myself.

You take them down one by one.

And tie my hands with the softest of knots

When I try to beat myself up.

You say words I want to hear

But also the words I need to hear.

When I say

hold me and I'll break, hold me or I'll break

So you held me against you and said

I've got you and you've got me.

An anchor and a promise.

That's when I knew I've always loved you.

And I realize

I'm not walking a tightrope anymore.

I'm not walking anymore.

I don't have to walk.

Because I'm here. I'm home.

t h o u g h t s

It's been a few minutes,

My head on your shoulder, your arm around me

Neither of us utters a word.

What are you thinking?

You ask, breaking the silence.

I'm thinking,

About the day we finally accepted how we felt,

And then the world tilted, the hourglass turned,

How every day we're slipping away, gradually

One sand grain at a time.

I'm thinking,

How unfortunate it is that our fate's already written

That we were to be like parallel lines

Destined to be together

But not with each other.

I'm thinking,

How long are we going to take it, one day at a time?

One call, one heart emoji, one I miss you at a time.

Like a recovering addict,

Each day takes us twelve steps away from each other.

I'm thinking,

How the time we are together is snowglobe moments.

How we are confined to only a moment in time.

While the world around us moves on and on.

And we relive one perfect yet fragile moment.

I'm thinking,

How we belong to each other today,

For now.

How wonderful it'll be if the world ends today.

While you are mine and I'm yours.

So I don't have to see tomorrow.

When the hourglass is finally empty

When either of the parallel lines ends.

When we are so apart that we stand out of sight

When the snow globe falls to the floor, waking us up.

Instead,

I try to come back to that second,

To your voice, eyes, and presence,

Instead, I say,

I'm thinking about getting ice cream.

disquiet

A piece of me is always missing, Like the last block of lego that I can never seem to find One empty space right in the center of the jigsaw puzzle. I'm not sure if I lost it along the way. I'm not sure if I'm yet to find it. But lately, the gap seems more blatant. I'm anxious that it's visible to the people around me. That when they look at me, they see half a person. It's almost like I'm mimicking a being While I'm on the quest for the missing elements.

Sometimes, everything is wholesome! Golden skies, daisies, moongazing, Dusty libraries where ghosts of dead poets linger, Tight hugs, acts that mean "I'm thinking of you.", I look at my picture with my friends, smiling ear to ear And the jigsaw puzzle is complete. (or it was, then.) Some memories in me are so perfect that, The missing lego piece starts to feel like an extra piece From the table, you're trying to put together. It works fine without it, and there's nowhere to put it.

Then I'm back in my bed, back in my head. And I cannot remember how to be a whole person again I eat chocolate until I'm nauseated Or I never draw the curtains open and let the light flow through. I want to live life to the fullest, I never want to be seen in public again, I want all-consuming love, I want to believe I'm worthy of it, I want to feel complete when I'm alone, I want someone to feel complete with.

I want and I want and I want… Socrates said, (Yes, I went there) "He who is not contented with what he has, would not be contented with what he would like to have." What about, She who is never content with who she is? What about me?

A Vampire Fever Dream. 👀

Centuries ago, one chilly winter night,

You smiled, held my hand in yours to leave behind,

Memories that twists my heart like a dagger,

While I wish my every sigh to be the last one

Since then I searched those amber eyes everywhere,

The color of maple leaves during the fall

I searched for you knowing that you are nowhere

Until I met someone who understood my pain.

Years passed away, and my companions with it.

I stayed the same, and so did our memories.

The only immortal things I've come across.

The living me, and the intangible us.

Now centuries later, this chilly winter

With this lovely human curled up next to me

I feel mortal. Not alive, just plain mortal.

Every second prized, every moment precious

With those same amber eyes, like a setting sun

One that threatened to burn me eons ago.

Have I wished for you often and hard enough?

That you had no other choice but to come back.

pret-endings

I fear I cannot give us a happy ending,

So I'll write us one. A "pret-ending"

A future where you get poems written for you

Because words are my "old, new, borrowed, and blue."

An ending in which our days begin together.

Mondays where I whine about the weather,

Tuesday mornings with a cup of tea,

I complain about a colleague, and you say, "How dare she!"

We'll make a pact to meet halfway

To have lunch together on Wednesdays.

Thursdays are for you to decide

Because I can't find anything to rhyme. I tried.

Fridays, we watch a movie or a show.

