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.

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The Dismissal of Happily Ever After. Chapter 1.

Chapter 1- The opposite of a volcano is a butterfly
image By the poetrystorepoet- Silvi Alcivar.

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It is a truth universally acknowledged…..

Two people who like each other should be together.
It was always just that simple.
Then we grew up. Grew wary of being reckless with a heart that has a jagged scar down its side.
And so we let people go, never telling them what we wanted to say.
Because all wounds heal with time, but some bleed again at the slightest touch.

You’ve stayed up all night, replaying memories behind your tired eyelids.
Waiting for sleep, praying for that elusive unconsciousness .
But this heart wasn’t meant for a cold empty bed.
There’s only so many times you can lie to  yourself.

Two people who understand each other should be together.
It wasn’t meant to be a competition of who knows best for you.
Sacrifice doesn’t quite have the charm of a Hollywood star.
All their tears are pretty.

You’ve held your head up.
It’s taken you 20 years to love yourself.
Don’t wait on a bridge for a love that isn’t ready.
There is still fire in your veins, I promise.

Two people who like each other should be together.
It was always supposed to be that simple.
Then we grew some more.

Behind The Lattice: Part 5.

Darkness has fallen. The night was silent. Silent except for the loud,harsh jangling of a payal, as it’s heart-broken owner ran through the deserted corridors,lit only by a slowly dying flame of a torch.

She stopped when she reached the fateful parapet, gasping for breath, teary-eyed, conflicted and above all, simply hurt. In retrospect, it didn’t have anything to do with her friend,her alleged betrayal, his choice, her infatuation. In the end, she was hurt, because all she wanted…was to be wanted.
She slowly sank to her knees, and she cried. And she cried until she could cry no more. It is this moment that often grants silence to the mind. when one is so exhausted,one simply is.
And so she was. On the edge,trying to hold her universe together. The night grew deeper. The hour,darker. But yet she remained where she was,still and unmoving. Silent but cognizant. Thinking. Processing. Understanding. Trying. But the matters of the heart are not so easily resolved. And with a pang, she realized, things would never be the same. She could not be the person she was yesterday because she had changed since then. The nagging feeling of betrayal gnawed at her. Giving her no peace. Regressing only to strike again,more viciously.
In that night, one seemingly endless moment, she was alone. A girl,unlike any other in her world and yet exactly like so many before her.
Alone, sitting on the cold,marbled floor of the parapet,the blue skirts of her garb spread around her. Her head resting on her knees,her arms wrapped around them. Trying to pull it all together. With the moonlight shining on her, She seemed almost other worldly. A kind of ethereal beauty seemed to surround her then. Staring deeply into the night,Zohra sat there. Waiting. Watching. For something to make her feel better. For someone to hold her hand and say it would be alright. But no one did. And nothing happened. Until that night,like every night must,came to an end.

Dawn broke. I won’t tell you she felt better when it did. I can’t tell you she healed. I haven’t the audacity to belittle her emotions and say she felt like everything would be alright.
Because when the sun rose that day, it seemed a little colder. A little less bright.
When she finally stood up, her body ached from staying still in the cold for so long. Her legs felt like they were being stuck with pins and needles. A thousand nerves set on fire. For a moment the physical pain made the heartache pale in comparison. But the pain faded, the ache did not.
But when I saw my heroine standing there, biting her lip, silent in face of her pain. I knew and so did she, that she’d be alright. Not today. Or tomorrow. Or perhaps even months from now. However at sometime in the future, she would heal.
One day she’d get up and her heart wouldn’t feel so bruised anymore. She wouldn’t spend the days wondering about what could have been.
The corridors wouldn’t pulsate with a tenacity of their own,bringing up falsified memories. The lump in her throat would ease, and the weight in her stomach would dissolve.
And when it did, she would breathe again.

I know not what happened to her then.
Maybe she lived in misery.
Maybe her happy ending was in finding the strength to start all over again.

