The OTHER Kind of Homophobia

Disclaimer: For humans, this can trigger hate towards the author. Content is open to all kinds of subjectivity. This piece is a work of reality and applies mostly to the author.

Now, if you didn’t close the tab after reading the disclaimer, I bless you. If you didn’t read the disclaimer, I bless you too; it was by far the worst one I’ve seen.

Anyway, I got this pair of shoes just a few days ago and I’ve never received hate in such colossal quantity from a non living object before. Considering the fact that I‘m a good 4’10, the only good thing they’ve done to me is made me look a bare 5’2.

See, I’m the kind of person who values comfort more than anything – Anything except being treated my age (People generally think I’m 12). And besides that, no matter how much I want to, I can never pull off a pair of converse with an elegant black dress.

People generally suggest me to cover up for my lack of beauty with my abundance of personalities (I possess a lot of those), but that would mean having to spark up conversations and I try to avoid human contact as much as possible. I mean, we, as a community, as in all of mankind, are a bunch of VERY fucked up beings. I don’t know if it is general Homo sapiens tendency to be that messed up, or if I’ve just had encounters with very strange people in my life, but I’m very terrified of getting to know the mess and falling in love with it.

I guess I’m kind of Homo-sapiens-phobic.

In short: I fear knowing how screwed people are and still falling for them and then getting hurt and so I choose the give a pair of stilettos the right to hurt me because it’s easier than the other kind of hurt.

Signin’ out

THAT girl.

 

Sunsets and a Lost Love

Oh, how Delhi sunsets remind me of you.

While I sit in my balcony sipping on tea, my soul savors yet another cup of molten sunshine.

And you slip into my mind instantly – Every single airplane that flies by reminds me of how you left, leaving me with nothing except for an unfinished story, one which I can’t complete alone.

We had started it together, and we will end it the same way.

I see flocks of birds flying home, where the ones they love wait patiently for their advent.

When are you going to come home? I’ve been waiting for 6 years now.

Then there are these little pink flowers, the ones that are everywhere, the ones that grow out of nowhere. They remind me of how nothing-ness could be moulded into something so beautiful, just like us.

Of all the love I lost, yours was the love I still crave, for its madness was subtle and its innocence, incomparable.

 

 

Hurt me more.
It helps me to feel less.

You’re only making me get used to the pain; you’re only building a shield to protect me from the agony of your otherwise devastating departure.

“He was like the coldest winter wind, and I was like alcohol – he could never freeze me.

But oh, doesn’t alcohol need a bit of winter chill to describe how it remains consistent?”

My body is still covered with burns from the last time i let your fire engulf me. They’ve become faint reminders of how I gave up air to feed those burning flames in your eyes, how that mild breeze became wind and how it extinguished us.

But somehow, just somehow, I’m still letting the parts of me that aren’t covered with bruises touch your re-ignition.