To Be Loved Like A Poet Loves its Poem.

She will touch you with fingers so cold you will wonder why ice wasn’t named after her yet she will set your skin ablaze. She will look at you like art piece. Analyze every crease on your face when you laugh and every grimace when something displeases you.

She will look at you like a path that keeps unfolding and she’s treading blind. Oblivious of what’s to come but woefully expectant of what’s ahead. She will explore you. She will show you what’s its like to be loved as a poet loves its poem.
And believe me, she will love you like a poem.
She’s the type to turn you into poetry.

She will see into your eyes and imagine a thousand stars bursting; into dreams that are made up of all that you are, all that you were and all that you are suppose to be. She will consider you a galaxy with shooting stars and meteor showers.

You will tell her things and she will listen to you. And she will stare at you until you tell her how her gaze is so unnerving. But she’s only looking at you like words that are left unsaid because nobody has been courageous enough to write them down on paper yet. Because those are the words not everybody can imagine writing every day.

So she will love you like a poet but you will have to love her back like a poem; gently, kindly and courageously. For a broken heart might shoot ink into her veins but it will kill a part of her, that she will never be able to recover again.

People like her lose their pieces one by one until one day they find themselves empty. After all there is a reason, why poets die young.

(Daily post: Texture, Shimmer, Amble, )

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I Am Alive

tenor
I’m not dead.

Yes you heard that right. This is the real Zee speaking, in flesh and bone. I know I’ve been super MIA, complete radio-silence but that was need of the time. By now you all must be like “yeah yeah we’ve heard it all before.” I know I keep disappearing. Can I be forgiven?

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Please accept my apology

I’m not a efficient multi-tasker. I’ve a hard time focusing on more than few things at once. And I lose focus real soon. So it’s a neccissity I prioritize the most important tasks in hand which is my studies especially cuz it’s my last year (yes I’ll be graduating soon, all grown up and shit) and I really really needed to take care of myself (the success of which is debatable but you win some you lose some).

And in the meantime I have been left with some questionable choices. It isn’t that I regret certain things happening but I regret them happening in infinite loops, over and over again. I was naive enough to never take off my rose tinted glasses and see people for who they really were, to see reality for what it was. At this point I cannot say that I’m okay with the choices I made because I’m not. I want to call them mistakes but a mistake stops being a mistake if you keep making it, it becomes a choice sadly. And I wish I had made better choices. My failure to see reality pushed me deeper into this illusion that people can change. The fantasy in my head drove me into a constant cycle of hurt and pain. The bottom line is; If people show you their true colors, believe them the very first time around. Do not go flipping them around trying to find something that isn’t there. Because you will only end up wasting your time, energy and effort on someone who doesn’t deserve it.

At some instances I feel like nothing but a fool trusting some people and never questioning their sincerity with me, not even for a fleeting moment. It is quiet handy to be skeptical at times especially when it comes to issues of trust, a lesson I learned a little too late. But oh well, nobody said life was all rainbows and roses. Sometimes you have to swallow the bitter pill no matter how hard it is to get past your throat to cleanse the toxicity eating you alive from the inside.

As for personal health, as much as I wanted to improve it during this break, it only went downhill. It had a lot to do with my beyond hectic routine of traveling and not getting enough sleep and a little too much stress. I don’t know which was greater the mental strain or the physical one. For starters I lost 12lbs during the course of 3 weeks last month. Which was very alarming because as much as it is hard to believe, my weight has been absolute constant since 8th grade, which is like since past 10 years. Nothing made it increase or decrease. It only fluctuated 1 or 2lbs give or take, no matter what. But this drastic loss really set me back considering I was actually trying to gain weight. I didn’t even notice I had lost this much weight until I got so weak that I couldn’t even sit straight without support to my back and people started asking me if I was sick cuz I looked too frail and weak. Then it occurred to me to check my weight and there it was, 12lbs down. So I’m gonna try to gain weight during this semester break. Keeping my fingers crossed ! And don’t even get me started on my bad skin, UGH.

