The Dravidian Darkness

I rise early

To prolong the sweet ecstasy of Depression.

Cloak myself in Misery

Relish the Dejection, Defeat & hopelessness.

Medication was never the answer

Suffering brought me closer to Truth

Agony brought me Compassion.

In the bliss of madness

I feel.

Under the spell of madness

I destroy

My skin, my dreams, my heart.

My essence will never

be dissolved

By Mania

By suicide

By Medication.

I’ve employed

those means and more

To destroy

My Spirit

will not be broken

My heart

Will not stop beating

Medication

does not dull

The Pains of Circumstance.

I forgive.

I fear

I will never forget.

Inebriation

Coaxes me to sleep,

I rise early

To prolong the sweet ecstasy of Depression.

One day, I pray
To be able to say
All the things they broke
The pieces they carried away.

Some day “they”
Will become “you”

I wonder if they can conceive the ruin.

From “Me”-to-“Who”-to-“When”
When I was more than pieces.

Or a discarded memory of an identity;
pre-tragedy— Damn me.
For remembering.

And forgetting too soon.
Every afternoon, emerging from the womb
Tear-strained eyes assuaged by blinding light;
Apocryphal promises of atonement
Obscure my sight;
Mistakes repeated
Bruised again by night.

Listless dawns bring re-birth and sweet amnesia.
Tread carefully.
By noon I will forget.
And yet—
They wake to greet the day,
Memories intact
Motivations exact:
take-take-take
For soon she will wake.
They enact;
And I re-live.

My scars and their seams;
Labyrinth of closed eyes and suppressed screams
Torn. Reborn. Still the same.
Making cuts, excuses.
I still remain
between the blood stains.
Smeared amongst tears on silken sheets
Mummified, I writhe roughly as memories repeat

Just another mo(u)rning.
I seek to resurrect the dead;
I remain a zombie, instead
Looking for a soul to inhabit this body
and purge all the demons.
There ARE reasons.
Muffled by the tongue of a child, still too young to speak.
And by thier fists, clenched full of all the things they keep.
Take-take-take.
For soon she will wake.
They enact;
And I re-live.

My scars and their seams;
Labyrinth of closed eyes and suppressed screams
Torn. Reborn. Still the same.
Making cuts, excuses.
I still remain
between the blood stains.

C.A.T

(pic. Rosetti Muses)

I can’t write
Hear no more voices in my head.
I long to create
To emancipate this tension
And fully state my intention
But I’ve lost my voice.
In my head, my heart can’t speak
And now, my waning soul is gravely weak.
I roam in search of things to speak
Or even a tear to flow form my cheek.
But there’s no emotion
Amidst all this commotion
No empathy
In-side-of-me.
I’m as empty as a silent speech
I’ve turned discreet
I no longer offend.
No longer have writing as my friend.
In good faith I extend my pen Looking for hope
Even when…

I used to know you poetry.
What happened to us?
I need to take a minute
So we can sit, and discuss
How I lost and how, Ill find you again.
Take me back and I’ll take you- back to where we began;

Foggy memories of a forgotten song-writing career
Frequently pop-up, then disappear
Even in my youth you were always near
Always, kind, trusting, dear.
Until English class
Mr. Harlan gave us this task to write
And I thought I might
be understood
If I wrote it down just like I could
Maybe the would…
Well- Ill TRY
Poetry can’t make me cry.
My ideas seemed hasty
But something paced me
Rhythm taught my words to flow
And out of one another, they grew
I KNEW
How to speak
In Po-e-try
Made sense to me.

It couldn’t be that easy,
So I looked to others,
To learn from their work
Marking mine grow further
And I learned different ways to rhyme
By varying syllables, and keeping time

And when I needed you
Poetry
You needed me too
Together, we created beauty
Poetry, and Me.

Poetry,
You made me feel complete
Like I could compete
for Love, in heavens
Amidst all the other prayers I sent above

(pic. Minerva)

I was once inspired
By a song from my memories
A reminder, of what ART meant to me
In my own meager way I heard
And tried to recreate it, using similar words
But I’m just a poet
So though I know it
Its still hard to define
especially with words, which are never mine.

I find myself starving for creativity,
That something or somehow has taken form me
I hear melodies in my head
And the words to which the beat is set
But you’ll never hear from me
Writing myself into futility
A worthless artist, stripped of her muse
Tries to incite, but thoughts refuse.
It’s self-abuse, and self-inflicted
A curse or gift that cannot be lifted.

Passion is easy to destroy , when it comes form inside
It goes into the body, where it festers, and hides
Or like a child, it can decide
To play hide an go seek
And to unearth it, scrapes wounds
Resurrects the dead opens tombs
Meant to bury repressed memories
Where passion hides itself form me.

At last when it is found again
I may not make it to my pen.
Migraines, pounding in my head
As emotions beg

I’m free
Yet distressed
As a poet, I’m perplexed
even vexed
What will put me back into context?

I DID hear a familiar song
And though it played for not too long,
All the emotions it wrung
DID penetrate
And made me wish, once more for fate
Who wisely gave me paper, and ink
And taught my hands to write, and think.
I though I had a gift
Or a curse that would lift
So whenever my thoughts would drift
Into lines of paper, they always fit

BUT ICANTTAKETHIS SHIT
make it quit.
Give me no desire to write
Let me turn my back to night an live, with other, in the day
Let me SAY nothing
While I wait, for something to feel
Come on Poetry, help me keep it real.

