Tag Archives: relationships

Stillness in abandonment

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i)

My parents tell me about their youth. Times that they would like to live again. Memories, back to when they we’re not married. They drape their lives across for us to listen and get a glimpse of how carefree they were. My mother talks about how free she was until she fell in love with a man. A man who made a cage out of false promises and she chose to stay in it. My father talks about how he always meant well but never well enough to hold his ground.
You see?
He had kept the door of the cage open, always. He never believed in chaining someone down.
They don’t ever leave one another; the one free or the one captive. The cage has room for both of them, now. They sit in it with the door open. I think this is what Stockholm syndrome is like.

ii)
I learnt the importance of detachment at a young age. My feet are quick to change direction towards an exit even when my heart tells me not to. It’s been long since my heart sounded like mine.
Tiptoeing around the ones I love, biting my nails and avoiding interactions as I make my way out of their heart.
This isn’t a heart, I say to him. This is an iceberg and I push the ones I love off the tip.
My mother taught me to have a hard heart. Having a stone heart is better than having a cold one and if you don’t have one at all? That is the best. Shut them out before they see that you’re just a tangled mesh of nothingness.
A sadist ode to the inner masochist poet.

iii)
We’re all tiny galaxies orbiting around the ones we love. We make them our center of attention from time to time. I learnt from the cage she was kept in to know never to stay around anyone longer than their intended purpose in my life. Never slip through into their universe.
A failed union taught me to never let anyone become everything; even when great poets tell me otherwise.
I become watchful of boys who spin cages out of promises that they don’t intend to keep. Boys who tie ropes around your fingers with promises; and my mother still hides the jute marks from her wrists as she talks about love.

iv)
I remind myself to always be on guard when it comes to feelings. Never get close enough for people to lure me in with their ropes and cage me.
Practicing on the ones you love is the best way to be perfect at the art of running away. Never getting attached but always making it seem like you’re emotionally dependent on them. This way you can always have someone to love you but never run the risk of collateral emotional damage.
My psychologist calls this “fear of attachment” but I call this, survival in a world where everyone believes that love is a simile for imprisonment.
Because once I knew a boy who told me that his mother refused to leave his abusive father because she loved him. Months later, I saw myself in the same position- very familiar to our conversation. However, I decided to leave because in the end-we’re all just somehow fulfilling the patterns and scripts laid out by our parents.

I decided to break the pattern as my mother talks about how I should have stayed. I wonder if she realizes that love and hurt are not similar. “There is no need to associate the notion of hurt or pain with something so beautiful as love.”, I say, and she dares not look into my eyes.

v)

Being “present” has never been one of my strongest attribute. I like to run away on purpose from people so there is no chance of emotional attachment which can lead to detachment, later on.

Escaping everything and everyone, like a social Houdini.

However, instead of magic tricks I just disappear for days on end because that way I can be friends with the empty space of my room.
Ignoring every attempt that people make to reach out to me with the phrase “I’m busy.”

I’m not busy.
I’m just chugging in sleeping pills and valium with a tenth of whiskey to sleep off whatever it is that is bothering me. Sleep off whatever it is that has been growing inside the pit of my stomach that I have to escape to deal with it but not deal with it, at the same time.

He tells me escapism is a magic trick that is getting old
I say, “Abracadabra” , and smile.

vi) I take two pills with a glass of wine. I realize that I’m getting old and so is this liver. I find myself trying to be careful in the destructive path that I have chalked out for myself.
Shit! I think I might be in love. Because why else would I be so careful?
The next day, he tells me that I’m not as bad as I like to tell the world. I smile knowing that he doesn’t have half the clue or maybe he does and accepts.
What I am in front of people is not who I really am or maybe that is exactly who I am. Someone so volatile, raw and absurd that everyone thinks it’s an act.

A reality mistaken for illusion.

He tells me, I’m more of a habit than a love.
I laugh.
He says, that my attempt to throw people off is forced than natural.
So, I push him and we laugh
He touches my hand
I can feel the ropes tightening on my wrists. The same ones I saw on my mother and warned myself about.

vii)

Every man I know searches for a lava heart underneath this iceberg even though I keep on telling them that there isn’t one. They try hammering their name on it.
Freeze their fingers trying to hold it.
Break them off.
I find their attempt at trying to find something real under something false so beautifully heart wrenching, I almost give them a chance.
Chance

I run before they realize that I’m not the person they want to freeze over.
Run as soon as their fingers become blue.
Run as soon as I feel the rope creeping up on my wrists.
I say their names like an empty prayer I will soon forget. A prayer that creeps up on your lips only when you realize that “loneliness”, is a word laced with melancholy and wrapped in abandonment.

