Possessed- My book.

Flore Collier (1).png

So, have you ever had the beautiful opportunity to be scared in your life because of some unnatural, unexplainable event?

Have you ever been touched by an unseen hand?

Have you ever listened to a whisper by silence?

Can you imagine to be in a life of Conjuring where reality is far more worse than Conjuring?

Can you imagine a life of a girl who had to go through her whole life in such unnatural happenings?

If you are really interested in such a paranormal, mind-boggling thriller, head on to @wattpad and go to @LostIn2Sight and click #possessed, Only in #wattpad 🙂

This is an advertisement, I guess to myself because I want more people to know about the risk and clarity of reality. Because you believe in science, it doesn’t mean you are safe from Supernatural Science!

Read and enjoy 🙂

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

Pathetic lover.

 

Sometimes it takes two of three syllables

to make you understand the importance

of my silence; yet, you throw word upon

hour needle to only lose minutes before

you even post me the next letter. and still

you remain unapologetic to the situation.

had it been some other time to pen verses,

I would have truly been obliged; but, as of

now when the time is escalating to serious

matters; I shall remain circumvent to that

pings which gives me inflating migraines.

My movie.

there was a movie

with the label of cranberry fruit cake

melting my luscious desire

and awarding me an Oscar

 

I smiled my most beautiful smile

pouting out, making it look like open strawberry

and many fell for the delight

 

it was a peak time when 

I knew how to swivel with the camera

and roll with the credits

mentioning after shots and loving every moments

smiling naked in the blanket of fame

 

sweet treats

and sugary sweets

loved the limelight

and I hung around spotlight

never letting go of the spot

 

in the heavenly world of flashes

and fake smiles

I pancaked my face with desire and fake smiles

making me look like a goddess

and I know, that is my cue

to undulating rolls of business pleasure

 

In this movie, I did act as me

with the stare of my birth-mom

who never knew what bliss is

it was a family tradition

to be born with no money and live with only water

the one that flow through your walls

collected in pots and pan

only fresh when it rains

 

this was when I was lovingly living

inside my mom’s womb 

and when they plucked me away

from the safe heaven

I knew not what safety and purity was

but from then on

I never had to close my only book

which made me look amazing

and set a price for the eyes

which see me pleasing…

 

and then,

did I act upon the stage

in front of the camera

pouting my lips which yearns to tell a tale

of falling rain and eating lies

 

once, I acted upon a stage

where they shot a movie

with the label of cranberry fruit cake

melting my luscious desire

and awarding me an Oscar

I enjoyed writing this, a life of a girl who entered fame being ____________Did you understand?   

 

This is a poem explaining about a girl who was forced into being prostitutes….

and roll with the credits

mentioning after shots and loving every moments

smiling naked in the blanket of fame

 

from a young age, who was forced to, from the safe place with her mother…

 

inside my mom’s womb 

and when they plucked me away

from the safe heaven

 

womb I mentioned for the safe place with mother, young finds security within mother. And then she was rose to fame being an actress (bad one)

 

there was a movie

with the label of cranberry fruit cake

melting my luscious desire

and awarding me an Oscar

 

Oscar was just a mention of Praise and fame and then labeling which is mentioning….

 

I love writing this

My valentine!

love-151v

I hear the town burst out with smiles
turning roses into cards, sighing out
my eyes wander out through the red
and I say, aren’t they so foolish
to fantasize!

I keep my breath and my pocket money
when the rose day passed I bought a bunch
I kept in under her pillows and said
“I love you!”

She must has seen in the mornings
for I saw it on her study table
I smiled within and I gave her a hug and a kiss

I walked out and there comes the chocolate day
even though she was diabetic, I bought her a tray
She kept it in the fridge and made a chocolate cake
and waited for me to come back and have a taste.

I let out a morning chill to the day so pale
the stars are gleaming red and also the town
I burst a few balloons and was chased by some loons
I took some roses and petaled the room.

And, finally the day has come
exchanging roses and kisses
I stood and stared!

I walked out into the middle and brought
My Mother on my side and dressed her red
took out my roses and flushed her with-
roses and kisses, that made her cry

I screamed to world she is my love
the only valentine I could ever have
can you show me someone who is better than that
And I will kiss your feet when you say that’s right!

She…

images (1)

Lovely green has always been her color, whatever she got to do with clothes or adventure will be opted for green. Delightful pedriot is her favorite of all and she has a set of jewelry that she wears for all her outfits.

Dancing to the rhythm of rain was her favorite and she always went for trekking in the rain whenever she got the chance. She was different, that was the first thing her mother said when she opened her eyes, because it was a lovely set of opaque crystals and lately as she grew up it was a tinge of azure overcoming emerald. She was different.

Running around in baggy jeans parrot green tank top, she smiles and pull her cap sideways just like the kids on the corner do. Keeping to her heels will be that willful puppy equally jumpy as her mistress and she was named after the silky fur, pearl. Pearl was a melodramatic puppy playing with her and whining at teary scenes in the TV, just to make her mistress laugh and those tiny amber eyes glint, broadening her jaws making it as if she is smiling.

Polished gems was eyesores for her, (unnamed because she is important that a name), just like the gems set on display. She would stare at the pieces taking time to study and sigh and leave the store. Tim, the jeweler laugh at her jokingly and say, “someday little pearl, your mistress shall get a handsome gemstone.”

Her life is full of hopes, and ambition to be anything just to prove herself. In the meantime she is a loner in public. But, inside she is a great art piece of wonderful masterpiece. Waiting for a chance to strike, waiting for the day when she can be public, waiting for the apt time to gather her spirits and jump. But she is doing a mistake of waiting for the apt time. The time is now and the day is yours, never wait for the chance to strike because opportunity in ones life is something we create, not something knocking a our door.

“Like someday that wont come now, make today the day of spotlight!”