Dear Diana

Living in pain for long,

should make you numb; or stronger,

for you aren’t dead. But it doesn’t. It didn’t; I’m

split into two, living in two parallels. Where

Jekyll and Hyde hate each other, and

tumble in the contradiction of how I

want to live and die at the same time.

And the peaceful blue of the sky

is forever a lie; for I

fail at lying or deceiving everyone, including

myself that things

would be okay.

 

© That Girl in the Fray, 2019.  All rights reserved.

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No Title

Somedays I want to fold into myself, like a thin piece of paper.

One fold.

Two folds.

Three folds.

Four folds.

I want to occupy the minimum space I can.

Just bundle up in a corner

and hope to not exist.

Not die, no. Not that at all.

I just want to disappear from the universe,

from the surface of the planet,

from the mind and memory of every human being.

Just not be there, altogether.

Because that is what I think it will take to not feel the pain I hold within the crevices of my twisted soul.

What is the threshold of misery?

How much pain can a heart bear?

It’s something I never wondered,

but now I think I know.

Please take away all the happy couples

Clarification:

Let me start by making this clear,

I’m not anti social, nor am I a recluse

Well, okay maybe a recluse,

an introvert clothed in the desires of an extrovert,

a living, breathing, walking conundrum

 

But somehow it makes me vomit these days

when happy couples are shoved into my face

 

when I’m on the train half dead on way to class at 8am

and they sit there leaning on each other with their hands intertwined

displaying affection publicly on the Purple Line

while the guy I like takes 4-6 business days to reply

 

when I’m at the hospital getting treated for a friction burn

no, no, not from what you think

there were no carpets involved, no making out against the kitchen sink

but because I’m clumsy and fell off my bike

and just lay in the dirt after I gave up on life

 

So, when I’m at the hospital getting treated for a friction burn

while I wait, planning my sole vacation

to try a little stereotypical soul searching in a third world nation

to regain the balance I lost after the last guy ruined my bed

and eventually fucked up my head

and they sit there, laughing, joking, annoying

with no care in the world, no stinging pain, like life is all fun

while I try to calm myself by fantasizing about watching my ex’s car burn

and failing because he doesn’t own one in this city.

 

 

Let’s send them into a void, unto a parallel universe

And keep the ones who can’t get it right

because all I want to see is misery

and arguments and fights

all that I want to affirm is that it’s not just me,

it’s everyone,

it’s not just me, it was him,

it’s not just me, everyone has difficulty navigating the 21st century dating waters

it’s not just me, it’s everyone in hiding in every quarter

 

Saying, oh I’m done with this,

while lying through my teeth,

hoping I’ll be swooped up unexpectedly

not literally though, that would be kidnapping,

but the metaphorical kind

from the ye old days of poetry and Austen novels

 

till then, I sit here in my vacant sphere

counting all the irritating happy couples full of cheer

betting on when they will break up, hoping I get to see them fail

All the while secretly wishing I’ll be one half someday

 

© That Girl in the Fray, 2019.  All rights reserved.

 

 

 

The Land of Eternal Summer: Berlin Wall

I sit here at 1:39am, a little spooked but mostly amazed at how it’s possible for me to do this: to sit past midnight in front of a piece of history that has seen blood and guns and metal.

But it has also seen love. Or the possibility of it. Or the vaguest hope of it. The faintest illusion of it.

I stop walking to confirm that the sound in this deserted park is the echo of my footsteps. And it is.

The wall looks weathered than before. And if I’m not punished to say it, uglier than before. Because it was what I was staring at when I was thinking of things I don’t want to think about again. Of how I let myself be so vulnerable in that moment. How I was open and true and all my colours were spread apart. How open I was to allow my soul to be seen. Which is why I got hurt.

The sky is murky. Dirty. Barely a few stars are visible in the grey. Yet I’m happy I came back here. I can’t let them cut my hair again.

© That Girl in the Fray, 2019.  All rights reserved.

A Tribute to this City

If I write about this city, would it be stealing?

Because it would be like an echo of what I exactly see

like the souls entrenched in the midst of poetry

Yes, I created a few words that have no meaning whatsoever to sound smart

To sound like I have my shit together

I look at the carpet of hair in my lone apartment and wonder to myself, how the hell am I not bald

in a city where every fifth tinder suggestion is a boy from my class

in a city as unique as air con in January

all this time wondering who the hell is Benedit Ryan whose wifi signal is stronger than my soul

But once these moments pass,

where I’m full of loneliness and self doubt

where the monsters in my head have a chokehold over me,

I begin to realise just how full of love I am, the love I’m capable of

for bricks and glass and paint and cement and steel

for cobwebs and green fields and purposefully painted graffiti

for the courage to open your heart to strangers

for heartbreaks in the midst of storms

for fleeting fireworks and fragile fences

and I finally have the courage to let him go,

like I let go of the breath I’ve been holding for so long

and I feel like myself again

and it doesn’t matter to me anymore that things fall apart

it doesn’t matter that some moments feel like sleeping in a warzone,

or that he has someone new on his arm now, who he parades around,

someone out of a midsummer night’s dream,

someone who looks and talks to the stars like me,

 

And I owe all of it to this city.

