The oxford dictionary defines love as a ‘strong feeling of affection.’

How can 4 words, describe a feeling so vehement, that it wrattles me on the inside and makes me a different person? 

How can four words describe something so cogent, that it makes me want to kill myself, and live, all at the same time?

How can four words describe something so fervent, that it converts my emotions into waterfalls, that flow down my cheeks, while my mind reeks of underachievement? 

Love cannot be defined. It’s subjective. Its passive. Its aggressive. Both at the same time. That's the beauty of it. 11 days have passed, and there hasn't been a single one, when I haven't wept.

He kills me, and I like it. He takes out a drop of blood out of my body every day, and I don't mind. 

All I do is only wait in false hope, that one day, he’ll give me his.

I see my tummy, and I see a place where I want his baby to be. 

I see his face, and I know it’s the one I want to wake up against. 

I see his arms, delicate, and I know they’re the ones I want to hold.

I see his eyes. I see he doesn't care. But behind the screen that he calls his retina, I think I see his true self. A self, that would want to want me, later maybe. 

And with this hope, I carry on, shedding tears and blood, and maybe some day, it will all come back to me.

The tears will be my struggle, and the blood will be my sacrifice. And they will have more value than everything else out together,  because they will get me him, and he will get me happiness, and I will get his blitheness, and merriment.

My tears will count. My blood will have value. 

He is my favourite story book, and I will read him till the end.

You called me...

You called me precocious and suddenly, that was my favourite adjective to describe myself. I stripped off the filthy layers of compliments like ‘beautiful’, ‘gorgeous’, ‘lovely’ that soiled my ashen skin. I was not enclosed in the outline of my physical being and my mind hovered beyond captivity. 

You told me that your favourite word was ‘galaxies’ because they reminded you of chaos and I swear to god you were a cluster of so many. Surrounded by a halo of stars, residing in globular clusters, you were a site for star formation and sometimes I think, I was reborn in your spirals. 

I taught you to hold my hand in one hand and you learnt to hold my heart in the other and squeeze it so hard that it felt like the holocaust was happening inside me. Killing of the tiny masses inside me and gassing the chambers of my lungs felt like routine. 

When you brushed your lips against mine it felt like the demetor’s kiss that was awarded to the escapists from Azkaban but what you didn’t realize was that I was only escaping from the demons that had habituated to my body. 

You told me that  because of the engravings on my skin there wasn’t any skin left to love, that the mahogany colour of my scars was ugly but my love, that was the skin that needed loving.
When you painted my ribs a pale blue-black, they almost looked like van Gogh’s Starry Night and I swear I tried to force out words from my tiny voice box but it felt like my tongue had forgotten to roll itself in a way where I could pronounce a word that didn’t sound like your name. 

Each time I looked into your eyes I could see a fire blazing in them. It was only later that I realized that your eyes only mirrored the fire that was ignited in mine.
When you left,

I stopped holding hands because then in my mind, human skin was equivalent to lava. I vomited a little inside whenever I read the word galaxy. Galaxies took form when there was a deadly explosion. The word reminded you of chaos and it reminded me of collision. I didn’t call myself precocious anymore. I wrote ‘beautiful’, ‘gorgeous’ and ‘lovely’ on my arms and chest in black ink to remind myself every morning I woke up that I was restricted to superficiality. I gathered the chunks of my skin I’d scraped off to make myself capable of loving you and stuck them back together to make myself capable of loving me. 

~ I should rename my blog to pointless... because that is what it really is.. anyways..... ciao ~

Dear Heart

Dear heart please stop breaking
please don't think about the one who caused all this aching
I know I am the one who placed him there
But he was not true and I cannot share
When I gave him my heart he promised the world
But that promise he shared with even another girl....

Relapse

"You're in my veins and I cannot get you out."

It's not that I dont love, It's that I do...

"it’s not that i don’t love you.
it’s the sound i heard when i was 9 and my mom slammed the front door so hard behind her i swear to god it shook the whole house. for the rest of the years, i watched my father break his teeth on vodka bottles. i think he stopped breathing when she left. i think part of him died. i think she took his heart with her when she walked out. his chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.
it’s not that i don’t love you. it’s all the blood in the sink.
it’s the night that my dad spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if i was going to be okay, after the boy i loved, didn’t love me anymore. it’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. so much blood.
it’s not that i don’t love you. it’s the time that i had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. i swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks.
i think when you love someone, it never really goes away. it’s not that i don’t love you. it’s the six weeks we had a substitute in english because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. when she came back she was smiling. but her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. and sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. nothing ever goes back to how it was. i got an a in english that year. i think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.
it’s not that i don’t love you.
it’s that i do."