Flip a coin, heads I win- tails you lose. Let it go.

Weekends that I spend hearing you sing

Or sit and stare at you while you do your own thing.

We play a lot of rock-paper-scissors,

And the loser gets to chase away the lizards.

We fight over reading a book or watching the sundown

I look at you, watching the last rays shine, and put my book down.

Save me when I try to burn our kitchen

I'll do the dishes if you cook the chicken.

I'll watch you fall asleep

And talk you through your bad dreams.

Wake me up after your walk

You know how much I hate alarm clocks.

If wishes and boons were true

I'd trade the Midas touch for you.

As long as we cannot have of our happy ending,

I'll keep on writing us a pret-ending.

I used to curl up close to my bedroom wall,

hide under my blanket and hug my knees to my chest

Hoping, if there was a demon under my bed

it couldn't reach me.

Now I sleep on the other end

And when the night is darkest

I reach out under my bed

Hoping the demon under my bed

would hold me.

Tell me tales until I fall asleep, I say.

When it responds

I notice our voice sounds similar.

Hoarse and scratchy from the lack of use.

Hands cold and rough like it's filled with papercuts.

There are other demons, you know? Inside my head, I say.

They're not as kind as you.

They keep me up at night and keep me spiraling in the morning.

How do I get rid of them?

It considers, and as my consciousness starts to slip, it answers

Be kind to yourself as you're to me.

I tell you, I tell you not.

I love you, and I think you love me.

But that's how far it gets, so I put it in poetry.

I write about you sometimes.

Hide my truth within similes, metaphors, and rhymes.

Of hushed conversations in a crowded place

Memorizing each thing so I can later retrace.

You ask me how I feel when I'm with you.

Like I'm in a cellophane bubble of a soft pink hue,

La vie en Rose

A dopamine doze

You ask me what I think of you.

Words to which I wish I knew

Universe pulled a few invisible strings,

Put you in my life to change everything.

We stand inches close yet light years away.

Cliche!

We stay long enough to touch, not enough to hold

The world is unfair, or so I'm told.

So I pretend your smile doesn't put me in slumber.

Memorize lines on your hand as one would with numbers.

You ask me why I hold back. I say I'm scared.

What I hold back is what I'm scared of:

It's not being unable to find the right words for what I feel

It's being able to say the right words and never heal.

I love you, but I don't tell.

I try to show you, like casting a gentle spell.

Through metaphors and rhymes

And words that were written by dead poets sometimes.

Doesn't a word look weird when we stare at it long enough? Doesn't the alphabet look slightly meaningless when we write it over and over again? Here's one: CLING C-LING, C-L-ING, C-L-I-NG, C-L-I-N-G. Does this make sense? It doesn't sound like a word the more you say it. It doesn't look like a word the more you write it. The curves and strokes, dots and dash!

Isn't it how the name of the people you love changes? At some point, it stops being a name, a word that belongs to them. It becomes a feeling that belongs to you. It stops sounding like a word or a random string of letters. It becomes a string of feelings you cling to when life falls apart. Their name on your phone screen stops looking like a word. Every notification and phone call conjures an image of them looking at you and smiling before you can even look at it twice. That particular string of curves and strokes, dots and dash Once belonged to them and is now beloved by you Which you randomly write in the air because it gives you comfort.

Sometimes we take names for granted without realizing the power it holds. When all it takes is that one word to appear on your screen to get you through another tiring day.

reporting live from the war inside my head.

A weak week!

I buried my head in a pillow to bawl

Knees to my chest like a ball

I guess it was the Domino effect

Of being vulnerable, easy to affect

Sometimes my heart twists and wrings

Most often my head hurts and rings

I assure you it's not just a phase

I've tried but the feeling doesn't faze.

No one really saw the signs

Even if it's simple science

At last I cried out aloud

Louder than I was allowed.

(there's something so comforting about homophones. <3)

recently came across The Beatrice Letters by Lemony Snicket which screams love in every possible way. So I had to make my own version of it. Dramatically speaking: An homage if I may.

The Beatrice Letters: Unsent

I will love you if this is the last time I get to tell you, and I will love you if this is the only time I get to tell you that I do. I will love you as an empress loves her emperor, and as the emperor loves his subjects, and as his subjects love their empire. I love you as a moth loves flame and as flame loves metal. I love you as a warrior loves her sword and as the sword loves to draw blood. I will wait for you as Olaf waits for summer and as a pied cuckoo waits for rain. I will love you if our forever starts today, I will love you if our forever ends today, and I will love you if we never even stood a chance.

