Foundation of Love.

When I’d climbed over

The rubble of my aspirations

As the earthquake of betrayal

Had shaken my being,

The house made of lies and old wounds,

And the attention I’d used as

A salve to seal the cracks and hold

Was a poor alternative to the foundation

Of Love houses are built on.

This house was doomed to fall.

It hadn’t been a home.


Betrayal and Heartbreak.

imageNo tears. Just rain.
No tears. Just rain.

The untrusted word
The broken promise
The knife in the back
The smile behind the hand
The lies and laughter
The bitchy disaster
The unlikely recovery
The fake concern
The non-sensical question
The anger returns
There’s no hurt
There’s no sadness
It’s all anger now.
Vicious anger.
Ready to over flow,
Like hot lava all over.

P.S. It’s been so long since I wrote something like that. Not that I have improved over the years. Not even a bit. But, well, it is what it is.


Walking towards Dignity.

When he’d asked

Me if I wanted to

Give us another

Chance, I had the

Weirdest premonition.

This was a

Conversation we

Have had many

Times. My answer

Never changed.

Not the kiss I didn’t get.

Not the flowers not meant

For me. Not the sorry

I never heard. My heart

Was too young to

Die. I told him to

Fuck off and walked

Towards dignity.



When time changes.


You have always been my anchor; someone, something that kept me still; grounded. You have always been the self-appointed mental bouncer who kept me sane and away from all the crap. You have always been that sweet smell wafting up my nostrils that alone had the power to calm my wildly-beating heart. You have always been like that ice-cube on an annoyingly hot day that cooled me down as it slipped down the back of my shirt. You have always been like that soothing song that played on repeat on my mp3 player when I wanted to do nothing but burrow under my comforter in my comfiest pajamas and let the world fade away. You have always been like those deep-set dimples at the small of my back that I always wanted but never could work hard enough towards achieving, because it was something else. You have always been special. You have always been you.

Now? You are the melting snowflake that can make my heart flood.




imageYada Yada: STEREOTYPES.

I wonder if the cheerleader feels it. When the music stops and everyone goes home? When the day is gone and she doesn’t have anyone to entertain herself with? When she removes her makeup, taking off her brave face for the day, do the demons she keeps buried start playing with her when there’s no one else to play with?

I guess not. Narcissists don’t have insecurities, right?

Must be nice.



You’ll be good to go.

imageGood to go, good to go, good to go.
Good to go, good to go, good to go.

Walking down the winding path;
The path made of everything new,
Silent days and screaming nights,
Happy fights and painful comfort,
I stop and think.

I think of all those hopeless days.
I think of all those shouting matches.
I think of all those broken promises.
I think of all those lost smiles.
I think of how everything has changed,
With the days gone by,
And passage of time, altering my reality.

I no longer crave the comfort of company.
I used to write as if I wouldn’t survive;
Survive without the support of my words.
But, now I write of the broken promises and the lost smiles.
Now? I write of the sad reality.
Now, I write of reality.

I look up from my spot,
perched on the roadside bench,
And see the strain in the laughter,
And hear the tears about to fall.

I think back to the past, and then, I smile.
I smile because I am letting go.
I smile because I am ready to glow.
I smile because the breaths are numbered,
And I don’t want to waste another,
Thinking of the regrets plaguing the time gone by.
I smile because I am ready.

I stand up from my seat at that roadside bench,
And I feel lighter.
Lighter, because I am leaving it all behind,
Right there on that iron bench
With the peeling paint and a crooked leg.
Lighter, because…just, because.
I start walking again with a slight smile playing on my lips,
And this time, I don’t look back.



The douchebag.

Nightmares and gunshots...

