The breathing sculpture.

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There she stands in the outer edge corner, shadowed by her comrades, laughing at the joke that was displayed like a medusa head about her pot bellied expression of witless dreams and stained memories that lost its luster with too many sweets.

Once everyone turns to encore the moving articles around them, a tiny colorless melody drips from her eyes that have met and seen many intricate colored metaphors for her lifetime to suck her dry.  She wipes it away without disturbing the graceful black stroke that has outlined her mirror; with the color of her soul.

And she stands, with her hands crossed and legs slightly titled like a moon unsure of how he should come out for the party tonight. Her dress hangs loose and the stretched her already curved impression making her hard to breathe as the hues in front of her laugh; choking her to death.

She dances in the bathroom mirror, squeezing arrhythmic steps into her overloaded heart and the beat just jarred the cacophony even further.

Yet, with her renewed makeup and strength; she rises like a phoenix with a smile to kill soldiers in their best armor. Yet, when alone in the sanctuary of her confinements, she lost all her lustrous rhinestones to the sky who cried with her that night.

Everyone admired the starry skies.

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Nothing better to do.

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So, I was just like, sitting here in the rain at one am in the morning, waiting for some miracle to take me far away from my sinister thoughts and decaying metaphors and wished to open a new blog to write my musings alone and stop my former one; i.e, this one. But, upon reaching here I saw, I have two new followers and that makes me 75 followers, not bad!

But, I never began this blog with the intention of more followers, fame or something like that. I just made this blog to post in my shitty musings of a poem and look if I can impress people. Most of my life, I was like that and I am still now… wondering, waiting, wishing, for people’s support, suggestions, encouragement and good luck. I still want them and when I get a comment saying something genuinely, I still skip a beat.

And I am still confused, mad and cold. My mom is sleeping and in fact, everyone is sleeping. But, I am here, sitting, eating a snickers bar, alternating between writing a horror paranormal book and writing this blog. I don’t even know why I am writing this in the first place, but… here I am, still continuing and I wonder if people will read this. What will they think after reading this? Oh, that reminds me, I still can’t like and follow certain people.

It sucks to be stuck in a loophole of doing the same things and never once stepping out from the giant wheel but dare not advise me to make a move since ever since I knew I am stuck and circling; I have tried to break out but I am still here… in this forsaken hour, writing something that is not what I wanted to when I began this blog post.

WOW…

sigh!

 

G’night or G;morning 🙂

My first slam

Image result for abuse victim staying strong

I am gonna tell a story.

When I was young
And didn’t know the world was cruel
I somehow survived being myself. Then and now, A blessing; I guess.
When they teased me for being the biggest in class
When I wore spectacle as thick as me with a chain into class for the first time
And when I ate too much than they could fill in their stomach
I was teased, mocked and laughed at.
But, I used to stay strong
And laugh with them for the joke that shook my body, my belly
I never cried when they teased me or belittled me
Because I was never in reality,, I was always in a dreamland.
I was something else
Maybe that was how I coped with things-
When I didn’t know what love was, what depression was, what sadness was
Maybe I was too ignorant
And that made me smile all the time and sleep with dreams full of bogus glitters.
Oh, but, yes, I cried
I cried thinking about my mother
She was always being scolded by my father
She was always crying when we were never watching
And I cried for my father
Because he was always stressed in his workplace
He was always unhappy in his life
But he provided us with riches and things
But never happiness
Seeing our loved ones unhappy won’t make us unhappy
It makes us miserable

When I grew up to have little projections in my chest
It was the size of a cricket ball
And it wasn’t anything like the insect bites on my friends
And that got me attention
Lots of it
I didn’t like the projection but I didn’t know that it was my breasts
And that will attract man like a moth to the flame
I didn’t know it then
I smile like I did always
And I was touched when I smiled
I didn’t know it was wrong
He was speaking to me very clearly, jokingly, about his life in his hometown
And I miserably tried to get out from his hands because I thought he was playing
But they were held too tight and… I was touched.
I didn’t know it then
That he was sick and I was a toy
I didn’t know what he was doing.
Now, I know… his frame of mind was to be cleaned with acid and
He should be taught from the beginning how to respect women.
I was young. Only sprouting wings.
And he blemished my clean slate with a memory I can’t wash off.

I was never a writer,
It somehow stumbled on to me while I was learning a boring subject for exam
Beautiful strips of golden caramel oozed in through the windows
And like possessed by a foreign soul, I took up a pen and paper
And wrote about the radiance
And I became a writer- when my heart started to learn about fear, fat, ugly and depression.