 

© That Girl in the Fray, 2019.  All rights reserved.

 

 

 

 

Circle

White walls, white buildings, white clouds, white sky

the familiar tune a stranger whistles passing by

through the twists and turns of this city that I know like the back of my hand,

as I rebuild on the edge of the water the castles of sweat and sand

right after the water has ruined it,

our burden as humans to build and watch it be destroyed

only to build it again and watch it fall.

 

© That Girl in the Fray, 2019.  All rights reserved.

 

 

 

Don’t Let My Memories Lie

Let me unravel you, inch by inch, piece by piece. I’ll do it without a hint of my fingers, without a slip of my tongue.

For it is an illusion, the you that I think you are.

Let me let go of the essence of you that I carry around, the you I want to see. The you I think I see. For you’re too precious to be distorted by my notions.

Let’s start at the white empty space; you command it. You can paint it in all the colours you want. You can burn it if you like, I give you that authority. It is yours, as am I of now.

All I want you to be, all I need you to be, all I demand you to be, is just be. That is all that I will ever desire after this point.

That’s how it all started, and if it has to end, if it will end, I won’t let it be a dream. I won’t let it be an idea of an idea, the moonshine at night or the stars that lie.

As I breathe the air of you, as I caress the hidden corners of you, I emboss it in my memory. And I don’t want it to be a lie.

 

Midnight

the world is black and variants of white,

with the immensity of the immense silence gulping,

chewing, swallowing and then spitting out

echos, carried on for miles along,

confusing the passerby about where the music is playing.

I’m just a hollow sentience in this soiree,

gnawing, scratching and bruising

every surface my toes touch.

I’m atop the highest tower, but I forgot why.

Did I climb up to stare at the lights,

that look like a million burning suns

almost choking on the immense night?

Or did I come here to see how long before

the red in me is engulfed by the velvet darkness,

right below me, with its soothing siren song?

Why is there an ache where my heart resided?

Why does it feel like a war was recently fought?

Is this why I feel so empty?

Is this why I’m weightless?

Can I fly if I jump?

Will it hurt if I fall?

 

© That Girl in the Fray, 2019.  All rights reserved.

Love and Hate- Chapter 1

T. checked her wrist watch and was on the verge of a panic attack. Her classes at the university were about to begin in 30 minutes and she was still left with a shitload of drafting for her boss at the law firm. The offices were completely deserted at this hour before 8am and except the watchman, a single soul was not present at the office. This was her favourite time of the day, as the evenings were full of grumpy middle age men snorting and snoring or cribbing, whatever pleased their ego.

T typed as fast as her fingers allowed, trying not to let the panic freeze her brain as it usually did. It took her another 15 minutes to proofread the petition she had been working on, set her boss’ schedule, print his cases for the day and leave it at his desk, while briefing his clerk about the same, whom she met in the hallway while sprinting to her outdated Volkswagen. She had been working at the legal offices for almost a year now, although the anxiety of rushing to her early morning classes remained the same.

She prayed for no traffic blocks, speeding the entire way to the university, then sprinting up three flights of stairs, coughing furiously when she reached the top. She thought to herself how badly she needed to join a gym and cut down on her daily dose of cheese burgers at her college canteen. She almost skidded and hit her Jurisprudence Professor on the way, narrowly avoiding it and stood at the closed doors of her classroom for Constitution. She checked her watch; it was past 8:30am and she knew being allowed into the classroom was a miracle. Which is why she wasn’t allowed to enter, in addition to the dirty look shot at her by Mrs. S.

She slumped her way to the library, repenting another early class she had missed, the 3rd time this week. She was about to stow her bag in the locker when a text from A. buzzed her phone.

“Coffee.” It said.

“How did you know I missed class again?!” T texted back, picking up her bag and walking towards the college grounds.

“You rushed past me 10 minutes ago. I didn’t even bother going.”

“Why didn’t you stop me?!”

“Like you would have listened.”

T smiled despite of herself and walked into the canteen. She spotted A sitting at their usual spot, right next to the glass window that overlooked the overgrown college garden and broken fountain. She was reading a novel, bending its cover with one hand and sipping machine coffee with the other. The canteen was full of students stuffing breakfast or working on their overdue projects.