When I last eyes on her she was standing tall, caving just for a moment before she returned to her world. She had a small smile on her face when the wind swept her hair around her shielding her face from everything she wished she’d never set eyes on. I closed my eyes to savour that moment of incognition, when I opened my eyes again she was gone. She’d disappeared.
And there on the floor lay a payal it chained her,she felt. So she left it behind.
Behind The Lattice.

~~*~~

All stories end in death, he is no true storyteller who would keep that from you.-Ernest Hemingway.

Perhaps this one would have too, were it not for the friend who said to me- ‘ you wouldn’t write something like that, You’re a strong person, your character would be strong too.’ To her I would like to say ‘Thank you’ for believing in me and giving me strength.
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Write hard and clear about what hurts.-Hemingway.

Odile: The third secret.

image

The lone spotlight shines on the stage. Her aura,radiates in a aureole around her,dark and powerful. The air hangs heavy, dark and damp.
She enters, the black ribbons of her shoes ,crawling up her legs like vines. Her real face is hidden beneath layers of makeup. She is not herself. The black corset seems to hold her in check,she can barely breathe,the laces cut into her skin.

This is not the girl who feared scrutiny. Not the one who heeds the warning. When she first deviated,he looked. ‘Now,he will see.’ She smirked,the smile a far cry from reassuring.

The entrée is complete. She can sense her partner,but his presence of no consequence. He is merely an accessory to her,today is not for him to be seen. The Pas de deux is now laughable,this moment is hers. She will not share.

On cue,the Adaigo begins.
The very word means Slow. These are movements to showcase fluidity and Grace. As her lover’s eyes plead her not to do this,she remembers all the late-nights spent practising. Practising until she was perfect. He taught her how to use her body to talk,to communicate. He taught her not to be afraid of it.
She hesitates.
And then the moment is gone. The music consumes her,and as she glides through the movements,the touch of her partner-a slight guide. You can see the grace,the elegance,the flexibility. But she is not fluid. The eyes that follow her feel a instinctive coldness. Every pose she holds is a fraction of a second too long. This is different. Why can’t they see?

Our heroine is,on the surface,breathtaking and on the inside,gasping for breath.
The dark is so much more tempting than the the light. It pleases a part of her that has been denied too long. The struggle is soul-shattering. For how could he tell her not to follow her heart,he who taught her to trust it? How dare he imply she was not ready? He who spent every moment devoted to her.

White or Black? The decision will change her. Irrevocably.

The coda begins.
32 Fouettés en tournant. The goal. The challenge. The dispute.

She raises her leg,and using the impetus,spins.
1

2

3

Perfection.
4

5

6
Focus.

7

8

9

Deliberation.

10

11

12

So far so good…but we’re not even half way there.

She continues,and the darkness is palpable. She is beginning to drown.

19

20

21

Her shadow grows,and so does fear in his heart. She must stop. Soon.

22

23

24

Lost in a maelstrom,she knows it is no longer a choice. She has to do this. For herself. For her black swan. For once, it is about her.

25

26

27

Elation. Almost there. The slight pull in her leg is nothing, ‘ I’ve dealt with worse’ she thinks as she takes a regulated breath,ready for completion. For that pinnacle of perfection. The Elite circle of glory. No more will she be a puppet. No longer will anyone doubt her ability. No more crude remarks about her character and her lover will be heard. She will show them all. The laces in the corset cut and there is a ruby red drop of blood glistening on the floor. She barely felt it. It is of no consequence. Or so you thought.

28

29

30

She can sense the crowd. The eyes waiting for her to do the extraordinary. She shifted by half an inch in the last rond de jambe but she recovered almost flawlessly. Only he noticed. Like he always did. He had a petrifed look on his face,and for her that was the last straw. She was about to accomplish her dream and he didn’t even care.

31

A slight movement, that’s what changed her life forever. It was half an inch. It shouldn’t have made any difference. But it did. She was ready,because she believed she was. She could have lived like that you know,with her dark side out in the open. Not caring. Not loving. Cold. Perfect,seductive even, but drowning,always drowning on the inside.

32.