When I was fully grown to a small woman
I learned about my body
And still feel irritated and hate the tingles that stay on my breasts thinking about that touch
I should have kicked him, scolded him, told my mother
But I never did,
Cause they won’t understand.
My young brain had this notion that they wouldn’t understand
Not because I had any experience that made me trust them less
But I couldn’t bring myself to tell them
That I have been abused by a desperate man in the grocery store that my father always shook hands with
I hid that pain and betrayal and sadness in my poetry later on.
You see, I am not a writer.
Metaphors are for insecure people who want to hide behind words.
Yet, I have been called a metaphor queen
And I have been said I didn’t understand what metaphor was.
But, I used metaphor like I used water
To hide my tears once I learned words had that sort of power.
I never wrote… I hid

When I was finally a woman
With feathers yet to be born,
With stones yes to be turned
And life yet to be understood
I know what happiness, sadness, and emotions are
I know what each makes one feel
I wish for the bubbles on my hands that connect with happiness, to stay forever.
Because he only comes once in a while
And sadness smiles and stays by my side, always.
He loves me every night and I sketch the feelings on my pillows.

I am not a writer.
I don’t know how to write.
How to plot a story and tell them effectively
Because when I started to write this,
I had a different story line in my eyes
But when I began, my heart poured words and I am ashamed that I can’t even bring out what I really want to say
But, my heart said all of this, so it’s true and I let it be
But I am ashamed
I know I will be read and re-read by many
Some will say, I said too much, it’s too long, you have grammar mistakes and you suck
Plain and simple; you suck
And I know I suck.
Should I nametag it myself?
I have been sucking my life for eternity
Because even when God created me beautifully in his eyes
My rolled out thighs and protruding stomach made it clear in the eyes of people, that I am anything but beautiful
And the people made it their personal agenda to make me feel
I am fat
I am ugly
I am big

I have no messages to share
I have no wisdom to pour
I have no ideas to dare
And I have no chances left to explore

But, somehow I did
I wrote in midst of all those sword slashes
And I wrote with ink from my blood
But that was not enough for people to understand
That I have already been through too many thorns
And I am already being shredded
I am something else… other than what I show
But, people won’t understand

When I finally learned to understand and learn to realize
I was too fat, too naïve, too shy and too misunderstood
Way too fat to shed some pounds
Way too thick to make some rounds
Way too naïve to make understand
And way too stupid to befriend with

And I was stressed by life’s personalized concerts
I was shredded in emotional downpour
And I was caramelized in life’s personalized hurricanes
I came to know about the riches of life
And only then did I learn that all this time, my smile was a fake mask that I wore
A fake mask that I wore to cover my frown lines
A fakeness that my own heart made for me so that one day when I sit and realize that life is not as I believe, I shouldn’t be broken.

I don’t know how to write what my veins convey
I don’t know how to write what my eyes are flashing to me
Yet, I am writing like a machine
And I don’t know how to stop
I have too much to tell
Too much to yell
But I am already swelled
And this is all leveled
The platform is torn
And I have no audience
I cry to my soul
Yet, my life is a hollow shell
I fell bloated, inflamed and shamed
I want to release my demons
But I am stuck with their marvelous tingles
I am stuck inside my own body
Shackled with words that won’t come out
I am stitched with my own chords
And I am being beaten up by my own fears
I crawl myself into a ball and listen to the rainfall wondering if I could ever call and be answered by someone
I want to be nurtured, to be cradled, and to be understood
By someone who can understand my heart.
My mother soothes me, my brother makes me laugh, and I am being loved
But never understood for what I really am
I smile and hide and laugh and cry
I am never understood
And I think, I will stop pouring words now,
Since what I want to say is not coming out
And I don’t want to cry when I stop writing this

I just wanted to tell you a story
But I ended up with just clipped scenes from my story
And since, I am not a writer
And I don’t know how to write
I will end this here
With a big yellowish smiley period

Apple tart melody and salted pillows as the stage- Meditation Fail.

 

Image result for girl in yoga silhouette outline

I tried meditating in the sun, pouring through dusty slits of defiance; while I let myself soak in the morning grace of Sunday’s profanity. Its bread and blasphemy for breakfast with a little bit of bitter truth, for syrup, you know. I don’t know how it’s supposed to be, but I close my eyes irritated by the incessant knocking of unmelodious belch that needed to move out from my dormitory. I didn’t let it go. I gulped down fresh breath of cheerfulness and rotated my head like a slow song. My eyes fluttered.

Is this how serenity’s supposed to be? With angry ringtones in the tip of my throat croaking ugly sonnets throughout the day while I tried to capture as much positivity that the universe’s throwing around. Well, I guess today is not my day to earn myself a tan. I once again tie my knot and sit straight with head poised like a statue wondering how long I should be seated like this to embrace solace.

Once, inside the tranquility, I guess… it will ease my tent and let loose the parachute in the wind. I don’t know where this is moving me, but I guess it has to reach somewhere the sky is always periwinkle and clouds soft as cotton candy. I ignore the dancing dust particles that look happy with the only attention they get when in the strip of lemon syrup. I blow hard; hard enough to disrupt their slow pacing around like elegant ballerinas. I did not open my eyes. I smiled.

