My lips are chapped.
I don’t fit in small sizes.
I’ve got messy hair,
I don’t have clear skin.
I’m not smart
I’m not ‘cool’.
My eyes hide behind thick glasses,
I’m too soft to be heard and
I crack lame jokes.
This girl doesn’t have that fire in her.
But it’s your loss that you,
You don’t see my raw smile, the most genuine one you’ll see
Don’t see how well every inch of me fits with my piano pedal and keys
Nor how wildly beautiful my hair gets after an hour of dancing in the rain
And you haven’t held my warm, welcoming hands
Haven’t been blown away by the whirlwind that is my mind.
You don’t know or care how thoughtful I am
Or see my eyes shining every sunrise, every morning.
You don’t hear me sing lullabies to my cat every night
So she doesn’t go to bed crying like I do
Your loss that you’re oblivious and
You think I’m a burnt out matchstick
When really- there’s this glowing ember waiting
To engulf you with its flame.
I’m a whirlwind inside of my head right now
And the butterflies in my stomach!
They need no urge to appear.
Their fluttering gives me life. It’s a sunshiny feeling, I swear
But then the brutish grey clouds eclipse my warm star of fantasy,
Their cold, cruel droplets of misery blur my vision,
I can feel them condense on my skin.
The last vestiges of my stability shivering.
It’s getting everywhere, it’s clogging my mind, clouding my reason
In torrents, overwhelming; my butterflies are terrified
And the butterflies know only too well –
They must rise above the clouds.
They try so hard, they really do
They are capable.
But somehow, instead, just as they reach the silver line,
Crossed wires spark a flame.
Five words uttered viciously send them into a frenzy again,
And somehow, instead, they just get stuck in that whirlwind.
I’m afraid of the rain.
Flung away harshly, disoriented, those beautiful butterflies
They’re lost, in a daze.
And they’re broken, they’ve lost their wings
And they’ve lost that charm, that sparkle, that grace
And no longer
Do they give me life.
It’s raining. My side of the sky right now is grey, dark grey. It was orange and pink before. Actually, I can’t see much anymore because it’s foggy here, and raining pretty hard – my vision is blurry. It’s really cold and wet and I can feel the wind this time, it’s coming from the right side! Do you feel it too? Is there wind on your side? The clouds are almost pink and there’s crying lightning every other minute but I don’t hear it, there’s no thunder.. that’s strange
Oh god, I’ve managed to lock myself in the balcony again. I can’t get in! Hang on, it’s, like, jammed. Ugh.
Ah yes. Hello? Got in. You know, I tried playing the piano earlier this evening but I couldn’t hear myself, the rain was so loud! But it’s okay- favourite sounds here.
I’m sitting in my favourite place now and tracing the shaky, almost hesitant, path of the raindrops on the glass with my finger. It’s just drizzling now and I’m feeling nearly as weak as the rain sounds. I can see lights all over the city, there’s yellow and blue and red and white and pink and green and orange. That mall, I can actually see tiny people on the escalators through the glass facing me. There’s a woman getting out of her car on the ground floor. She’s going to have to run to her block- she’s covering her head with her dupatta! I don’t know why I’m cracking up. God I’m weird. Sorry.
The reflection of my fairylights on my window when I switch them on is so pretty! I’ll show you a picture. I could sit here forever, really. I love this weather so much.
My side of the sky is great, it’s comforting me today. How about yours?
I took these. Okay, I should probably go now.
Let’s do this when it rains again.
We heard the loud scuffling last night. Thud, thud, thud. Ignore, must be the cat going crazy as usual. My father woke up at around 6:45 am and walked downstairs, right into the crime scene. There were signs of struggle in the living room and dining room. We followed them to the TV room, and discovered the body. There she was, her eyes shut, blood on her chest and around, her sorry figure looking half as thin as it should’ve been. Right in the middle of the room, among a hurricane of feathers, was the body of the bird my cat killed.