I. 

Surrounded by rushing cars

head lights and stop lights

In the back of a car, almost exactly like my ex’s with its red leather interior

but feeling a lot less at ease

I sat

and held myself as compactly as possible, as quiet, as transparent

I sat

in the company of

family-men-brothers

they sat

comfortably, relaxed and had their loud phone conversations

and we drove

and drove

’til a car subtly came in the way

not enough to make my heart drop

just enough to make me flinch

and in my mind we had continued driving

but we didn't

and

the manliness, the masculinity

it emerged

trying to put up a fight

rolling down the windows

grabbing onto anything to be thrown out

-an empty water bottle-

and now, I was no longer at ease at all

the man apologised

but “it” would not simmer down

I gasped, I murmured then spoke

don’t/stop/no- a variation of that

and now, I was afraid

the car filled with screams and words

ripping into me;

for intervening

for having the audacity to think, that I- could have a say concerning matters of men

& older ones at that

or for believing that I could understand the decision, to roll down the window to throw a bottle at a man

and in that moment I reached for the door and realised

that there could be no where to go

that my safe place to go- was supposed to be right there

amongst family

and it was right then and there where any conceptualisation of safety- I had-

was shattered.

II.

The car ride continued, it had to

and as I blocked out the words being thrown my way

I listed down the places I’ve felt safer:

Mama’s hugs

in my bed in a freezing room

making pasta in the kitchen with the music in the background

then the list took a turn to

walking in the streets of London at 6 AM

in a crowded room where everyone was/is drunk

in a stranger’s bed.

III.

Then my mind, it took a turn too..to the daunting realisations

that I’ve felt more at ease in a stranger’s bed, safer even, that I did with family. Because knowing full well what a man wants and being okay with it, is the only way to go.

&

In that moment, and as it continues to linger, my mind spirals and thinks of the immense love I've had and expressed towards the men that were supposed to love me the most. Unrequited. Affection was a woman’s territory, and was never meant to be reciprocated- the banter was love, or at least I was told. “He annoys you because he loves you… He’s a man- it isn’t in his nature to be loving.”

&

tonight and every night- I am thankful for the home that feminism has helped me built within myself and for the painful (but hopefully liberating experience in the long run) of being able to identify toxic relationships.

I've turned to prose because frankly, I've run out of poetry about you. This is no longer a string of almost rhyming thoughts about that electrifying overpowering passion or the typical drenched in a sea of regret, and the guest starring of tears. This is a prose. This is an open letter, that I wouldn't be able to send you. As the words flow, I am bombarded by thoughts of people - that aren't you but I choose to brush them off. This is real, this isn't an out of word magical experience or a storyline that would've been on the list of my favorite rom-coms. Still, this is about you - this is about, real. This is about how there's is no cold, just an absence of warmth. And quite honestly, you are warmth. Not a pit of fire or even an overwhelming spark, but comfortable warmth & it's dawning on me now - that this, is probably just what I need.

The universe

Aligned our paths

And I, called it

Destiny

And then you uttered that word;

Destiny

But as time passes by

It is apparent that I -

Was the only one that believed

And just as that word drifted from my mind

And just as I started healing, and my chest;

was about to stop aching

"Destiny"

Was uttered again, by a stranger now

Amidst our conversation

And I no longer knew what it felt like to be

At ease,

Without thoughts clouding my mind or

An aching in my chest

And of all the words that could've been used

This once beautiful word, has been tainted

And of all the thoughts, about you, I've endured

The once beautiful thoughts, have been tainted

if I had to exemplify

A single word

I was once associated

With bubbly

I once identified with, passionate

With words like, smitten and inlove

Words that exude

What sun feels like

as it grazes your skin (warmth)

Or even

The way it feels when

Fire

Stings the tip of your fingers (passion)

Or the way that

Red looks

Or feels

But now

I feel, burnt out

And all I can

Think, feel or be

Is

Tired, drained and every variation of the word

all the words that tell the story of the

dancing dwindling dissolving

opaque grey smoke after the fire;

has been blown out

my body is revolting against my soul

my soul is revolting against my body

my insides are under attack

and every once in a while

moments like these

I remember

the exact moment in the third grade

when the words, “internal conflict” were uttered

my eyes teary

jaw clenched

and back tensed

against that plastic blue chair

and I -

could finally give a name

to that

rumbling

crashing

aching

within

my body is revolting,

so is my soul

and I can no longer

find solace, a home

in the discomfit of my skin, or the crumbling of my bones

or the unfamiliarity of my reflection

but at a distance

amidst this chaos

I hear a roaring

a faint, gradual

rebuilding

and a crash

a rebuilding

then a crash

and a rebuilding once again  

noises muffled

lights, my eyes

blurred

my arms, legs

this building

shaking

and my heart

racing, beating, frantic

reality was fading

I looked to you

the music

didn’t sound like heartbreak anymore

my lens, cleared

and the quake passed

the noises were getting louder, muffled

I try to clear my eyes but

the lights followed, blurred

is this building, shaking?

it’s shaking

and my heart

its frantic beats rippled

through my already shaken body

reality was doing it again,

fading

but

my misty eyes searched

looked to you

and this time

you wouldn’t look back

now all that remains, are ruins

most days

I am therapized

by pouring my emotions into words

to the sound of mellow music

but tonight

I am drizzling

and pouring

and gushing

yet somehow, I see no end

tonight

the poetry

the ballads

the words

and the notes

seem to be failing

me

I am a romantic

I see flowers growing out

between concrete

I hear music, ballads and hymns

As I wander the streets

I feel the universe

Shaking, bending, shattering

When we touch

And my love, whoever and whenever you may be,

I will write poetry

Inspired by you

And it will be

Both enchanting and terrifying

That I see fireworks, where sparks should be

I see in abstract

And speak in metaphors

Because when the time comes and

I feel

It's distorted reality

I read once that

“every 16 days about 72% of your body is replaced, renewed almost,

and your skin

it is replaced every four weeks”

and in that, for the longest time, I found solitude

I found peace in knowing,

that the grasp that had tormented me

for years

no longer and will never have a trace on

my refusing body

but then

it all changed when

you came along

and

I was welcoming

the tears no longer streamed

and your gentle graze

made me want to,

cling onto my skin

it’s kinda like

you turned my bruises

into flower tattoos