Have you?

Have you ever felt

A compelling urge
To hug somebody?
To just wrap your arms around them
And never let go?
You just want to drop everything
And hug that person,
Touch them,
Embrace them.
You just want to be near them.
Forever.
No talking.
Just hugging.
Because you seem to say more,
Have deeper discussions,
When you’re in each other’s arms
Then when conversing aloud.
That’s the kind of bond
I want to have with someone
Some day.
Because the simplest of things
Speak louder
Than any words
Ever will.

New Start :)

Picture Credit : Google Images

We all hurt
we have all tasted the dirt
We have all felt pain
No matter how little its all the same
Its not a competition
Its no ones ambition
Don't be upset because I have a sadder story
I don't do it for the glory
Did I forget to mention
its not about the attention
We need others to care
Not to compare
people need to feel
Before anyone will heal
Your pain is just the same as mine
You will understand in time
the darkness will clear
until then I will always be here
To hold your hand in the dark
To show you how to find your spark
believe in your heart
Then begin a new start

Self Harm #1

Some call it crazy
Some say it's sick
But I think it's freedom
The pain is fierce but quick
Some say that it's a sin
Just a little too risqué
But it helps release the pain
That I go through every day
The blade is sharp and cold
As it runs across my skin
Leaving me to ponder
How deep I cut in
The chill running  down my spine
Makes me feel at ease
I no longer feel like a coward
Fucking up with every breath I breathe
But some days I want to stop
Feeling like everything's wrong
Trying to let go of the blade
Sometimes I can but not for long
It;s like I'm addicted to the pain
The feeling taking refuge in my veins
Leaving me feeling confused and alone
Wiping at the tears that seem to be stained
Burned into my skin forever
Becoming a part that I cannot escape
Sometimes I just want to hurt all over
To scream at the top of my lungs 'til they break
I want to escape from my memories
They're taking over me
Why can't I just rest?
Why can't they let me be?
 
I just want to be free.

 ~ Just another old one ~ :)

FYI : I used to self harm, but now I'm clean since 1 year :) yay!! :) 

P.S. I will be posting a lot poems and posts based on self harm and depression. Stay tuned to check them :) Also don't forget to share and subscribe to by blog. 

Thanks! I hope you have a great day :) or well, night :p

P.S.S. If anyone of you ever want to talk regarding self harm or depression, I'm always here :) Feel free to contact me at iammissanonymous101@gmail.com , I will always reply :) 

Take Care

Be Strong

Much Love & XOXO

Dia :)

Poets never cry...

poets never cry
their hearts are never broken
not without the written words
preferable to spoken

dreamers never sleep
they never close their eyes
their nights consist of fantasy
and hushful lullabies
 
artists never speak
their creations do it for them
if they had nothing to say
you'd probably ignore them
 
writers never read
unless they can be tempted
familiar is a danger zone
from which they were exempted
 
poets never die
in fact, they live forever
their words go on though they be gone
(at least, that's their endeavor)
 
poets never lie
it's called poetic license
yadda, yadda, blah, blah, blah
it doesn't even have to make sense
 
poets never cry
i bet you never met one
for if they cried for you
you never will forget one...
 
and if they make you cry
you'll point and say... "i want that one"

Some things are better left unsaid...

"Three years later, a new girl sits cross-legged on your bed. She tastes like a different flavor of bubblegum than you are used to. She opens up a book that you had to read in high school, and a folded picture of us falls out of chapter three. Now there are two unfinished stories resting in her lap. Inevitably, she asks, and you tell her. You say: I dated her a while back. You don’t say: Sometimes, when I’m holding you, I imagine the smell of her vanilla perfume. You say: She was younger than me. You don’t say: The sixteen summers in her bones warmed the eighteen winters my skin had weathered. You say: It’s nothing now. You don’t say: But it was everything then."

 —Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid

~ Auriel H. ~