As for my writing journey, I have stopped writing for most part. At least I don’t write the same way I used to or as frequently. So I will probably not be posting a lot but I will remain active here. Catching up with ya’all nevertheless. I will however be posting on my blog’s official instagram account on the daily basis. So if you aren’t already following me on my account, please join me! We shall have a good time ( and there will be free marshmallows and a chocolate fountain waiting as a token of my appreciation so cmon cmon grab yourself a party hat and join in xD)

Here’s the link— https://www.instagram.com/lifeconfusions_zee/

That’s pretty much it from my side now, so Enough about me. TELL ME HOW YOU ALL ARE? Let’s have a chat in the comment section below. I wanna know how life’s been treating you?

Hurt Me 


He shoved her against the wall. Her back hitting the concrete with a loud thud. A painful breath escaped her lips as she felt the impact surge through her back and spine. It felt like her heart crashed against her chest wall and the only reason it didn’t leap out of the cavity was because her ribs didn’t let it. And it wasn’t just the physical impact of the shove that made her feel that way.

She fell to the ground in a trembling mess as he came running to pick her up.

Oh my God. Shit shit shit. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He babbled the words trying to lift her up. “I didn’t mean it.”

She didn’t have to see the bruises to know that they had already marked her shoulders as she whimpered in pain when he touched her.

Touch.

His touch.

A part of her despised it. But a part of her still warmed up to it. A part she needed to smother. Like the way his arms were smothering her as he took her in his embrace. The embrace that now felt more like gallows than home. His arms felt like thorns etching into her skin as she tried to recoil away from him but failed to do so.

I’m so so sorry.” He kept repeating the same words.

She couldn’t cry. The pain was searing through her body in violent frenzy, running through her veins and lungs looking for an escape somehow. Only to return back to her heart in vain. She didn’t say a word and he kept spitting some more meaningless apologies as they sat on the floor in air that reeked of heartbreak and hundred broken promises. And the only thing that was kind to them in those moments was night as it stood a silent witness to their downfall. There was nothing left between them but question marks about love, if there ever was. Even ‘nothing‘ felt like a lot more than what they two had left between them now.

(Daily post: Anticipation,  Maddening)

We Bleed (To Transform)

(Transmogrify)
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I don’t know what it is about blood. We claim it’s a bad thing yet we can’t stop bleeding. We let others wound us over and over again until gash is a foot deep into our soul. Sometimes we wound others and get wounded in the process.

We clutch tightly to barbed wires of emotional attachments and walk on the burning coals of expectations. And by the end of it when we fall on the ground profusely gushing and wounded to our core, we make promises to ourselves; never again. But as we all know, promises are made to be broken.

The wound is by now infected because you didn’t take care of it well. You didn’t suture it on time and you didn’t put the bandage when you should have. You just let it be; as a reminder of all the things you loved that ruined you.

We fall back onto bed made of thorns of disappointment, exhausted. And bleed some more. We bleed until we can’t. We ache until every muscle in our body refuses to ache anymore. We suffer until pain itself screams in pain. Until the infection has spread onto every small vein and down to our very bones. Until we find ourselves disintegrating- crumbling, decaying, withering.

But,
How else could we have become anew,
If we had not first become ashes?

Let’s Make A Change

(WPC: The SunShine )

“Let me tell you something: no one is going to look at you, broken and shattered 
and think -
damn, you are beautiful.
No one is going to come pick up your broken pieces off the floor and
 assemble them into a beautiful whole.

Hell,
 you won’t even look at yourself and think – 
I made broken look beautiful.

You know why?

Because all those writers lied to you.

Yes, 
all those with their poems of scraped knuckles and 
blood dripping down chins, 
pomegranate songs and loves that ripped through you like 
hurricanes.

Liars.

So you and I, 
we are going to make a plan.

You are not going to romanticize days when your brain tells you to smash that mirror,
You are not going to romanticize the lover who doesn’t understand you 
but still writes about you.

Here is what you are going to romanticize instead:
You are going to romanticize the first day of spring,
Its gentle hands all over your body,
Lifting you up until you are as light as a feather.

You are going to romanticize the tea and honey kind of love,
No hurricanes, 
but sunshine that builds you up from within,
That helps you make it through the worst days.

You are going to romanticize gentle hands of a friend 
in yours,
Telling you that it is going to be okay.

Because it is.

And don’t trust poets, 
we’re no good,
 we love pretending that our jagged edges tantamount to a beautiful disaster, but in reality – 
there isn’t nothing beautiful about shaky hands holding a cigarette and 
empty eyes staring at the cracks in the walls.

You know what is beautiful, instead?