I leave because the cage door is open and I’m not going to take a chance on captivity by choice. Never by chance.

 

 

 

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Growing up

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The one thing I hate about the process of growing up is realizing the limitations of my relationships with people. It’s a painstaking procedure because one day you’re stargazing with them and the next day you’re afraid to make eye contact. It is absolutely why I don’t let people get close. I’m afraid that the reminiscent of someone else will shine. Maybe, they will fail to find anything but the probability is that they will walk upon something that I would rather not have them see. I find myself walking between comfortable nostalgia and the coldness of familiarity.
It’s not that I don’t want to love but rather not hold onto the facile belief of safety, either.

Wrong Places

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I wish to have loved you in another place. Maybe another continent where the sea could run through your veins and you wouldn’t have to worry about drowning. Maybe a place where the air is gentle on our skins and we do not fear it becoming a tornado. Maybe another land where we could have played with the constellations instead of mistaking a fallen star for a drone attack.
I wish to have loved you in another place, another time or another dimension.
All my life they told me to be wary of people who talk sweet but have poison lips. It’s a sacred body described in metaphors. They taught me to stay away from the ones who dare to paint their futures with blood stained hands because the likes of them are dangerous.
Men are dangerous.
Women are deadly.
I’ve been away far too long from those who wore their flaws like medals and declared war on their past to have the future that they painted.
I wish to have loved you in another place where my lips weren’t poison. We didn’t need metaphors to describe our love. I wish to have loved you in another place where the air swept through our pores and the tornadoes didn’t ruin us. A place where we could have played with the stars and your wish on the fallen one would come true. I wish to have loved you before I became one of them, another one from the lot of blood stained hands brewing poetry behind closed doors in an effort to taste freedom.
I have loved you in the wrong places but the time was always right.

Love and Misery

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Some people never lay a hand on you but still leave a bloody trail. We brush it under the name of “love” and smile. Who said love has to leave us bruised and crushed in misery? Love isn’t supposed to break us. Love is supposed to make us. And if you’re love is breaking you down, constantly, then it’s time to reconsider.

Confusions

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I’m not good at letting things so. I guess that is why I try not to get attached. Attachment means vulnerability and I’ve never liked being vulnerable. Sometimes; it means exposing the galaxies inside your chest but how can I if mine is a black hole? I have no justification for what I do at times. The constant manic cycles that leaves you bloodied. Running back to you on lonely nights just to howl outside your door. At one point in time I thought I knew what love was like. It smelt like your cologne and cigarettes. Love tasted like tobacco and caffeine. Love felt a lot like shutting the world out on rainy days. Love was sneaking around with the adrenaline pumping through our veins. It was stolen. Our love was always stolen and sneaky. It was a chase. I still have no justification for leaving.
Sometimes, I wonder if I’m not able to let go of you or the feeling of love?

Drowning in the present

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And I went to the cafè
You know
The one where we went
Last time
I took a seat opposite
To where we were sitting
That day

And I realized
You had freed me from my past
We set fire to that bridge
Long ago
During summer nights

The anchor of the future
That didn’t let me sink
Had let me go
I have nothing to hold on to

Now, here I am trying to float
In the present
Keeping my head above the water
When in reality

You do know that I don’t know
How to swim
In a present so unfamilar
And you decided to watch me drown

The synonyms for love

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At times
I used to wonder
Why don’t people leave?
Abusive relationships
Why would someone be so blind to hurt?

Pain is not a synonym for love

Sometimes
I used to wonder
Why does she choose to stay?
Even though he slapped her last night
Because the dinner was cold

Physical pain is not a synonym for love

Sometimes
I used to wonder
Why does he still come home?
When she threatens to kill herself
If he doesn’t agree to her demands

Mental pain is not a synonym for love

Why don’t they just leave?
When hurt overshadows love
And someone tries breaking you
Isolating you from everyone
Why act blind to their every move?
If I can see it then I’m sure they can too

But, now I know
Because loving means being vulnerable
An open invitation to hurt
Because loving means hosting a riot
And their middle name is chaos
So they crash and burn
You don’t get to say much
Because the same door that shunned you out
Is the one that takes you in on gloomy nights
Because you tell yourself this is just a phase
And that the real them is not an abuser
Because you’re too afraid to love someone else
All the energy and time you’ve put into it
Because even when they slap you across the face
They say that they were joking and you believe it
Because even when she has the blade on her wrists
They say that they love you and want you to be theirs
Because even though you have cried before at their behavior
They are growing up and this is a part of it

But love is not a synonym for pain, or is it?
Does it mean crying every night?
Or does loving someone mean killing yourself
Slowly and then at once

Love was replaced by pain and we didn’t know what to do

But learn to walk away
As soon as the red flags go up
Do not ignore them
Push them under the rug

Love isn’t a synonym for unhappiness

It is going to hurt a lot
You will miss them
Every day and every moment
Probably look at the roses they got you
Or weep at the pictures of you two together
You would want to reach out

But remember, the only synonym for love is love
And you want to be with them
Because you love them
But you’re afraid of them too
And you never realized that love replaced fear
Now, I wonder
How
Can you love someone and be afraid of them
All the at same time?

