I want to write something consummate. Intense. Profound.
I want to write something as deep as the sea and as blue as the ocean;
An ocean of whirling and untamed emotions.
Of love and how it beautifully hurts
Of lust,forbidden pleasures and stolen thrusts
Of trust and the knives that painfully stick out on its back
Of bliss and how it withers like a rose, wasting into poignancy.
Of kindness and the ridiculously thin line between it and hate.
Of how that hatred stemmed from what was once an unmistakable undeniable love.
A love that is now but a myth,
A mere story dried on her lips, white with the ghostly memories,
Cracked from how hard she kissed,
And how she heaved, heavily,with her hands clenched,
And how she breathed and breathed till she couldn’t breathe any more.
His love was toxic-
Yet he was her drug, her bane and her remedy.
I want to write of darkness and expose it to the light.
Oh, how I detest and loathe darkness!
I sleep in an awfully creaky bed, but that is okay.
But I can never sleep with the light out – darkness is not invited into my bed.
But when I shut my eyes to sleep, its there, waiting on the other side.
A darkness so pitch and so wicked it blinds me
And consumes my dreams, dissipating them into frightful shadows.
Dreams which are supposed to be,
Meant to be, illuminated and bright.
Bright as a summer’s day,
Exuding brilliance and radiance
Shining upon my plans and ambitions
Upon my path
And upon the truths of life
Leading me to my future.
A future that is disturbingly uncertain and unknown because there is a force-
A force greater than the future and larger than life itself
Greater than my plans and my dreams and my ambitions.
A force responsible for all things, good and evil
A force that men do not and can never understand.
But you see, men fear what they did not create or invent
What they cannot control or manipulate.
What they cannot and can never understand.
And so men stand in awe of this force,
with questions lurking at the back of their minds,
But Mother calls this force God
And she staunchly and so firmly believes in Him
She knows and recites his teachings by heart.
I trust my mother because she is my mother.
And so I believe in her God because she taught me,
like she was taught by her mother,
who was taught by her mother
and her mother by her mother before –
That He is to be revered;
He is who He is!
I want to write about myself
To transform myself into words,
to fit into each syllable
So I can be in touch with my feelings
And explore the depths of my thoughts and my mind.
Then I can paint a picture with my words, in fifty shades –
In the blues that Gabriel, Christian and Johnny stained my life with –
I should not have trusted the innocence in their names
And I thought Stephanie would be different;
she was my kind of weird and funny
But she too,
Had something to do with the crimson red painted across my heart –
In different shades of
The anger and the rage,
The shame and the pain,
The danger and the love.
Then I can paint
With the green that was yellowed by my lust,
supervened by intoxicated and rash decisions
The grey that hovers, clouding and clogging my heart with bittersweet memories
The grey that is glam and dark, a reminder – an indication of the storms that have been,
And those that will be.
And when it pours,
Oh, I will reign.