On His Day And Mine

I don't wannna see you stop writingggg!!❤️❤️❤️

i always enjoy seeing your posts on my feed!

keep upp! you're doing great! actually, you're doing amazing. just keep up!🌹

here, huggy puggy.

oh my god thanks so much for this!! so grateful for the fact that you like reading my silly little lines. i promise i won’t stop writing but just really need sometime. havent been doing great mentally, iykyk. but will definitely try to get back to shitposting my stuff here!!

Can I please be added to your taglist?🥺

heyyy star!! yes for sure<3333

i have so many files in my notes app that mention/are based on summer. its really hard to bid something goodbye that was never meant to stay long when you live around people and not with them. i am stuck within a corner of myself that i have created by consuming deeply irreligious media which never bothers the ones i live around. i don’t know why i am writing this because this isn’t making sense but it’s supposed to. sun today here isn’t shinning and all the birds depart from the sky by 4:30 pm. the verandah echoes emptiness even though we have just hung a new swing, knowing we will hardly sit on it anymore. we tiptoe around tragedies every other moment but in this house we never speak of the real. i need to read books and consume mitski more. the gap between those parked cars is making me realize how much i crave for a tightly packed space with my neighbours. god is not around because i was dreaming of calm waters this morning as i woke up with a jolt and my body didn’t shiver. the days will grow darker tomorrow but today is almost over and nobody seems to acknowledge how much they miss it.

gurl 😳😳 im going 💕💕💕💕 sending you a packet full of warm hugs as we speak<3

Sometimes I scroll through this silly little app and look at what my mutuals write and I am just. I am floored. The god damn talent you all have with words. And you share that talent with the world. For free. Like. Incredible.

One poem that’s all i read of yours ….” Home wrecker “

how-

is-

how is it possible someone writes so damn awesome

hands down just ugh *chef kisses*

so good

i'm so glad u liked it <333

transcript and tag list under the cut:

Cacophonies of July

July has swept in like an unwanted stroke in a painting/ overshadowing the joys of June,/ breaking the eggshells on the kitchen counter into halves./ He wishes he had a bowl nearby to assemble the golden yolks./ The air is unbecoming, he cannot sense/ the rich yellow fibers in his mouth anymore.// Time is running on its course again,/ leaving him no choice but to breathe in the tram./ the dazzling sun is playing hide and seek./ The ground is demanding to be wet./ In the time of raging prickling sun,/ the ground is demanding to be wet.// He is turning over in between crimson sheets,/ a breath of fresh air and humidity, tepid skin./ The voices outside are muffling from siren roars/ as once again children step outside with/ a books-laden shoulders,/ not rainbow imprinted palms.// "I miss breathing in June. I will pine away July”,// The boy mumbles gazing hastily over the congested sink,// demanding repatriation in his anna’s house./ He is seeking patience in cowardice./ There's a little left for August’s arrival,/ he must seek patience in cowardice.

tag list:

@it-is-what-it-it-iss @floralbeast @kajukatliontop @nochampagneonlyproblems @riskanothergoodbye13 @hoeliterature @mydogisgaytoo @lilhappylilsad @rottensummerlove @ruru-is-insane @a-moonlit-poet

shoot an ask if you want to be added or removed. thanks so much for reading. <3

transcript and taglist under the cut-

a mother’s defying, a mother’s demise.

most days,/ he doesn't swim in his grief. he sleeps on it,/ only to wake up with misery underneath him,/ hugging his torso, grasping his neck./ he says, clenching his hands to the bark of the neem tree,/ "my mother has left me in the backyard to sleep with no place to bury her"/ so, he is carrying her around on his tongue/ between the words he swallows and/ the food he spits out.// on the road are children throwing rocks at trains,/ a man hiding his guilt from the view, not letting it drift away/ as he cups his hands to light a cigarette./ holstering himself to the kitchen window, / the boy longs for the freedom of the man./ a rush of noise, he longs to scream:/ an act of expressing where he needn't pick a language.// her bed is made before he calls it a night./ he finds the same next day at 7./ most days,/ it feels as if she hasn't abandoned the walls./ the water in the taps still runs its course through the right drain./ it's as if she intended for him to suffocate in the mundane.// so, he tugs under her quilt she left to dry in the backyard/ the boy sleeps with the sound of crickets/ canceling the occasional unrest from the train tracks,/ canceling the occasional unrest from her mother's dreams.

tag list:

@ruins-of-heart @some-broken-words @rottensummerlove @floralbeast @kajukatliontop @nochampagneonlyproblems @riskanothergoodbye13 @hoeliterature @it-is-what-it-it-iss @mydogisgaytoo @lilhappylilsad (still not working????????)

transcript: hands to my dreary dreams.

i have been shedding skins since last August. consider me an onion, your favourite vegetable. don’t put me in water. i need to shed your tears.// the dreams are dreary like cold milk or uncooked soup. the tepid air in the kitchen, under the sheets disgorges a burnt out fire, never a homely warmth. but in this one bedroom kitchen apartment, they heap incompleteness yet they are consumed like your favourite soup.// i want you to reach into my throat, past the lips that have never been swayed. reach out to the words i hoard, my secret stash, the ones that even eyes fail to convey.// reach out to me and i will meet you halfway in my sleep. all i do now is dream. the wishful thinking is not about staying still but moving quietly in my sleep. and letting the grass strike my face as i bend my limbs to mould into the tire. i am reaching out to every six year-old who played with me but i have replaced my body with a tall child.// i want to stand still, drive a knife to make myself two. a daughter, now let me be two cells too. mitosis: i want to get doubled, not divided into halves like my father.// untangle my earphones. are you watering my plants? the sun will incinerate their phantom vibrants for even clouds deceive when salt of the earth doesn’t hit the mark.// i have buried my grief in my mother’s lap. now, she has ceased to exist. meet me halfway in her shawl. i will wrap my fingers around yours. and in time, my windows will crawl back to our home, their edges engraved with her shawl.

tag list under the cut (ask to be added or removed):

@ruins-of-heart @a-moonlit-poet @rottensummerlove @ch3rryblo55oms @nochampagneonlyproblems @champagne-rush @mydogisgaytoo @floralbeast @it-is-what-it-it-iss @lilhappylilsad @hoeliterature @kajukatliontop