The days when you can look at yourself in the mirror and smile, 
scars and all.
Music that makes your soul flow like a river, 
books that offer comfort, 
families flocking together like overgrown birds to keep you safe and warm,
 friends that give you strength when you can find none, 
lovers who make you laugh through tears.

Baby, 
from now on 
you are going to romanticize healing;
Honey dripping down your fingertips,
August nights that stick to your skin, the day you find your purpose, 
long car rides and singing so loud that no one can shut you up now.

Bad news: 
no one is coming to save you.

Good news: 
you can save yourself.”
– Lana Rafaela (via wnq-writers.tumblr.com)

( Daily Prompt: Millions )

Where The Heart Is 

(WPC: Local :Show us where the heart is.)

Home is in the infinite space surrounding the sky.

The hotel room was surprisingly clean, two single beds were joined together to make it a bigger bed against the wall. The interior was comparatively simple, with green carpet and plane white walls. Two arm chairs with a table in front were placed opposite the bed. It wasn’t very luxurious but it was fulfilling his purpose for now. He gave out a tired breath and let himself fall on the chair. The chairs were conveniently placed closer to the window. He looked at the deserted road at 12 am which still showed a hint of night life as few cars passed by. The summer wind was softly blowing through the windows and onto his face. He closed his eyes to take it all in. Her face flashed in front of him as soon as he closed his eyes. The vision of her hair being softly caressed by the same wind that was now touching his face. Damn, what did this woman do to him, he cursed himself. As clock ticked by, with his tired eyes, all he could think of was her. In all the hours, in all the minutes, in all the seconds she had captured his attention. There was something about her. He couldn’t figure it out and it was killing him.

He felt frustrated, he wanted to hold her tight with a strong grip and ask her to look in his eyes so he would know what exactly she carried beneath those alluring lashes. He wanted to tear off the skin she was wearing so he could see underneath, the soul she was carrying. Despite his best attempts he couldn’t figure out who or what she was. This woman was driving him crazy.

He took out a cigarette from his pack, there were only two more left. There would be none left by morning he was sure. He wished there was something stronger to drown his anxiety. But for now cigarettes would do too. He took out a lighter, burned his cigarette and inhaled a long puff and slowly exhaled it out. Watching the smoke make patterns in the air and then dissolving in the summer air by finding escape through the open window.

This woman was like smoke… Mysterious, beautiful and a killer. She was killing him softly, with her infectious laughter and her enticing eyes.. The way she would touch him, ever so lightly and then disappear in the crowd. And he like a madman would follow her around. Trying to catch another glimpse of her allusive beauty. God Damn, this is getting out of hand he thought to himself. He was probably no good for her or maybe she was too intense for him. He didn’t know anymore. All he knew was he wanted to see her again. He wanted her fix like an addict. It was like this woman had completely taken over him. In his veins, in his blood, in the air he breathed, she was everywhere. She was all around him. He wanted to hold her against the wall, pin her and kiss her till she would beg for forgiveness for all what she made him feel.. If only he could do that. Taste her lips. The lips that lied with a smile. If only he could look deep in her eyes. The eyes that usually betrayed her smile.

By now the cigarette pack was empty, dammit he needed to stop this, he thought. At least they should have lasted till morning. But the thoughts of her were too distracting for him to notice how poison was filling his lungs all this time. He sighed and moved to the bed. He slept as soon as his back hit against the bed.

He dreamt about her. As always.
And he realized that he could never have her as the day dawned upon.
But he knew that in the night he could have her thoughts.
She was a wish never to be fulfilled,
But a dream that could always be seen.
And so he dreamed. As always. He dreamed.


(Flâneur  )

#Forever Alone

Daily prompt

What was it that drew you to your significant other? Their blue eyes? Their ginger countenance? Their smile? Their voice?

_________________________________________________________

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Well this is awkward…..What do you say when you don’t even have a significant other?

 

rmmdBTn

*Cough*

Uhemmm….So yeah I’m the third wheel. Well most of the time not even the third wheel because even my friends don’t have any significant others. We are good on our own.

I mean have you read my blog? My life’s a mess. I’m not complaining I’ve been blessed just as much but I’m just sayin’ , there is no time for anything else. I’m too busy so…

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In short there is no one to describe, although I admire three qualities in anyone.  Kindness, Humor and Understanding.

So if anyone asks me if I’m single:

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I’m off now…

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Note: Only written for comic purposes.