I love you as the sun loves the sea and as the sea loves the salt. I will love you as long as it takes to separate the salt from the sea and the salt from my tears. I love you as Shakespeare loves tragedy, and as tragedy follows every hero, and as the hero slowly starts to fall in love with the villain. I will learn to say I love you in every existing language, and then I will learn to speak your love language. I will love you as the poets love the moon and as the moon loves to chase a car. I will love you when you think the world of someone else, I will love you as that world falls apart, and I will love you as my world falls apart. I will love you when my world is full of light, and I will love you from the shadows of my mind.

The Beatrice Letters by Lemony Snicket

I read that Grief is a derived word

A word that stemmed from the Latin word gravis.

Gravis - Heavy.

A weight that we've to carry on our own

Because there's only I in Grief.

Most often there are no exit wounds.

It tears your skin and lodges within.

Sometimes we learn to live with it.

Sometimes we have to cut ourselves open and let it out.

And when there are exit wounds,

You've to be courageous enough to let it pass through you.

Tear open your skin twice.

There's no Us in Grief.

I can only sit next to you and hold your hand

While you're hurting.

Hoping you'll pull through.

And then help you stitch your exit wounds.

My Body: A Crime Scene

I was told the body is a temple. I was taught to treat my body like a temple. Sacred, Holy, somewhere God resides, somewhere a person can be at peace. But with time, the sacrality has begun to fade. It has become a realm of my internal demons, something sinister.

My body is now more of a crime scene than a temple.

I've put up barricade tapes around me. Of bright "when life gives you lemon" yellow and black. A cautionary measure for the lighthearted.

Some understand and stay away.

Others push right through like the case now belongs to them.

They say they've seen this before.

They say no amount of gore can keep them away.

They say they'll take care of it.

Only to realize it's bloodier than they could've imagined.

Multiple fingerprints, Multiple footprints: An evidence marker placed for every person I let walk all over me, and for every person, I gave my heart only for them to poke my wounds.

Blood: Numerous splatters, but all mine.

Weapons: Some sticks and stones, knives that I willingly handed over hoping they'd protect me, now covered in my blood and, a pen.

Many witnesses: Either dumb or hostile.

Signs of arson: Ashes of everything I burnt down. Pictures, letters, broken promises, false hopes, unfulfilled dreams.

And now, all that's left of me is a chalk outline. Everything else faded, picked apart or withered away.

My body is not a temple anymore. It isn't sacred or pure.

It's not a place I can stand barefoot.

It's now a place where I need a hazmat suit and gloves.

KINTSUGI

I learned kintsugi so I could fix my favorite broken mug.⁣

The art that meant golden joinery,⁣

Golden repair.⁣

But I never thought about what it meant.⁣

Why would I? I fixed my mug.⁣

⁣

Until I broke,⁣

Until I saw cracks within people that I love.⁣

That was the moment I realized⁣

Kintsugi isn't just for fixing ceramics⁣

It is not to say what didn't kill you made you stronger.⁣

It is to show what didn't kill you is now a part of your story.⁣

A significant piece of who you are.⁣

For better or worse,⁣

whether it made you stronger, weaker, or traumatized,⁣

It's. Still. You. ⁣

⁣

So we pick up the broken pieces of ourselves and the ones we love⁣

And we put it back together with golden glue,⁣

As best as we can.⁣

We assure our loved ones not to conceal their scars⁣

We promise them the glued parts aren't ugly.⁣

That the cracks are now like a golden vein,⁣

a vein through which ichor flows.⁣

The same ichor that Gods bled is now,⁣

Keeping us immortal for a while.⁣

CROWDED TRAIN RIDES

We save the most intense conversations

For the crowded train rides back home.

Not the same home. Not now. Not ever.

We stand in between the bustling crowd,

Look out the window and avoid each other's eyes

You hum under your breath, and I pretend I didn't hear it

We talk about the day in moments.

Ones that made us laugh, ones that felt grateful,

And then about the ones we didn't think the other would notice.

That brings a smile to your face,

So I crack open my otherwise dark heart just a little.

To let that light inside. You smile again, and I break again.