Lovers In A World Of Apology

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A lot of times he comes home
His breath lingers with tobacco infused with vodka
Knuckles bruised and torn collar

“I am sorry” he says as his hands hold my wrists tightly
“I didn’t want to be the odd one out”, as his tongue slithers around my neck
“I love you and you know it” as his fingers dig deep inside my skin
And I fall back on the couch crying
Taking the name of a Lord that he long stopped believing in
“Please, forgive me” as his kisses try to soften the ice inside my soul
I forgive him
Because
I am a fly caught in a spiders’ web

We have been together for three years
He knows how to make me smile
That somehow makes it okay for him to treat me the way he does
“You’re an emotional roller coaster”, he says

He doesn’t know that I take lithium in breakfast
and Prozac after food
I long stopped explaining and he never asked, anyway

I ask him,” if you were to die tomorrow? What would be your biggest regret?”
He looks at me like I’m insane and laughs
“People like me don’t have any” and his lies jab me in the gut
Because, I know what he is hiding

“ I am sorry, what do you want?” he pleads
And I know that nothing can be done
His sincerity is blinded by false bravado
So I let it go
Knowing that the cycle is bound to repeat

I call shotgun as he smokes the entire ride
You should watch how delicately he holds a smoke by the waist
His habits stab me in the heart
But the type of pain, I am now accustomed to

Today I saw him on the opposite end
Our eyes met but we didn’t talk
He knows that I can be cold as ice
But when he smiles at me it all turns to flames

He seems ashamed in the morning
Dressing up my wounds and every sentence dripping an apology
But his eyes twinkle like they aren’t ashamed at all
The tone of sincerity has been long forgotten
“I won’t ever hurt you, again” and I blindly believe him

“Someday I will leave you”, I say
“And that day we will be in our graves, side by side” he replies
But most days I am accepting him open arms
When my baby shows up broken at my doorstep

My demon is black and loves blue
He throws gasoline on my red flames
And calls it a day

My love is a wolf cloaked in childish innocence
He sleeps outside my door and howls my name

Not many choices.

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It is not like you have much choice when you miss them.
Those little gestures that made you feel special than ever. The universe seemed complete when they clutched your hand in a busy street so you know they would never leave you. Among the crowd you will always have them.
The way they put roses in your hair and jasmine in your wrist, they will wilt like all things do,but the essence will live on.
Sharing coffee on the terrace at 5 p.m while the sun gently sets taking away all the worries of the day with it.
Exchange of glances at a party.
Morning kisses infused in your bloodstream like heroin in your veins.
They engulf you, break down the walls you built up high to protect yourself and become the poison with no antidote.
You find yourself wishing on that tiny star, hoping and praying.
God I wish this to last forever and if it is a dream then never let me wake up.
But,
People change and time changes.
You are made to suffer more than your poor bones can handle and suffer a pain that sets your veins blazing.
No pain killer can cure this ache, no morphine can numb it down.
Like it built up, it falls apart and slips away.
Within minutes, you find yourself on your knees trying to make sense of the broken pieces.
You try to fix something that is broken beyond repair and in the process those shards dig in deeper.
Bruise you and make you bleed.
It is then a struggle to fix yourself from there on onwards.
Put the pieces together and be yourself, again
You survive.
Learn with time to live the way it is and put on a facade
Until, night creeps up and you miss them
It is not much of a choice when you miss them when the clock strikes five, now do you?

Like you do

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Lately, I see myself exploring foreign bodies and trying to find you in them.
I have been searching your coarse palms and wounded knuckles among these soft handed lads.
I have been searching for the smell of your cologne and cigarette smoke in them.
I have been seeking the glitter that shone in your eyes when we laughed, but their don’t shine at all. Not as bright as yours.
I have been observing if they listen, God they try so hard but cannot listen to the unspoken words of mine. They don’t understand that I talk but my meaning is always different. They don’t understand that I bite my nails not because of habit but because I’m anxious.
I have been trying to hide the broken pieces of me and they can’t seem to find it like you always did. They don’t understand that I curl my toes when I am happy and I find random hugs the best.
I have been tracing my outline in them but they don’t fit in perfectly like you did.
Lately, I have been trying to forget you by finding you in others but I guess they don’t know how to grant wings to those who love to fall, like you do.