Dreams and sleep.

Dreams and sleep.

There is a reason we love to sleep.
When you spend your entire day fighting monsters,
And watch yourself lose anyway,
You get tired and your shoulders slouch.
When the sword becomes too heave to carry,
But the villain still triumphs,
You get fed up and your eyes feel drowsy.
When you stay up all Christmas night,
But Santa never shows up,
You are disappointed and you go to bed. Continue reading Dreams and sleep.

The one with women.

The number in the first two statistics are true and have been taken from here and here. This is here to spread awareness, and not to degrade or leave out men. Smile everyone! Also, leave a comment telling about what problems any one of you have faced.


One in every six women has been sexually assaulted,
and accused of “asking for it”,
or facing it because men,
(being the beasts that they can sometimes be),
cannot control their desires and should not be blamed for it.

One in every four women has been denied opportunities,
of climbing the gold-coated staircase.
The staircase of power and creative possibilities,
has been reserved for men,
(and at times women who agree to sleep with them).

One in every two women has a horror story,
to tell that will send shivers up your very existence,
for the story monsters are human beings
with pride horns and intentions like a sharp crooked teeth,
and darkness that doesn’t go away with a switch.

One in every one woman has given her all,
so that mankind can be kind,
and the world can be truly called a beautiful place.


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Love thyself.

Hey.
I believe that there are so many of you out there who deserve to be read, and heard. So, I am starting a project, wherein I will post compositions made by you on my blog throughout March (and to spice it up a bit, giveaway a book to the author of my favorite post). I’ll choose fifteen of the submissions to post in the month of March. The compositions can be poetry, short stories, or anything you’re mind is dealing with. Love, chaos, society, peace, war, pets, or any other topic you can come up with, go ahead and send it to me. It shouldn’t have been posted anywhere else. (This is for me to be able to provide my readers with new content by new authors.)
DM it on : Instagram, Facebook
Mail : utsavraj3@gmail.com
Or just drop it in the comments. Please do participate, it would turn out to be an amazing month if you do. The giveaway book will be one of my favorites, or yours. We’ll talk it out when you send me your compositions.
For now though, enjoy this post!


“Draw a monster. Why is it a monster?” – Janice Lee

Monsters aren’t people,
They aren’t under your bed.
There’s only one.
The one inside your head.
The one that promises every night
That nothing will be okay,
That life isn’t fair;
That you’re miserable.
The one you believe.
But “every monster
has a sob story.”
You have to listen to,
and talk to,
and love
The monster inside of you.
Because no one else ever did.
You make monsters
and you can heal them.
This is not a war,
This is the first step
you have to take
To love yourself.
Just be careful.


Previous post : Then how come it isn’t?
Related post : Snow.

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.

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 ∞

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.


Previous post : Kiss me slow.
Related post : Love thyself.

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 ∞