I tell you things I wouldn't tell you when we're alone

In the silence of an empty road where you can hear my voice break

So I find comfort in the crowd muffling out my pain.

The train stops, and you forget it's time.

It's time for you to get down, that it's time for us to reset.

We hug, you get down, and I watch you walk away.

One of these days will be our final train ride like this

Where we talk about us.

And we'll get down, go home. Not the same. Not ever.

But maybe one that's just as loved.

Digital Age.

Sometimes I feel like I'm living in a cage

Or should I call it #theDigitalAge ?

And I must tell you, it's loud in here.

I see and hear everyone too much.

Being called out by memes, and

Feeling left out on trends.

Photoshop making grass a little greener

While I filter out my blues.

I send you LOL with a straight face,

Use "Panic" as my wordle guess,

You see my carefully curated stories,

Unaware of the ones I hide from you.

Trained to fake a smile

Faster than the shutter speed.

While living like the protagonist

Of Franz Kafka's dairy adaptation.

Tired of looking through this glass cage.

Aren't you sick of this Digital Age?

Oh, Who am I kidding! You've already moved on,

To double-tap the next thing.

HANDS.

Why did we collectively agree

that love is stored in our hearts?

Why did no one stand up to argue

that love is within the other person's hands?

Trust me not?

Palm on your forehead late at night,

Checking your temperature.

A reassuring hand on your knee

When you're shaking with anxiety.

A grip around your wrists

While crossing the road.

Calloused fingers suddenly soft

While brushing tears off your cheeks.

Protective arm around your shoulders

when all you want is to lean.

Brush of fingers while passing a dish

Over the dinner table.

I'll cease to exist

When my heart stops beating

But I'll give you that letter with scrawly writings

Only when you pry it from my cold, dead hands.

How will you remember me ?

Will you remember me

By the times I told you I loved you or by the times that I showed you the same?

Cause if it's former geez I'm sorry, I hope you reminisce the latter.

Will you remember me

When you see my favorite flower or by the scent of my favorite perfume?

If it's the former I left you a plant and the latter in a box among your clothes.

Will you remember me

By the silly fights i picked or by the number of times I apologized?

If it's former or the latter, maybe you should remember me by something else.

Will you remember me

By my imperfections, will you remember all of my flaws?

I hope it's both former and latter, cause those are the parts of me that loved you the most.

Will you remember me

When you play our videos or will you hear my voice as you read this?

If it's former you better save it forever, if it's later I wish it never fades.

Will you remember me

After a year, will you remember us after a decade?

I tried to leave back pieces of me, because I'm scared of you forgetting the latter.

One of us is dead.

It's dark outside, it's dark inside

I woke up from the crash without you beside.

It's dark outside, it's dark inside

All I can feel is my hand covered in blood that's dried.

A blaze of light, an ear-splitting screech

Before I could grasp, you were out of reach.

A blaze of light, an ear-splitting screech

While we desperately try to hold on to each.

The world upended, everything still

What just happened? Was it real or just a drill?

The world upended, everything still

A feeling down my spine, is it blood or just a chill?

I lay there, feeling the time cease

Exhausted as the pain increased.

I lay there, feeling the time cease

Wishing I could just sleep in peace.

Days skip ahead, Weeks skip ahead,

You don't see the tears I shed.

Days skip ahead, Weeks skip ahead,

You don't hear a word I said.

I lose count, Time skips ahead,

And I realize one of us is dead.

Moments and Memories

A home is sometimes a person,

sometimes a place.

But mostly it's million tiny feelings you can't erase.

A nostalgia,

A flutter in your heart or

An aching memory that makes you fall apart.

It's in the familiarity

Of a touch, sound, and smell.

How you can recognize footsteps so well.

It's in the fragrance of an old detergent,

The coolness of a freshly made bed or

Within the worn-out pages of a book, you once read.

The way you can recognize

The chair that wobbles and,

The coordinates of every dent from squabbles.

You'll be taken back in time

At the sound of a video game

When new high scores were the only mark of fame.

You're back at your childhood home

When you smell your favorite meal

Reminiscing how mum's food has powers to heal

Home could be right now,

Right here, but the feeling is

Forged out of moments that were once dear.

Thoughts from the ledge

Standing on top of the tower one night,

Knees shaking from fight or flight,

Cold wind swishing past my numb face

As my heart starts picking up its pace.

I took a minute to look around

The shops, the people and the city's sound

Massive buildings standing upright

Others with their blue and red neon lights.

