Viola! (TW: abuse)

Grab her by her feet, like a violin Play her with your fingers, All she will do is cry, All so beautifully.   Bow her with all your might, She will resist, With all her might, Whilst being so gorgeous.   Her beautiful curves, Her beautiful holes, And her strings, All make such a beautiful instrument. But not an instrument to your desires.   All her strings, shall not be played by you roughly. All the wrong gestures and notes, Shall unstring her, Shall destroy her.   She shall remain shattered, and wait in vain for someone to string her … Continue reading Viola! (TW: abuse)

Go Big or Go Home!

Since the very beginning of time as I know it, I have been what you would call, “different”, or “weird” or even “special”, if you may. For instance, my first word was “pooh”, and I spoke that when I was 1 and a half years old. And then, I went on to learn to read when I was 3. A spiral of events, my childhood was, in short. My parents were indifferent. My dad, a prodigal scientist, blamed (rather, prided over) it on his genes, and my mother, for one, an adrenaline addict, simply hounded over the brilliancy of her … Continue reading Go Big or Go Home!

Poem: Beautiful & Burdened

Show me your elegant paintings of women sprawled out on the Floor, making gossip, in the mid-noon ochre. Dressed in robes drenched of oil And sweat, and their tired sighs Of life weighing them down, And “homely” tasks. Making their own music and Humming to old songs They recollect from the creaky old radio And songs they sat and learned. Their hair shabbily done to the rhythm of chores, matted in patterns inexplicable and complex And held up high with loose hairpins. with sunlight pouring in and women animatedly massaging and talking To each other. Beautiful women. Burdened. Continue reading Poem: Beautiful & Burdened

R E A L I T Y: A façade.

I stare at the stars in awe, and watch them twinkle, and I whisper to myself, you will be high up one there. But then I grow up and you tell me the stars don’t twinkle and they’re just small dots. You tell me they’re not where I think they are, they’re not as beautiful as I thought they were. You tell me I’m not as beautiful as I thought I was. not as wondrous as I thought the world was You tell me the world runs in a monotone of colors, and a routine whipped to death by mother … Continue reading R E A L I T Y: A façade.

do crazy things.

chop your hair roughly with uneven edges with a blade.   scribble profanity poetry in your notebook, with colorful pens.   grow your nails till you eat dirt along with your food.   grow your leg and armpit hair and wear goddamn shorts and tank-tops.   take a walk along the beach waves, till you urge to drown.   collect beautiful sea- shells and break them with all your might.   burn your poetry journal and watch your words ablaze.   cry while listening to music you hate, on high volume.   drink a bottle of beer, and puke your … Continue reading do crazy things.

My First MUN

MUN, Model United Nations, is exactly what the name suggests. You represent a country, meet with others to deliberate over the agenda, and after hours of discussion, and a plethora of inputs from different countries, all the head of states(in this case, delegates) come to a conclusion and draft a resolution. My very first MUN took place within the bounds of my school, and it immediately struck me as very interesting. Having a never-ending thirst for knowledge, and as someone that loved learning new things, Model United Nations, paired with research and the interaction with elite delegates of my age, really piqued … Continue reading My First MUN