“December”

It’s just the end of a year but it feels like the end of the world. But it’s cool. It’s cool. It has to be. This month I didn’t cry at all. Who am I kidding? Well, not in public at least. This month I learnt how to be everyone’s dream girl. Who do you want tonight, baby? Do you want bad girl; girl with fire on her tongue and the ashes of her old lovers on her cheeks? Or do you need good girl; girl who tastes like cotton candy and blushes like a rose garden when you whisper god only knows what in her ear. This month I learn how to be okay with being someone else. I slip out of my skin and into someone else’s so easily. This month I learn to be cool, cool, cool.

It’s just the end of a year but it feels like the end of the world. And i’ve got a hell of a seat to watch this grand finale. It feels like I’m running out of time. Or words. Or both. This year’s been so full of loss and chaos. I walked into this year thinking I’d get through it without a scratch, but here I am. Bruised and exhausted. But I’m still dancing to the love songs playing on the radio. Still swinging and twirling. Still alive. and I guess that has to count for something.

It’s just the end of a year but it feels like the end of the world. Or like being chased for miles only to find yourself in a dead end street. But I’m just being dramatic. You say morbid, but I suppose they’re both the same anyway. The sky looks like it’s about to drop down. I wonder if the stars will come down too. I want to kiss them. I want to unravel them and find out what makes them glow. I want to know what the sparks look like. 

It’s just the end of a year but it feels like the end of the world. I mean, this month’s got fangs, you know? And air so cold it’ll make your head spin. Can’t possibly see anything through the fog. I have absolutely no idea what’s coming. But as long as I’ve got the moon with me, I think I’ll be just fine.

It’s just the end of a year but it feels like the end of the world. And I want to call you. But I don’t. I want to call and say, “I deleted all the messages. Each and everyone one of them. The pictures, too. It’s funny because I didn’t feel anything. I don’t know, it’s a strange feeling, I guess. And I’ve stopped writing you love poems. Maybe it’s odd because when we were in love I wrote about the love and flowers blooming and the sun. And when we we fell apart, I wrote about heartbreak and ache. But what now? What can I write when I don’t feel a thing?” 

It’s just the end of a year but it feels like the end of the world. And you know me. And how much I love lists. This month I make too many. One for all the things I can do next year. One for all the things I lost this year. And one for who stays and who goes. You make both.

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“November”

​November in song.

“searching for a heart of gold”

 
i’m trying to relearn how to be tender again. i want to be a petal again. i’ve been the thorn. being the bad one feels good but tastes so fucking horrible. i don’t like the way this poison tastes on my tongue.


“mon amour, sweet child of mine, you’re divine”

baby, i know i ain’t no angel. i know i got flaws. somedays it’s hard to find myself beneath them. learning to love myself is hard, but sometimes i can be a pretend goddess. maybe someday i’ll find a permanent spot in heaven.


“my bad, bad love”

why don’t we talk about the heartbreak? why is love always the starlet? why does she get centerstage? heartbreak must always be the understudy right? i guess what i’m asking is, why is the spotlight on the glamour and not the pain? why do I only write about the sweet words but never the strange aftermath?


“do you say that I’m a sweetheart? do you say that I’m a freak?”

sometimes i like to imagine you sitting in some stupid coffee shop in delhi twenty years from now. when someone asks you about me, you smile and say, “oh, my baby. she’s still driving me insane with that smile.”


“losing my mind losing control”

at night it feels like i’m trying not to remember a thing. the last time i got off a plane, i left my fears on the seat. they’re in the clouds right now. i don’t know if that was a good idea but when i’m cruising down the highway about fifteen kilometres over the speed limit with the wind in my hair, it sure does feel great.


“somebody catch my breath”

what does it say about me, that i still lose my breath when i see you?


“how was I supposed to know anything?”

here’s what I do know. the stars are dying. we don’t know what’s at the bottom of the ocean. anything divided by zero is infinity. i’ve learnt four languages, but i am afraid to tell you i love you in any of them. i don’t know why. a girl can only know so much.


“been waiting on that sunshine”

this winter is harsh on me. on my lips. on my skin. on my heart. these shadows are no good for me. i miss the light.


“talking under pink skies”

i sit on a brick bench across from a girl i used to trust with my life. she is a stranger now. we know nothing about eachother. but we reminisce under the rose coloured sky and look at each other through these rose coloured glasses and every thing feels peachy.

“getting on your goodbye shoes”

the year is almost over and i’m revving my engines. i’m kissing the leaves goodbye. i’m ready to go. time can sweep off my feet and take me to somewhere i’ve never been.

“October”

Wanted: October


Last seen
: A year ago. I know it’s gonna be hard to find her again now but I guess I’ve always been a sucker for hope.
Was wearing a coat of orange- No, yellow leaves. No, green. Can’t really decide between the warm or cold colours. Blushes when you say you love her. Has sparks in her eyes. Like fireworks, they say.
Hush now. And you’ll hear her. In the cold wind. My baby, she sings when she’s tired. Quiet now. Hear her sing the song of the lost and the loved. 

Responds to
: Honey. Get it? Thick enough to trap you, but sweet enough to make you forget all about it. 