I listen to the slow rotation of the minute needle. Like it’s taking a stroll in the greenest garden. I wanted to open my eyes and search for the finish point in which I will get my bag of crayons so that I can set to paint the future in one straight line and add too many colors for happiness. I deliberately ignored black and banished grays. I, also do not need white, since I am all done with stippling freckles in place of where the wetness have left stains. I am all done with jumping from this tense to that sense, since, I can never stay in one place. I seriously need that red dot to focus but all I see are too many happy specks dancing around. Some, even giggling.

I sigh, then open my eyes, slump shoulders, uncross legs, and roll my eyes at the decision of heart to relax. I dared to look up at the waltzing needles and gape wide… it has been only fifteen minutes since I sat down, dwindling in the strong morning rays. So much for peace and optimism. I threw my yoga mat and boosted the rotund fat belly of a black liar and shook my hips to the blazing tunes whilst I let it go in the shower.

Whoops, its wedding season here!

Featured Image -- 209Note to myself, this pic here!:D

True to my word, it is marriage season here in my part of the world. 😀 And I am seriously wondering how am I going to attend it all. It started from last week and it drags on to the last day of December and if I am right, I am sure I have a marriage in January.

wow, right?

Nope!

seriously, nope! Since I am already in the fat department, from the moment I can remember my body! may I add! All the food and wonders will only gain weight to my already weighted body and seriously, I am not entirely excited about all these marriages!

I mean, its fun, and its free food! But other than that, I have to face the mocking faces, the stupid questions, indirect insults on my body and direct mockery to the food I eat! Dang, I am one body shielding from too many bodies. Damn, I need the energy.

Though I have been fat my entire life and I am twenty-two now, so yea! Long period, and my dream, the foremost dream was to experience how it is to be slim! WOW, big ambition, yes, it is! I don’t want to be a doctor, I don’t want to be a business legend! I want to experience how it is to be slim and dress casually without fearing the bulging eye under my arms, on my belly and two pillars of my thighs! So, what was I gonna say!? Yes, though I have been fat my entire life and have been enjoying people’s damn comments on my body… I am strong and never… I repeat, never droop my head low and cry because of my fate.

I am fat, big deal! You are thin, so? So… If there are any people who are sorry for themselves for being fat… STOP PITYING YOURSELF! If you are fat because you can’t keep your mouth shut from fattening foods, then I should say, you really need to consider yourself! I am not blaming you not mocking you or anything. I am just saying you have a chance to be beyoutiful and healthy at the same time. It’s awesome to be yourself but it’s dope to be healthy and yourself, right?! I am sorry, I am not good at getting my points in the right directions! SO, don’t feel offended or anything! I am overly fat, so I know how it feels to stuff that next mouthful and promising that we will stop right then! 😉 I am in the unfortunate few who are fat from the beginning and have never been able to shed at least a few!  I think I am having some kind of virus to gain fat every few weeks :)) But trying is the new synonym for success! 😉

SO, where were we? Marriage! Yes. The holy night of squeezing two souls into one!

SO, yea, let me enjoy the colors, the mockery, the food and definitely the comments, “I will be single my whole life if I won’t shed some weight” Like that’s your concern granny gi!

Ciao, I am blessed to have my secret moments of ranting since I may be a huge blob of fat, but I am certainly not a superhuman who can stuff all the emotions in!

Thanks for listening to me Blog! I love you 🙂

I hate somewhere’s.

Somewhere inside calloused knees,
a voice gyrates
slowly murmuring holy scriptures
emanating inside caged ribs
caged by ivory promises and skeletal reminisces.

emerged from somewhere deep
was a round egg
cracked to the horizon;
only to sizzle up wavy patterns
of yellowish pus
looking too cool in the aftermath
of an explosion.
I raised my hands devouring all the exclamations
later constipated by trendy syllables;
yet, I stared at my knees
decorated with too many vowels
all having an interesting story to narrate,
embarrassing me.

the apparitions of medieval history
gagged me, by the colorfulness;
I was bound to black and gray
traveling back to antiquity
somewhere I belong.

somewhere inside a coliseum
build upon anagram
shuffled to the word trust
I stood barefoot
enjoying the coldness
bathing my foot with prickles
later to sting with numbness,
but I stood still
blanketed with Goosebumps;
yet, I never got what I wanted
I don’t know what I want.

slim and prim were the actor
hiding behind thick shades of blue,
peeking in and out
like it’s hiding from me.
a lone star encourages the pregnant moon
to come out and shine
but, her fingers are wrapped upon invisible guilt
of having the burden
within her
and she is at last everyone’s milky queen.
but she feels bad
for pushing out her outward belly;
only in a days time, to collect them back.
I am like her,
how, I don’t know.

I am eaten up by moth
crawling from the books;
by the size of the moth
my mom scolds me, it’s because two days
is the max I take to complete
a four hundred page novel.
You can’t blame me, to feel incompetent,
I complain.
she shakes her head in defeat
and by the end of my umpteenth snickers bar,
I lost count of the book that smells fresh,
like me after a bath.
I am indispensable;

am I?

glass slippers are so old school,
so I custom made
from silverware,
and folded my clothes
with golden threads.
Alas,
I can only shape
what I can
with my hands; others are just
forbidden fruit.