I Plucked You Like A Rose

Change, Strange.

being a human is hard when you are surrounded with inhumanity.

One day

One day someone is going to love this When I'm in the kitchen on a Friday night Smiling for the first time in weeks Bare feet dancing to the Mamma Mia soundtrack Doing dishes by hand because The machine broke and I'd rather suffer Than call someone to fix it Singing along until I remember the window is open And my voice is broken

One day someone is going to love this The way I write bedtime stories to myself In which I am the hero or At least someone who is seen So that when I finally dream I feel like I am an actor And not just the screen

One day someone is going to love this The pile of books on my nightstand Post-its marking my favorite pages The covers collect dust from time to time But my refusal to move them is final You never know when you might need them

One day someone is going to love this The bruises all over my legs My mind doesn't always see doors or tables through its daydreams 

One day someone is going to love this They're going to fall for all that I am Not just the parts I put on for show They're going to see everything And then choose to stay

One day someone is going to love this And I won't settle for anything less

Sometimes I feel like my dreams are connected to something. I have no idea how and why. Everyday I see a new visuals. As if I am flipping the page without reading that chapter well. It is weird how I am attracted to things. All those people's perception about things doesn't bother me at all. Souls, spirits, ghosts, witches, demon, devils, angels, god, everything means same to me. Being a child, I loved to talk alone. I could always feel someone's presence around me. I used to talk addressing them soul and witch and that never made me fearful, not even once. I am not scared of these thoughts, these feelings which are considered strange by normal people. That sword I saw in my dream with something engraved on it, I couldn't forget it. I am always a new character in my dream but I've never been hurt there. I dreamt of water for few days. I was going to die in flood. Next time, I saw myself swimming like a mermaid in underwater town. Years ago I dreamt about aliean. An aliean who always looked for me and who promised to take me someday. It was so real that I didn't go outside of home for few days. And after few months I stopped seeing that dream and I am always feeling like I am not human. Two days ago, I touched fire and I could feel it. I could read what fire was trying to tell me. Even if it is subconscious and just a random thought, how could that feel so intense to me. Fire, Water and Soil is so connected to me. It feels like I am a tree whose roots are all wide spread everywhere in the universe. My beliefs are unacceptable. I feel like people take science as a weapon and war is coming soon. Science isn't helping us to evolve. Everyday thousands of life get deceased and it's not because of natural calamities, it is because of humans. This makes me question whether I am a human or not. I can read animals. I don't know if it is accurate or not however something is trying to communicate with me. It feels unreal. I feel unreal.

fall for me.

Whole New World

When Celine in before sunrise said, “I like to feel his eyes on me when I look away.”

When Praveen Shakir said, “sabse nazar bacha ke wo mujhe kuch aise dekhta, ek dafa toh ruk gai gardish-e-mah-o-sal bhi.”

And Jaun Elia said, “Jab uska deedar hota hai, dil ko sukoon milta hai, Aankhon me uski tasveer sajti hai, yaadon ka ghar ban jata hai”

And Faiz Ahmed Faiz said, “teri surat se hai aalam me baharo ko sabaat, teri aankhon k siwa dunia me rkha kya hai”

my heart, buried in the woods of anguish and forlorn. the restless game, should i keep it in or let go? in the labyrinth of tears i lost the battle. my mind, weeps in solitude impotent of surviving. blabbering to stars and staring into space. my body, covered in blood of my assassinated soul. cuts and bruises bleeding wounds what keeps me alive? a speck of hope.

~august/fictionflaws

Claudia Rankine, Citizen