Additional information
: October doesn’t judge. October doesn’t say a word when you make bad choices. October doesn’t tell you not to get on that boy’s bike. October isn’t the angel on your shoulder. And probably won’t ever be. She just watches the leaves fall down and watches you fall apart. A little manic, a lot dream.
October, a mess of sleepless nights and big eyes and shaking hands. So it’s scary. So it’s jumping off a cliff, but knowing you’ll be okay. So it’s scary, but a sort of safe. 

Please contact me if you meet her.
Tell her I miss her. She won’t come back, too much of a free spirit to do so, but tell her to call once in a while. I keep waiting up all September for her. Want her back. Need her back.

“September”

9 dreams I had in the 9th month about 9 people I don’t talk to anymore. 

  • I am 28 and stuck in an elevator in a wedding dress. My wedding dress. There are 2 children stuck in there with me. They are afraid, but I hold them close and tell them a love story. Our love story. They fall asleep on the peach silk and I stroke their heads and wait to see you on the other side of the metal doors.  
  • In this one, I am cotton candy. You kiss me and say, “sugar, you’re falling apart.” I say, baby, it’s okay. Melting isn’t such a bad way to go when I’m with you. 
  • I open my mouth to fire bullets but out falls syrup. My harsh words drip down my chin like honey. Tell you I hate you, tell you’re toxic, tell you you’re bad like 4-packs-a-day-bad; but all you can hear is drip, drip, drip. Even in my dreams, I can not hurt you. 
  • We’re slow dancing at dawn near a pond to soft music. There are doves all around us and I understand heaven, finally. And then the song becomes heavy and the sky turns dark and the birds transform into bats. But I don’t notice your claws until it’s too late.
  • You said I got you hooked, you said I got you wrapped around my finger, you said you didn’t understand how that could ever be a bad thing. But baby, can’t you see? when I fall down from the clouds, I drag you right down with me. 
  • I dreamt once that the world was covered in crickets and snakes. Your mother and I are the last ones alive. She tells me you really did care. She tells me I really was your best friend. She tells me you’re sorry we aren’t friends anymore. 
  • Drake and I are sitting on the tip of the iceberg that broke the titanic. He asks me if part of me took AP psychology because I’m still trying to figure out ways to help you. I can’t look him the eye.
  • I’m on a spaceship bound for some unknown planet. I laugh. Little tin girl in a little tin vessel bound for a little tin planet. Nobody asks why I signed up for this mission. And I never have to tell them that I’m still trying to put some space between us. 
  • You leave me in the middle of some fancy restaurant and I drop my glass of wine. You leave me on the top of a Ferris wheel and I want to jump off. You leave me at the gates of the Taj Mahal and even a damn tourist asks me if i am lost. You leave me in all my dreams and I wake up screaming. Every goddamn time. 

“August”

august ’15 and august ’16 have a conversation.

15: hello. the poet is so happy. is she still that sunflower of a girl?
16: no. she is tired. she heard that the stars were slowly dying and it hurt her. said that would be painful. said they don’t deserve that. 

15: she talked about change a lot. has she found it?
16: she has, but not in the way she wants. it was too quick and painful. her head is spinning.

15: the leaves are falling. the sky is just brush stroke over brushstroke. this month is all the right colours.
16: the leaves have fallen in July already. the trees are bare. the sky is too. the artist up in heaven must’ve quit.

15: does she still write about him? she promised she wouldn’t.
16: she doesn’t write about him anymore. knows if he asked her to be his again she’d say no. this is progress, yes, but yesterday she almost kissed his best friend in a run down old mall, just to see if she could still hurt him.

15: what about her guinea pigs? are the well-rested?
16: of course they are. their fur is still beautiful and shining. they chirp every time they see her and it warms her. 

15: buried her past and her heart with it. 
16: it’s awful. she remembered her birthday but still couldn’t bring herself to wish her. old wounds still hurt if you press them hard enough. 

15: her mother doesn’t know the things that haunt her. 
16: her mother has seen her hurt. she can’t stop praying for her.

15: she loves her red lipstick. i swear the girl would forget her own name but not that shade of burning bricks.
16: she’s softer now. all pastels. bubblegum pink on her lips all the damn time.

15: everything she feels in her chest, is seen in her eyes. 
16: her eyes don’t glow anymore. and it’s breaking my heart.

[part 8/12 of the 2016 series ]

“July.”

