Letters and Letters · Letters to self · Weekend Coffee Share

Letters to Vi

Dear Vi,

You’ve wanted that name since forever. You always wanted an alias, a twin who would know just what you feel and who would just know what to do. You’ve been sick. Your voice is all dried up and your throat hurts. But every morning, you wake up to face the mighty sun and work for a project that you thought would work. It isn’t working that well. Maybe you aren’t working that well. Maybe you need a breather. Maybe you need…. you.

I do not understand the need of approval you have. Why do you need to be approved? You are not a visa application form. And the fact that you think too much. About your flaws, about your future, about failures and lost opportunities. You spent the whole evening being sick of all those stuffs on your head. You could have just slept because it’s the weekend but you didn’t even do that. You cleaned instead. What kind of person plays with a can of pest killer and Mr. Muscles when they are sick and hungry? How stupid are you? You didn’t even get to drink tea today. Or meet your cousins and grandparents. I think you should be awarded for the stupidest decision maker. Because that’s all you did today. You made stupid decisions.

I am very angry at you. For being sick and for being the complicated bitch you are. You push yourself a lot harder than you should sometimes. And there are days you don’t even care. Why do you have to be the queen of extremes? Why can’t you just celebrate your victories before you kick yourself a thousand times for your failures? Why can’t you just stop for a while? Why are you scared all the time?

And I am sorry for being harsh. I need you to know that as pathetic as it might seem, you should still write to yourself. You are all you’ve got. You don’t need anybody’s stamp of approval but yours. You need to be healthy first. You need to not go out on the dust for a day. You need to stay home and read. Leave all your worries for a day or two. Things will work out. I promise they will. I am sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I promise to take care of you. Let’s start with a cup of tea!

Truly yours,

Your future self.

daily prompt

Portions of Blessings

I count books as blessings in the portions of my bad days to realize that good stories are made up of tears and hardships. Sometimes, I take them in fractions: one failure at a time. Most of the times, I prefer drowning in them, until I forget the way up. So I count the books again. I smell the pages of ink and soul where the writer poured out her dementors and made them go away with chocolates. I talk with people who know how my breathing breaks while crying. I count them as blessings too in the portions of my bad days to realize that I am understood even when I am not understandable.

 

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via Daily Prompt: Portion

Poems

Barely a whisper

I was barely a whisper today,

in a world full of noise

My hiccups were more audible

than my voice.

 

I was barely a whisper today,

or was I always one?

The mirror image who stares at me

is she mimicking someone?

 

I was barely a whisper today,

and yet I felt so loud

Absurd dreams of reality

bundled with grayish cloud.

 

I was barely a whisper today,

tomorrow will be the same

Words refuse to speak out

I hope,

Writing them down isn’t lame.

 

 

 

 

Letters and Letters · Poems

How does it feel?

Dear Junk E-mail,

How does it feel to be a Junk?

Dejected in some sidebar,

Looking up at the inbox full of “important” e-mails

Do you feel out of place too?

Maybe you were not meant to be there,

Maybe it was a mistake,

You have no way to correct it, do you?

So you accept your fall,

You sit there in the sidebar,

Stare at them typing away the replies,

Letters of love and hate, pass by you

And smile

With pity hanging

Into the end of their J’s, g’s, S’s and O’s

They are good letters,

Full of feelings and emotions,

Words full of rage, devotion,

You like them

You want to be them

You will never be them and you know it.

 

How does it feel to end up in a trash can full of other junks?

They are scared as you are.

They fear that little bin button,

A click and they will be gone

Nobody will miss them

Nobody will try to recover them.

How does it feel to know that there is nobody by your side?

To tell you that it is okay to be a Junk,

That you are important.

You will never notice them even if you tried

Because you know that, you are not important,

You will never be.

Knowledge kills you everyday

Hope still keeps you alive

And sometimes,

You find your way through servers

Ending up in the Inbox,

Shouting out loud your abilities, your worth, your words

Just to be frowned at and spammed.

 

How does it feel, dear Junk Email?

To be not worth a dime to the person you are sent to,

To be anonymous in the world full of names

Visibly invisible in the crowded shroud of letters.

How does it feel?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poems

Just Breathe

So

you just breathe,

when nothing makes sense

you tell yourself

“Ein Moment bitte”

and forget your world

the darkness will fade

you breathe.

So

you close your eyes

and hibernate

collapse inside walls

insecurity hugs you tight

you close your eyes

you breathe.

So

you just breathe

save your heart

from catapults of pain

das macht nichts

it doesn’t matter

entropies were meant

to scatter

your life around

So

you just breathe.

 

 

via Daily Prompt: Catapult

Poems

Because.

Because we are selfish bitches,

With attitude problems so huge,

it hurts.

Because we live like queens

Fighting with dragons in the dungeons

Where we breathe

in the fires of sexism and prejudice.

And still survive the toxicity

Because we are toxic.

 

We absorb hate like blotting papers.

In crowded buses, we stare into the very soul

Of molesters, of seemingly kind strangers

Who poke and pull into the dresses we wear.

Sometimes we avoid getting out of the house,

Staying in until the hate disappears,

Sunshine appears,

We try to be the outdated versions of ourselves,

Where innocence ruled.

We absorb love too, like blotting papers.

Because we are selfish bitches,

We are scared of commitments,

We are scared of looking

into dreamy eyes for too long,

Because we know, how it could end,

Because we THINK.

Because we have brains with neurons

That somehow connects with our souls

Therefore, we vomit “no” everywhere

In the plates of expectations

and bowls of tradition

Because our schedules are filled

With self-centered dreams.

 

We are selfish bitches,

Guarding our kind with Valerian swords

Easing away the restlessness.

We are our own versions of Jane Eyre

Poor, obscure, plain and little

We are our own Patronuses

With as much as soul and heart as you do.

There aren’t any cages built for us,

There never will be.