afraid – My Spirals

Whisky Words: Project (1)

The writing project starts today! This is Submission ONE of The Whiskey Words. The Whiskey Words is a writing project (and a giveaway), and if you’d like to participate, here are the rules.

Hush

The voices inside of me tell me I don’t matter. In all my heart and all my stupid mind, I know they are veracious. Every time someone left me, they added another voice inside of me. Will these voices ever be hushed?

He was this guy I once knew, with a fair heart. He promised me his fair heart was mine to keep. I guess that wasn’t true. Every time that I cared about him it was assumed by him that I, I the one who loved him the most, had a selfish reason behind it. I do not know what is yet to come to me. All I know is that I wanted him to tell our kids how he met their mother.
After all this, after all the sour truth, I know that this will still hurt me, every time I think of it, it’ll break me into another piece. I don’t know what my sin was. I assume maybe it was caring way too much.
She made me lay beside her, and she left me as she assumed that I had slept. In my head, when I ruminate the same old memory, I still shriek and shiver and cry out to stop her. I was a kid back then, I was too scared to tell mom that I hadn’t fallen asleep yet.
They saw a spark in my eyes. In reality, it was just a tear drop I was holding onto. A tear that might escape my eyes as I blinked as another voice yelled at me, and made me realize that I don’t matter.
At night, when he held me, I knew I was his princess. Daddy’s little princess. It sure was annoying sometimes, sometimes suffocating, but today, I want to be suffocated. I remember, when we listened to songs, he’d make the lyrics about me. But I was a kid back then. Now that I listen to those songs, I see the light showing me that those were just the lyrics all along.

I know that this pain will last a lifetime and I know that I have committed the seven sins. I am trying to build a dyke around my heart, protecting it from the waves of these evil voices, from their screams and from all the shattered dreams.

The voices inside me tell that I don’t matter. In all my heart and all my stupid mind, I know that they are veracious. Every time they left me, they added another voice inside of me. Will these voices ever be hushed?

– Tanisha Hooda

A new shade.

Is it just me who’s blind,
Or did the world go blind too?
I don’t know where,
or how to look for the answer,
without my eyes.

The wind can speak,
And the leaves can gossip.
The sun can giggle,
And the clouds can cry.
How has this remained
a secret for so long?
Every breath I take
Now has a papery taste,
Dry and evident.
Every word I speak,
Now sounds like an echo,
That fills the room
With its existence.
Every giggle that I hear,
Tickles my ear,
And makes me feel the joy
That it is made of.
How have I never been
So alive before?
I’ve tripped on the stairs,
That I had jumped over
A thousand times before,
Did it move?
The walls feel a bit too close,
And colors a bit too far.
Darkness has a strange color.
It reminds me of the night,
But also the day.
But mostly, it reminds me of the sky
Infinite.
Darkness is a void,
The other senses can only try to fill.
How is it that we’ve never
seen this shade before?

Is it just me who’s blind,
Or did the world go blind too?
I don’t know where,
or how to look for the answer,
without my eyes.

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Related post : Half.

Friends, if you like reading my work, do share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). It would be amazing to have more people reading my compositions. Please help my infinity grow bigger ∞

It’s okay.

Go ahead.
Stand taller than everyone else,
Fall apart.
Feel afraid, or
Alone
Among smiles of
Chapped lips
And wrinkled eyes.
Speak out
Tell us what’s right,
Share your dreams
Nightmares, or
stories of your petty fights.
Praise every other heart that still beats,
And love the music
Pumping through your veins,
Just like it is,
Through every one else’s.
Let your hands fumble on the knob,
And your heart break.
Feel dead,
And then come back to life.
Smile,
Frown.
Be happy at times.
And at times don’t be afraid
to drown.
Do it all, love.
It is okay.

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Related post : The big bang theory.

Hope and caution.

“If only you knew how terrified I am.” – Unknown

I’m the pieces of a puzzle no one wants to solve. Not even me. Why would I when it will only make an abstract image that makes no sense? Why would I when I’ve been told time and time again by my own heart that I am not worth it, that I am not good enough?

Fears reside in the darkest corners of our minds. They’re the monsters I fight. The demons I try to contain. They’re my invasions. I know I’m not perfect, and I know no one is, but I’m just a tad bit more imperfect than you, and that just haunts me.

I don’t know what makes me imperfect, but something does and I’m pretty sure people get annoyed when I talk too much about it. Every time I say something, I’m afraid that soemthing will go wrong. Every word of mine is wrapped in hope and caution.

I’m afraid. I’ve always been. And so when I’m asked about my story, I just smile like it’s no big deal and ask them to repeat theirs for the thousandth time, and I find joy in the subtle changes in the story that they make to make it more memorable and perfect. Every time they speak about scars, I close my eyes and feel the skin under my sleeves tingling with sensations of blood and pain. I smile and talk about how beautiful they look in their crop tops and funky hats. Every time I burst with excitement and say something stupid, I stay quiet and regret it for the rest of the day. Everytime I have a story to tell, or a new hobby to show, or just want someone, I just listen to music and find my solace in the pretty words and crazy beats.

Every time I am at a party, I dance a little softly and eat not at all, because I want to be invited the next time too. Every time they crack a joke that I don’t understand, I laugh anyway because I’m sure I’ll understand the next one. Every time someone shares their food, I ask twice and then confirm one last time before having the smallest piece I can find, and saying Thank you. I want to have more, but I wait for them to offer.

I dont have a best friend. Unless you consider 234 pages of a white notebook that I carry with me everywhere a friend. I don’t write diaries because I don’t understand the idea behind it. But I do write poetry which reflects my life as a beautiful world and me as a happy being. But sometimes, it’s sad and just not good enough. Quite like me.

They call it Atelophobia.

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Related post : Love thyself.