How Supernovas are made.

It will come down to what you think is enough.

And on some evenings, the ache from phantom heart wounds is what will burn you even when your limbs are protesting over exertion.

It’s all you and the moondust seems a little dull today.

Being aware of why doesn’t always lessen the sting of how. 

You were always wildfire.Even when you didn’t know it. 

Even when you thought the burn was a monster eating you from the inside.

But really, it was just the light of creation barely begun. 

And those who were blinded by that light, they said ‘It burns.’

They ran because they feared it would consume them.

They took their little light jars with them and they said ,’ You are too difficult to love.’

And you. Still unaware, still dark, still burning.

I saw you weep for them.

Tears of pain, blood and hate. Of loathing and self pity.

And when you finally stopped, it cracked the urn of light they had run from.

For you, you were too tired to stop it. To cage it and call that protection.

And those cracks turned into fuming fissures, from within sprung forth your monstrous wildfire. 

Sealed away no more, it showed that you everything you wished to believe was true.

It did hurt because you were growing.

It really was starlight slowly coursing through to your veins. 

That when you defiantly said, 

‘Watch me become light itself, I dare you.’ 

To the backs of those walking away; 

When you whispered it to their little dying fireflies,

Praying to every entity you never believed in, that it was true…

It was.

It was the beginning of you.

As you always wanted to see yourself. 

Neither was before less, nor is now more.

It is just you. As you want to be.

You can accept this light within you now. Feel it seep into fingers that you had not thought to warm again.

Gasp as the fire fills your throat, vocal chords burning with cries you never uttered.

All myth of purification made flesh and blood and burning,burning,burning.

All fierce now, look at you; radiating with every conceivable cosmic power. 

I watched you become light itself. 

That struggle of becoming?

That is how Supernovas are made.

And I know nothing with any certainty.

For myself, being a supernova is enough.

——-

Mental health is just as important as physical health. A lot of us struggle with problems today that we do not feel comfortable discussing because of the stigma surrounding issues like depression or panic/anxiety issues. 

Very often  you’re told to simply deal with it, as if it was merely some box with inaccurate labeling that you accidentally opened and couldn’t return. 

These words are for everyone. No matter how big or small your problem is. There is a whole world of people who will stay and be there in your life when you need them. I promise you this. 

By the time you can accept them, you will have already realised that they are not here to complete you but to complement you. 

You are enough. Always.

Let me tell you something.

You said, ‘ You should write poetry, I think you’d be good at it.’

Did you know then?
What it means to be Black blood and Red ink?

Let me tell you something ;
Poetry is not rhyme scheme, it is harsh and cruel and truth.
It will always taste like blood.

Did you know then,
What slit veins on paper are?

Let me tell you something ;
We(poets) are all together and all alone and all bloodshot eyes and unshed tears and teeth and fire and broken, broken, broken.

My dear, if I’d never written those first words, I never would’ve known,
But it’s been a lifetime since you showed me this lifeline, and so

Let me tell you something;

It hurts to become.

Thoughts at Midnight

She said ‘ Does anyone ever consider that loneliness too meet be in search of a companion?’
Well, he’s been sharing my bed , filling up the empty place where my heart used to be.
No one ever tells you the price of kindness and grace.
On some nights, nothing about this skin feels like poetry.
Hold it in, be strong, let it out, be brave;
I’m tired of feeling ice in my  veins.
Do people forget how much a human can feel?
Are the voices in their heads quiet?
Mine are a cacophony I can feel in my ribs.
He said ‘Loss carves us into kinder, gentler creatures.’
Well, how much do you give before you dry out?
She said ‘ Why is it that you don’t believe believe that you are worth fighting for? ‘
Well, because I am black blood and red ink and I can’t remember the last time someone told me I was.
I don’t even know if I’d believe them anymore.
~~*~~
Note: this poem has quotes from other people’s work, I give them all due credit, I just added them because the thoughts won’t shut up tonight.

Of veins and heartbeats.

If you want to be happy,

Be.

If you wanna be with someone,

Be.

Too little in this world is real,

Can’t you see?

Too long you’ve taken to heal,

Go, be free.

Kohl-lined eyes, Lips painted red,

Stereotypical vanity,

On the edge of a dangerous affair,

A clear surface, A turbulent sea.

Fiery veins, pounding heartbeats,

In the search of Normality,

the winds have changed and so have we,

If you want to be happy, won’t you be?

Ernest Hemingway once said, ‘Poor Faulkner, does he really think that big emotions come from big words?’

Sometimes our little words are best we can find. They are true-er than true.

NaPoWriMo-Day 4– A poem on the opposite of love.

*Photo copyrighted, leave it be.

Of Sonnets and Diversions.

Hello there! It’s day 3 of NaPoWriMo 2015 and you can find today’s prompt here. A Fourteener! How ever, today I’m going slightly off course with Amanda Torroni’s prompts instead. Her words are beautiful. Go have a look.

So my theme for today is to incorporate the line-‘ I never wrote a sonnet’ in my work. Consequently I looked up everything from the history of sonnets to a fourteener and now my head is filled with terms like Iambic heptameter and even my syllables are stressed. (Pun intended) -No don’t go away I’m done with the puns. (almost)

And so without further ado, Let me tell you about how…

I never wrote a sonnet,

But I read Shakespeare’s, they’re swell,

I also never wore a bonnet,

In old England, they’d have given me hell.

When I look back now,

Through history and time,

I wonder whence and how,

I got a fear of rhyme.

Beneath the veil of verses so obscure,

Is our wish to remain,

Of our memories secure,

our thoughts, drunk on champagne

Far be it from me to seem dreadfully ironic,

Never more shall I say, I never wrote a sonnet.

For those who may notice, yes that is a sonnet. Yes it is in the style of shakepeare. Yes, that is a dante reference. I couldn’t resist. See you tommorow!

A Sky full of Stars.

So the second I read about NaPoWriMo prompt 2- Stars, Coldplay’s A sky full of stars started playing in my head. Very Loudly, might I add. The title of this post could be no other.

There’s a beautiful, relatively unknown spot about 2 hours drive from my city. I used to go stargazing there as a child. It remains, to date, one of my favourite memories and it the inspiration for this poem

A Sky full of Stars.

There’s this picture in my head, you see,

Of a tiny plateau,in a region hilly.

And when you stand at the edge of that, dearie,

You’re as alone as alone can be.

And then you look up at a glittering sky,

Wonder at the tales of years gone by.

And as untrue as some of them may be,

The stars are real and so are we.

Nothing much to see, but everything you want to be.

Strong and fiery yet tempered grace.

With hidden facets yet an open embrace.

I’ve never felt smaller.

Or positively Faulkner.

Here is where I belong.

Away from the noise, away from the crowd,

There’s no one here to talk of,

Just a soul on the ground and the sky above

Lying on the hood of this old jeep,

It’s just me,and my thoughts are the company I keep.

Thoughts of dreams and hopes and love and lies.

Thoughts to fill a Sky full of stars.