Doll

Glided Lily” – Cults

What I would give

to see myself as I was

from their eyes.

Perfect in cast and poise

with response that followed my movement

shallow crafted grace.

Hands shaped with intent

posed as a showcase

of what I was made for.

it’s said ‘to be a woman is to perform’

and if so,

I could at least do that well.

Hair tucked and smile eternal

open palms

and closed heart.

from within, the lights were falling

slipping through my hands as i wished for them to stay

wishing for these to be the ones to stay.

Praying for love

worshipping interest

begging for more time.

Maybe it was wrong

but silence had the benefit of mystery

the chance to admire behind glazed eyes.

Self-control warranted attention

irises speaking for closed lips

a puzzle to be solved.

But I couldn’t grasp the lights

in the dark core

change is a mistress that’s fooled me every time.

To see instead of look

and let them try to solve you

reality is un-romanticizing feelings and peeling paint.

To understand

and find worth in soul

is seemly too much to ask for a doll.

To speak is gift

but a plague when deafness is a choice

rotting until porcelain shatters.

Then, it’s worthless.

Dear World,

Please learn to say sorry. Please learn to recognize when there is something you’ve caused. Please learn to see how your actions shape how you are perceived. And more than anything, please learn to actually mean what you say, and tell the truth.

-someone who wishes they had been mad earlier

You are Good

People are the world. People say lots of things. People choose other people. People are always listening.

They say:

“You are good if you do not cause harm.”

“You are good if you do not take from others.”

“You are good if you help those around you”

“You are good if you treat people as your sisters and brothers.”

People are smart. People are strong. People are ground-breaking. People help people belong.

They say:

“You are good if you love.”

“You are good if you share.”

“You are good if you’re helpful”

“You are good if you’re fair”

People are observant. People have feelings. People have judgement. People have meaning.

They say:

“You are good if you apologize.”

“You are good if you make peace.”

“You are good if you do not cry.”

“You are good,” But am I really?

People tell me I’m good. People tell me I’m sweet. People tell me I’m talented. People say what they see.

People say it’s ok. People say it’s life. People forgive me. People aren’t always right.

And I think:

What about when I give up?

What about when I make mistakes?

What about when I break down?

What about when I hurt and take?

I am only good because you say I’m good. I am good because I am not bad. I am good, but does it count? Learning this makes me sad.

For it doesn’t really matter if I apologize. Will it fix what I have done? Will your forgiveness waive my faults? Will that make me feel less alone?

I’ll say:

“I’m sorry that I’m up and down a lot.”

“I’m sorry that we’re falling out of touch.”

“I’m sorry that I think I’m not enough.”

“And sorry that I say sorry way too much.”

As many times as I say it, it doesn’t really help. Even if they say they forgive me, that they forgive and forget. I’ll know what I did. I know how why and when.

So am I good when I say something wrong?

Am I good when my tone hints at spite?

Am I good when I’m not sweet?

Am I good when I choose not to reply to your ‘goodnight’?

I love, and I laugh, and I cry and I fall. And I hate, and I fight and yet I still try to smile through it all. I feel guilty for disagreeing and I feel powerful when I’m mad. And, god, its all so stupid and shitty, but does it make me bad?

I don’t want to know, and or I’ll let it consume me as I delve. To be be good, to be bad. I’m sick of people. I’m sick of myself.

I say sorry too much, I get upset too fast, I can’t tell you what’s wrong, because I’m being stupid and I know it, so let it fall to the past. Some good people aren’t really good people, we just know how to make our smiles last.

I usually pick a song that I listen to on repeat when I write. Sometimes I add it to the post, but I find that audios with lyrics can be distracting while reading, so I left it out this time. If you’re curious though, here’s the one I listened to:

“needy” – Ariana Grande

one-two-one

once upon a time,

it was only me,

only one person,

perhaps one was what i was meant to be,

i didnt dream of two,

ive never been one to try,

i didnt want a hello,

to become a goodbye,

it’s easier to say no,

so that you don’t ever see what’s behind a yes,

and that was the policy,

that’s my mess,

one can be powerful and self-fulfilling and strong,

one can be missing, and stressed, and alone,

one was supposed to be enough for just one,

one thought this because one thought it was supposed to be on its own,

it was never allowed,

so it was pointless to dream,

self inflicted infatuation,

for a girl who was never seen,

not quite the right personality,

and a bit too strange,

and she wasn’t pretty in the right way,

and for so many years that didn’t change,

one had to be enough,

because two was the taunting joke,

because I was always one,

yet it was always one that broke,

so when some one asked for two,

and it turned out there were three, four, five,

i said no,

and i said bye,

for a while this was good,

it was simple and quick and i didnt have to think,

for a while until a forgotten dream came back,

and one and one didn’t entirely stink,

one and one was fun and playful,

one and one was banter and teasing,

one and one was caring and kind,

one and one could make two, but wasn’t worth believing,

but i’m not entirely blind,

and i’m quite the overthinker,

she was too much, and she said she gave up,

and what if some one liked her,

one day one had a really bad day,

one was confused and upset and tired,

one wanted every problem in the world to be solved,

one called one and asked him if he liked her,

i was scared when i heard words id never heard before,

panicking and nervous and yet i knew it so long ago,

but she was a mess and broken,

so she decided it would be better if she just said no,

that lasted two months before one’s head could think straight,

one thought that maybe this one wasn’t one she should let go,

because despite one’s wishes, one was falling,

the same way one fell years ago,

we never entirely gave up talking to each other during that time,

and i, at no point, thought that i should,

and by the time it was december i finally realized,

that friends didn’t usually spend as much time thinking about each other as i would,