(pic. Calliope)

-Passion lives on

C.A.T

Scatterbrained thoughts haunt me as ideas erase the trace of their steps through the paths of my mind.

Flow out of my pen, begin slowly, to coax me to try to walk softly.

Try to dispel the smell of panic and manic activity brewing within me.

Shut my mouth and shut my mind up. Barren, devoid of thought.

Devoid of smell, sweat & taste. Submissively lay to waste.

Oh, but was this a gift?

Mind of a lyricist who insists and swears these words a cathartic.

These words are therapy. Healing me, cleansing me from the madness obsessed with me.

….

Yet I am young and crazy.

But maybe, sheets fluttered with ink can save me.

Age me gracefully, humbly. Like a part of me knew all along-

To translate words into song. Hungrily feeding on a lost state of mind.

Leaving traces behind, as ink, to pen, to words, and then to me—

Peace, when I sleep

 …

IHAVENOWORDSTODISPENSETHISTRUTHSO

Intense.

And amidst it exist a lyricist

Who swears

By all the words she tells

That all the wells

Of her mind

Are flooded

And emptied

By whatever

Keeps these

Beats . / . / . /

Rhyming in time

Line by line

I sketch

The immortal words

Of a Reject

Who society spoke against

the grain.

STRAIN

To maintain

My ingenuity.

Originality

Is a hazard to me.

But I need it.

For without it—

I have no words

To dispense

These fears so intense

. / . / . / . / . / ./ ./

Finish the sentence.

C.A.T

Full Prose Here

Opinions fall, just like rain on my windscreen,
Devoid of cadence, tempo, rhyme or reason
The hot air obscuring their own reflection on my glass, distorting my point of view.

Tap-tap-tap
Fall-fall-fall
Run-run-run
Gathered, collected, then whisked aside to clear my line of sight.

Your words resound with a familiar resonance, yet feel strange in sentiment.
Your smile, inviting as eyes scan for criticisms.
Flaws, seem hesitant to be displaced
I keep mine intact;

And choose to weather the storm of ensuing opinions,
Shifting like a dry breeze, to ignite a spark in the arid brush.
Flames, cupped from the elements by my own open palms, outstretched to show clean hands, free from blame.
Soot-covered fingertips remain prone to scrutiny:

WHATHEFUCKISWORNGWITHME?

—Just your opinion;

And my concession to listen
Which only furthers this obsession:
Pick-a-Part, Pick Apart
Put together, re-assemble- In terms you can understand

— Even Then—
Clumsy, cluttered metaphors casually extend some premise
Convoluted enough to collude with asinine conclusions formed by the misinformed

—Intentionally So—
Counting on stories, like fingers and toes
When SOMETIMES, some people, don’t always need to know.
Every delectable tidbit, so close to the tip of your tongue,
But you have the story SO WRONG.
I’m delighted and amused.

Enigmatic and Evasive to keep you confused.
Stick to the news, to stay misinformed
But keep my name out’cha muthafuckin mouth
 -lol-

C.A.T

I’m promising you no more pointless endeavours
No more friends to lose, no more ties to sever.
I’m showing you this life at its best
No being alone or feeling depressed.
I’m giving you better choices and another try
Freedom to be overwhelmed, and even to cry.
I’m hoping to leave you some sense of peace
A chance for happiness, a pure release
I’m praying you elect to take my gifts
At least, until your sadness lifts.
I’m grating you the strength to stand apart
To think with your logic, and fight with you heart.
I’m allowing you to feel, accepted and loved
And if you want to love, letting you get involved

Take these freedoms and sail far away
Return to the world, when you feel better, some day.
Take these words and make them your truth
So your spirit will soar, as you travel through youth.
Heal yourself, through my own bitter pains
So that my suffering will not be in vain.
Search for something better look to me,
And think how much better your own life could be.
Take all the words I have littered in my books,
I know them by heart, I WROTE THEM FOR YOU.
Let them shield you, should you face any storms
On nights, hold them close to keep your heart warm

Yet don’t limit yourself to what I’ve scrawled in the pages;
Surrender whenever your heart engages.
If the weight of the world is holding you down,
Take it seriously, do not be a clown.
Everything isn’t always your fault
Despite all the blame you hold in your vault.
Let yourself breathe
Let your mind be at ease
And please, oh please- Laugh when and as you need
And if these words save you, then be happy for me.

We’ll take these works, and write new chapters,
I’ll scribble the pages with forever and happily after
Entwined fingers, intimate thoughts, and probing suggestions and questions
Coupled with the lasting impression
That together, we will always press on,
Just as I’ve pressed down my pen
To make the words I’m writing for you now

C.A.T

Only

That Illumined
One

Who keeps
Seducing the formless into form

Had the charm to win my
Heart.

Only a Perfect One

Who is always
Laughing at the word
Two

Can make you know

Of

Love.

Leave the familiar for a while.
Let your senses and bodies stretch out

 Like a welcomed season
Onto the meadows and shores and hills.

Open up to the Roof.
Make a new water-mark on your excitement
And love.

Like a blooming night flower,
Bestow your vital fragrance of happiness
And giving
Upon our intimate assembly.

Change rooms in your mind for a day.

All the hemispheres in existence
Lie beside an equator
In your heart.

Greet Yourself
In your thousand other forms
As you mount the hidden tide and travel
Back home.

All the hemispheres in heaven
Are sitting around a fire
Chatting

While stitching themselves together
Into the Great Circle inside of
You.