T threw her bag at A’s face and glared at her.

“What??!” A screamed back at T, although she was unable to control her laughter. “I felt you needed the exercise.”

“Thanks.” T croaked back.

“Shitty coffee?”

“Why not.” A walked over to the counter and got T a cup.

“This job at the law firm is killing me.” T took a long swing of the too hot coffee, letting it burn her throat.

“Mrs S is going to kill you if your job doesn’t. This is the 3rd time this week you missed her class.” A got back to her book. She had the rare ability to carry on a conversation while reading.

“I know. I’ll talk to her. The murder trial is today. I had to finish proof reading the written statement from last week.”

“You should draft one from Mrs S’ side for when she is on a murder trial for killing you. There’s a chance she won’t fail you in her assessment, like she’s planning to.” A crumpled her empty paper cup with one hand and shot it across the room into the bin. She did not miss.

“And why are you not in your class?”

“Mrs F. is on maternity leave.”

“Again?”

“Yes, judgy. Didn’t know she needed your stamp of approval to have her 3rd child.” A rolled her eyes.

“Fine. What are we reading this week?”

“The Fountainhead.” A placed her yellow half torn copy on the table for her friend to see.

“Again?”

“Didn’t know I needed your stamp of approval for my reading choices. I’ll be careful next time, your highness.”

T shook her head. She pulled out a copy of her Intellectual Property assignment and began skimming the pages.

“I’ve got news.” A began. She tucked her book in her bag and folded her arms, her face expressionless.

“You’re scaring me, A.”

“My father’s boss, Mr X. Do you remember meeting him at my parent’s 25th Anniversary last month?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember the son he mentioned? The one who lives in New Jersey? Well, he’s visiting here next week, with a couple of his friends or workmates or something. They’re closing a deal on some acquisition of some kind, the details went over my head when dad explained it to me on the phone last night.”

“That doesn’t seem too bad.”

“He wants me to take him out, show him the city.” She frowned.

“And that’s a problem, because?”

“Because it’s awkward. And weird. And I don’t want to do it alone. Can you pretty please help me out?” A put on her best puppy dog face.

“As long as it doesn’t involve late nights. You know how paranoid my mother gets and I don’t want to get into another fight with her.”

“Please T. Help me out. You can stay at my flat at night when we plan that. I’ll talk to your mother, you know she loves me.”

“That’s because she thinks you’re some sort of good influence on me. Ugh. If only she knew.”

“Whatever it is, I can’t plan anything if you’re not on board. Could you please help me out? This is our last year together, we need to be making memories we can tell our kids about. I promise it’ll be fun.”

“Okay fine. You’re going to get me out of this thing with Mrs S. I don’t really get why everyone who hates me is so much in love with you.”

“T, your mother doesn’t hate you.”

“If you only knew.”

© That Girl in the Fray, 2019.  All rights reserved.

Dear World

Somehow sometimes in the briskly fleeting innocence of the moon, right before it sets, the world is utterly perfect. The silence is peaceful, the air still. The sun is breaking in the opposite corner, ready to move on. At moments like these, the dreams of yesterday, all the pain and brokenness seem forgotten. Just for a moment. Just for a second. And then, in a blink, all the magic is gone and all that left is a memory. A touch. A kiss. A stillness in the chaos.

In a parallel universe, I’d like to believe, this moment lives on forever. This magical moment is broken into almost infinite pieces, and you are allowed to jump from one frame to another. And as soon as it ends, it begins again. The perfect groundhog hour of serenity. And nothing ever dies. No hearts ever break. No pain is ever felt. The monotone of the hour is the nirvana. The sky is forever a war between the deepest blue and the sweetest purple.

In that hour, I’m too scared to touch anything around me. For I am impure. I am vile. I am filth. I’m the only thing present that makes this scene less that perfect. Just that thought of myself polluting this purity nauseates me. I am the grey scum in this war of the gods of light. That is when I decide to scrub myself until I am clean again. Scrub myself until I bleed.

As I step into the river, the coldness wafts over me, like its arms is where I belong. And it feels like I’m back home. The fog is so thick, I can hardly breathe. But somehow, this suffocation feels like a penance necessary. So I decide to walk deeper and deeper into the stream. Beyond the rocks that pierce my feet and colour the water crimson. Beyond the moss on the riverbed, that makes me slip and lose the sight of the sky. Beyond the last breath in my lungs, when I decide to let go and let the water heal my bare body. Beyond my last thought when all is peaceful again.

© That Girl in the Fray, 2018.  All rights reserved.