Then I stared at the ground below,

And how it would feel to finally let go

Twenty-something but I've felt enough

That I stand on the ledge and not to bluff.

I saw many streets that I still couldn't name

I've been here for two decades, what a shame!

That's when the irrational optimism kicks in

To hold on to the ledge, to find strength within.

So I step back and sit to clear my mind

To think of everyone I'd have to leave behind,

Places I'll never be, and moments I'll never seize,

And just maybe, in between life I'll find my peace.

Surpassing mess

Something's haunting me from within

With teeth, claws, and an evil grin.

Unlike what the movies show

Mine doesn't mess with lights and photos.

I don't live in a haunted house,

Nor do I own the dybbuk box.

So why am I troubled when I try to sleep?

Why is my sanity so hard to keep?

Do you know what's even peculiar?

It's how much all this feels familiar!

They've been living within me all this while

Things I shoved down and never reconciled.

My brain can be a surpassing mess

Make the entire horror genre seem witless.

Because I don't live in a haunted house

Nor do I own the dybbuk box

But do you hear a girl constantly weep?

Until I finally fall asleep.

For a second or two

Sometimes I fall in love with strangers,

For a second or two or some more.

Not for the thrill or dangers,

For the kindness, simplicity, and whatnots.

That someone on a park bench

Petting a random dog,

And then someone by the swing

Helping a kid back to her feet.

That someone at the next table

Smiling genuinely at the waiter,

And then someone at the handwash

Holding the door for an old woman.

I fall in love with strangers,

A second for how they look,

Two for their generous smile,

And some more for the random act of kindness.

The universe conspires you around such strangers

At that particular point in time out of all.

Because kindness conjures love.

Even if it's from a stranger.

A stranger,

Who will stop what they're doing

To fall in love with you.

For a second or two or some more.

SCRIBBLE AND SCRATCH

With a cup of tea, a pen, and my book

I sat to write at my favorite nook.

Head filled with voices trying to get out,

And a heart humming with tunes of doubt.

I scribble, and scratch then my words fade,

As I suppress the thoughts that make me afraid.

So I go back to the books that give me relief.

To find my answers within someone else's grief.

There are many problems within these books.

And in that world, solutions aren't mine to look

Within worn-out, annotated, and yellow pages,

I forget my fright as I did for ages.

Soon I'm drawn back to my nook

Holding on to empty pages of the notebook

I scribble, and scratch but the words don't fade

For I've let my thoughts out of its shade.

Man just went from this.....

To this !!!!

CoolCooCooCooCooCoolCoolCoolCool 🥲🥲 not feeling unloved all !! 🥲

Sunshine In Disguise 🌤

Standing in the middle of a crowd

struggling to find my sound

I put my heart on a silver platter,

every wound unbound.

Endlessly wanting to do furthermore,

to feel a sense of belonging.

Until one day, I was worn out

wishing for an exemption from that longing.

It took me ages to comprehend

that it takes only one soul

willing to give you a corner of their heart,

to pull you out of that black hole.

Someone who'll sit with you

until you're ready to talk.

Someone you can hold on to

until you're ready to walk.

They'll give you an unfeigned smile,

the one that reaches their eyes.

And that is how you'll know

that's your sunshine in disguise.

A CELESTIAL INSECURITY

Is the moon envious of the sun?

And it's radiance that cannot be outdone?

Is that why she hides behind the earth?

Calls it an eclipse but, doubting her worth.

What does she see when she looks into the lake?

Her molten silver face or the distortion that ripples make?

Is this why poets always write about her desolate beauty?

Because she's more like us than any character from a movie.

A celestial body far far away

Like all our insecurities in display

How many times have we envied others radiance,

And hid away from an audience?

Doubting our worth, causing self-esteem distortion

By looking at a person's life only in portion?

So like her, we go through phases

And like her, we grow through phases.

COFFEE AND POETRY

Coffee and Poetry. How similar!

If you think they're poles apart,

You'll be surprised when I start.

You consume one

while the latter consumes you

Go on, try one while you brew.

Impedes your sleep

With a word, a line, a sip, or a cup

Stops you before you can think of giving up

Dark and addictive,

Sometimes even bitter.

Yet, somehow makes you feel better.

Coffee and Poetry. How similar!

Intoxicates you while it's also a detox

A mug or paper filled with paradox.