The gunshot in the distance felt like it had been fired at her. As if the bullet had torn the delicate layers of her skin and right into her heart. It had felt like…last year again. She closed her eyes shut tightly,trying to block out the sirens and burrowed further into her comforter. She wanted to run, far enough so that it was all a bitter memory and nothing more. Where the littlest of things triggering the worst nightmare of her 19 years of existence wouldn’t make her lose her shit all the freaking time. She was tired of those stupid panic attacks that gripped here anywhere, the streets, the local cafe while trying to enjoy the morning coffee, the garage she worked at…she was tired. She wanted rest. Her mind needed rest. God knew, it had been too long since it was quiet for even a couple of seconds in there.
The knock on the door ported her back to that night she wanted to escape so badly, but never could. That terrifying storm. The drunk douchebag her mother had brought home. The douchebag young enough to be her older brother. The douchebag who had eyed her all night long during that pathetic excuse for a “family dinner”. The douchebag who had invited himself to stay over because he wanted to spend more time with her mother and her family. The douchebag who had tried to grab her when her mother had turned in for the night. The douchebag who had slapped her so hard when she tried to walk away that the blood had rushed inside her ears. The douchebag who had pulled that 9 millimeter on her and threatened to shoot her mother if she didn’t concede. The same sorry douchebag she had kicked in the balls and grabbed that gun from, trying to stop her hands from shaking and aiming right. The same bloody douchebag who had jumped at her, and in the fight, had grabbed onto the gun. The same douchebag who had died that night. The same douchebag she had killed. The same one whose blood and gore had coated her body like a second skin, the feel of which she had never been able to scrub off, no matter how searing hot showers she took over the year. The same douchebag who had ruined her relationship with her mother when she wasn’t ready to accept in her heavily drunk state that her douchebag boyfriend she had claimed to love was that huge an arsehole. The exact same one who had ruined her life. That one.
She snapped out of it when the insistent knocking was accompanied by a police officer asking her to come out. She walked slowly and snapped the bolts. The sight that met her eyes threatened to transport her back to that nightmarish sight. Police vehicles with sirens blaring, ambulance, people all around…it was too much to take but she slipped on that mask she had perfected over the year to give nothing away and calmly asked how she could help. The police wanted a statement. Again. She started talking.



Times and her.

She was an oxymoron in the bland language of life.

She was~
The excitement in the patience
The peace in the violence
The pretty in the mess
The more in the less.

She is~
The scream in the silence
The dark in the radiance
The broken in the complete
The evil in the sweet.

She will be~
The epitome of change
The stable little game
The tranforming soul
The one screaming hoarse.


Philosophical Me!

Effortless?Life?*bitter smirk*


WHOEVER TOLD ME life was easy—lied. It’s hard. It sucks. The crazy thing is—nobody has the guts to admit the truth. Everyone, and I mean everyone, has a secret. Everyone has a story that needs to be told. Hurt is everywhere; as humans we practically drown in its essence, yet we all pretend like it doesn’t exist. We make believe that everything is fine, when really, everything within us screams in outrage. Our soul pleads for us to be honest at least once in our lives. It begs of us to tell someone. It forces us to become vulnerable to somebody, to trust them with all we have to offer, and the very second that we do, everything seems better.

  For a moment, life isn’t as hard as it seems. Effortless. It’s effortless, and then the gauntlet falls.


Philosophical Me!

Things will change.

Memorise that, and you will never fail.

Change will come. Don’t doubt that, not even for a second. The screams that you have been hearing every single freaking night since those dreadful years will cease. The breaking of glass won’t make you flinch anymore. The ringing in your ears due to the sounds of gunshots fired that night won’t affect you anymore. You won’t feel the need to duck when somebody would put their arm around your shoulders some day. And a day will come when you won’t cringe whenever you hear that sweet nickname you have come to hate. You will stop getting the urge to hurl when somebody would so much as extend their hand for you to shake. Touching somebody and the thought of somebody touching you won’t make your stomach drop one of these days. And you will be able to hold a conversation, all on your own, without going into a panic attack everytime you will be in the limelight. You won’t feel like fleeing everytime you will become the focus, but will be there to clarify and get your point across. Yes, one of these days,you will be able to put your point forth instead of wishing to be swallowed up by earth whenever you will hear people talking shit about your life that they have no idea about. You will be strong one day. You will be okay again. You will change. Things will change. Change will come.

Note:It’s for everybody around who’s ever been a recipient of abuse,physical or mental, at some point in their lives. You all will be okay. Just hold on. Things will change. For the better. For best.