july is back again. / july is back again and it feels like I haven’t moved an inch since last year. / two girls walk into park crying. / feel like the punchline to some sort of sick joke the universe thought was funny. / funny as in, at 6, my mother told me not to cry because the sky and I shared emotions, and i believed her. / i know this isn’t true, but this month all the sky does is pour and i think maybe she was right. / this month is all bruised knees & lace skirts / all beat up sneakers & white lilies / all art museum & a million missed calls. / i want desperately to live on the moon. / i realise how cliché that sounds, but i need to live some place that has a heart as heavy as mine. / my best friend says I’m too, well for lack of a better term, explosive. / little gasoline girl who likes the smell of firecrackers too much. / july of sweet lemonade, of sunbathing in the middle of football fields, of sleeping away the sadness. / i don’t love him. i don’t even like him. / but it’s just July, it’s just i like the feeling of having someone to call at night, it’s just that i’m tired of writing about old love. / i braided flowers into my hair thinking that this way, at least some part of me would be beautiful. / i hear the word lovely & don’t think of myself. / what i’m saying is, i still can’t look my own reflection in the eyes. / i spent three years learning german in school, & i spent two learning you. / & even though I’ve forgotten how to ask for help in german, I still remember your favourite colour. / call it tragic. / seven years after the death of my grandfather, my grandmother still refuses to stop loving him. / says, he will always be in her heart, even if his has stopped beating. / we walk by a cemetery & she sighs & says, at least they’ll be together soon. / says, ashes / ashes / we all fall down.

[part 7/12 of 2016 series ]

“June”

1/30: If June nights could talk they’d probably say they created hope. Even through the pouring rain and silver lightning, the air is still warm.

2/30: Today my friend called you a mess and I almost said you weren’t. A year and nearly 3000 miles later, and I am still trying to defend you.

3/30: new beginnings are so full of hope; I love it.

4/30: summer’s been very kind to me. Two parts flowers and two parts laughter.

5/30: There’s a birthmark on my hip bone in the shape of a hook. Wonder if it explains why I get so attached and can never let go gracefully.

6/30: why does it feel like all the advice I give is actually meant for myself?

7/30: my friends have loved me better than my lovers and I don’t think I ever thanked them for that.

8/30: you say ambition like it is a dirty word. But I want to build an empire and have a crown to call my own. So you say there’s a glass ceiling to break. So, I brought my hammer.

9/30: Tonight the people living above us hated each other so loudly, it bled through the foundation and fell right into our house. I turned the music up to a hundred and tried to shut them out. When I took off my headphones an hour later, the couple living a floor below us were laughing so hard, I thought they probably had craters in their cheeks. Love shouldn’t look like a double edged sword. And the second it does, it isn’t love anymore.

10/30: Maybe it’s just easier to hide the pain than explaining why you’re hurting.

11/30: I think the best way to avoid saying something you regret when you’re mad, is to picture the other person as a puppy.

12/30: did your mother ask you what happened? Did you say we were too stubborn, too young, too naive? Did you say we didn’t know any better? Did you say we did but couldn’t help ourselves anyway?

13/30: I am tired of hearing stories of women being cracked open and having their souls snatched in dim alleyways. My heart is so exhausted from feeling all their pain.

14/30: our song played in the mall today and it felt like some kind of sick joke. It felt like every one there was mocking me. I almost ran into the bathrooms and retched out all the reasons we could’ve worked.

15/30: there is something so awfully tragic about the movement of the swing set after you walk away. The rise and fall. Because even though you’re not there anymore, it’s still moving. Still swinging, until it eventually realises no one is coming back and stops itself.

16/30: Loving you was like watching the sun set. It’s all golden and warm and beautiful at first. But suddenly, the sun’s gone and the cold’s set in and you’re left there in the dark wondering if Icarus weeps because he wishes he never loved the sun, or because even after all that ache, he still misses it.

17/30: so you’re sitting on a rooftop and your friends are talking about the latest ongoing tragedy and all you can think about is, somewhere something wonderful must be happening. It must. It is only fair.

18/30: I don’t really know why I’m praying. Or who I’m praying to; anyone who’s listening, really.

19/30: In a dream I’m running through the hallways of my childhood home. I fall on my knees and instead of blood, out fall rose petals.

20/30: I swear when people ask me what I write, I say, I don’t know. I say, mostly, love. Mostly, the stars. Mostly, I think, the words I never said.

21/30: so today was the summer solstice. Which means we can’t swallow Sun-rays on lazy Sundays anymore.

22/30: I think what scares me is that I respect my parents more than I like them. And I don’t want my children to ever think that.

23/30: you see my grandmother has trembling hands and a timid smile. But don’t be mistaken. When people said she didn’t have a choice, she created her own. When everyone said yes, she said no. Even now, I see the fire burning in her eyes. The one every girl turned lioness has.

24/30: I am so emotional. But it’s not always a weakness. Somedays I wear my tear stains as war paint and I am not ashamed. As if saying, look at me; look at what you’ve done and try not to flinch.

25/30: there’s something written on the bathroom wall in my school that will always haunt me- “my problem is that I want to be femme fatale and angelic at the same time.”

26/30: when I was little, I used to think that the moon was haunting me. Even now, I think that maybe the moon has always been watching over me. Watching out for me.

27/30: People say the world is kind to all women, but I know some who have cut their hair just so they wouldn’t have to feel someone drag them by their scalps ever again.

28/30: I am so much more poetic on the internet. I speak in broken sentences and half sounds. My mouth is all shattered tank and my words are all oil spills.

29/30: you learn to love yourself the same way you learn to dance. A little hesitant at first, a little shaky in the beginning; but eventually, without skipping a beat.

30/30: Right now I’m not sure if I want to fall asleep to the hum of the television or to the hum of his voice.

[part 6/12 of the 2016 series ]