The crowd cheered. But as she put her raised leg down it landed in that small,tiny depression in the floor. The one she saw when she was White,and delicate and fragile.

She fell.

~~*~~

Inspired by Beethoven’s 5 secrets: Part 3.

The third secret is Balance,between the White and the Dark. Too much of either can destroy.

Never regret anything that made you smile.

Now this ‘No regrets’ policy is something I actually live by. I suffer from an uncommon trait in today’s world-Brutal Honesty. Maybe it’s because I’m young enough to be able to get away with it. Maybe it’s because I believe in speaking my mind,irrespective of consequences-at least where talking to my peers is concerned.

Moving on to ‘something that once made you smile’ bit of it,that is a lot easier said than done.

“You run out of tears long before you run out of hurt.”-Gregson.

That is true. When you shatter,it takes time to heal,to mend,and sometimes it changes you irrevocably.

But it’s okay. Because someday,you wake up and you can breathe. The grey cloud floating above has disappeared and it’s a Good day.

For me,Someday took some 2 years to finally show up. And when it did,I realized that that’s how life lessons happen.

It’s like C.S.Lewis said  ” Experience.That most brutal of teachers. But you learn. My god,do you learn.”
So despite how over used it may be,I’m gonna say – Never regret anything that once made you smile. Anything that made you happy once was time well spent.

Speak your mind-somehow when you don’t the feelings fester in your heart and dwell in your mind until it becomes all-consuming. The consequences be damned,at least you did what you believe to be right.
And if you’re ever unsure of what to do,think of this- Trust your gut and heart,they somehow already know what you want to be.
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Part 7 of the ‘Life is short’ series. ©Angrezikabutar.

Forgive.

The actual theme today is ‘Forgive quickly’ ,the reason it’s not the title is because that would be misleading. I don’t forgive quickly,and I have no intention of starting now.
If we were in Pride and Prejudice this is the moment Elizabeth Bennett’s Aunt would say-“Be careful my dear,that savours strongly of bitterness”

True as that may be,forgiveness is not a trait that comes easily to me. I don’t believe in saying it’s okay when it isn’t. Primarily because an apology slips through your lips so easily that I doubt you mean it. An apology is a way of making yourself feel better,because hey-at least you tried right?-You say ,to yourself to get rid of the uneasy bubbling pit of guilt building in your stomach.

Words have more power than you could ever dream of, and a simple attempt to make amends doesn’t change a thing.

They say you should forgive and forget for your own self,so that you don’t let it affect your temperament,your happiness,your moods. Sounds like an attempt at protecting the ego.
The ego is sensitive and susceptible to injury more easily than anyone of us would like to admit. And so we forgive,because they apologized right? They didn’t mean it-or at least they said they didn’t.

I can’t do it. Not without significant ranting and raving before I calm down enough to simply not care,at least for the time being.

Could you?

If someone cut your heart to shreds?
If someone told you they were indifferent to you and in the same breath paste your heart back together with honey?

Could you forgive them and truly mean it?     

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Part 3 of the ‘life is short’ series.©Angrezikabutar

Life is Short.

Life is art. It’s what we see,what we understand, what we do. And sometimes it’s what passes us by while we’re too busy to breathe. For some, life revolves around one passion,that one thing they truly love,the center of their universe,their reason for existence. For others,life is what you enjoy when you can take that rare day off and just BE.
An universal conclusion,however, is that life is too short. Too short for all the books you want to read,all the people you want to meet, all the places you want to see. Too short for falling in love and falling hard,too short to fall in love again. Too short to start over.
And then you realize,maybe you’re so busy focusing on the end that you’re forgetting something. That you’re on a journey that’s uniquely yours. An adventure that no one else could possibly have because no one else is exactly you.
And the sense of elation that comes with the understanding that you can,simply can-changes everything. So I guess what I’m trying to say is:Be happy with your life,because you have to live it,and no matter how short you may think it is,or was, it tells you who you are.

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Part 1 of the ‘life is short’ series. 20 min writing challenge ©Angrezikabutar