a proper one doesn’t ask to call everyday of the week,

and a proper one wouldn’t miss them because they had to miss a day,

and a proper one wouldn’t dream about visiting them,

and i wasn’t a proper one because i was in love with —-,

i think that one always kinda knew,

that my heart was tangled with my mind,

by february we were two,

that is how i found the one that i called mine,

i cannot be specific in why it unfolded as it did,

but i will not skip the inbetween,

because i lived a beautiful many months,

months i wish i could keep replaying,

this one taught me love,

i felt new, as if doubt i had before was just insecurity,

because his eyes were different than mine,

and i loved me because i loved him, and i was happy.

this one brought me little presents,

and asked me if i was okay,

this one made me feel special,

this one loved me,

two was exciting and new,

two was butterflies and nervous dates,

two was an unexpected first kiss,

two was finding some one, and then learning it would have to wait,

because of me, i am one,

because it was never allowed,

and she knew the consequences,

but she didn’t want to say them out loud,

i know what would have happened to me,

it easy to hear all the words that have yet to be said,

but they know me differently than everyone else knows me,

i think they would have been worse to him instead,

first it was just a thought,

to give up two in the name of preventing disaster,

i tried to keep that worry to myself,

but the days after that left my head spinning faster and faster,

a liar and a nervous wreck,

a wish that my head could just shut up,

a thought of wanting to forget my expectations,

a moment of two that i broke up into two ones,

one is very lost,

and is never sure of what was right and what was wrong,

because everything feels like both,

and she can’t get what she wants,

maybe its selfish, but she has her own wishes,

like holding hands without having to check her phone for missed calls,

hugs where she doesn’t have to worry about someone seeing her,

a day where she doesn’t have to leave hours before night falls,

so i said not now,

i said i wanted each of us to be one,

we’ve been in this problem for months now,

and now i guess, for while, it’s done,

one does not want to be one,

one thought this was the compromise, and that this would be fine,

one was trying to be grown up and be strong,

so why can’t one stop crying,

i said those words,

so why do i wish i could take them back,

she doesn’t understand why there isn’t a solution,

and fuck it hurts.


one is one,

one doesn’t know how to be one again,

one has lost what one once called “mine”,

one hopes there’s a world when one and one can be two, but she just doesn’t know when.

breakaway

there’s nothing left. nothing left to hold on to, nothing left to be,

pretend it never happened, pretend that i’m still me,

feel the will fade behind the minute hand, feel me drag me back

wish for someone to fix it, wish for the anticipation that i lack,

bitter tastes in every spoon of sugar, bitter words i wouldn’t have said,

dreams and thoughts, writing and stories i don’t want in my head,

images i don’t want to see, images in a mirror,

take a shower, shatter vocal chords, cause maybe that’ll make it clearer,

trusted you, trusted them, but i feel so stupid,

everything hurt, everything broke down, and they never knew it,

and i’m so fucking done. with everything. i’m done with searching or wondering or playing along. i know what they say behind my back. i know that they saw something other than me. and i’m ready to stop. i have nothing to say goodbye to. just get it over with. just go. just forget about me. just stop believing i’m that person. cause all you’ll find is disappointment.

if only if the threads weren’t torn

if only i wasn’t so naive

10 Seconds last an Eternity

air goes thin and palms stick together

waist feels tighter than usual and limbs freeze

shivering with a pang of cold reverberating from my heart

a bolt fastening my chest and fingers going weak

voice dry with the taste of regret

close the floodgates. for the love of god close them.

forces pressed upon my skull with a growing warmth

it’s like it’s still happening

it’s like I can feel it

I can still feel everything

on loop again and again, the noise louder each time

the steady beat of the drum

booming sounds and sharp noises poking through my insides

spiders for an esophagus

golfball lodged in back of my throat

stomach of acid, spine of stone

waterfalls and earthquakes

sandstorms and tsunamis

which one is the natural disaster

who adjusted the speed

why now, why me

the wick lighting in my veins and

and

and

…the camera was on.

End the damn chapter

To the person who this story is about: If you are reading this, I want you know that I should have told you this before. It’s high time I told you about how you made me feel that day. With that thought, also know that I don’t want to hold it against you. I’m only writing this because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell you in person, so instead I’ll write it up here, and hope that you search through my blog out of curiosity someday. I need to tell you this, because if I don’t, I don’t know if I’ll be able to forgive myself for what I did.


I pulled up to the entrance 5 minutes early. I begged the line to move faster while catching my breath, as I had just sprinted from the train station. I had just come from class. I’d just barely convinced my parents to let me be there that day. I sent a message to the group chat. No reply.

10 minutes later I was in. I looked up and down the road, looking for your face. It’s fine I thought. They must have already gone ahead. I’ll just call them. It’ll be fine. The dial tone played through once. Then twice. My feet were hurting so I wandered towards the curb as groups of people past by me, laughing over the roar of the crowd. I lowered myself onto the ground and paused. Where were you guys? Maybe you were late? Maybe your ringers are off? Maybe I’ll call again.

Another 10 minutes pass. By this time, the worries were creeping onto me. You promised you would come. You promised it wouldn’t be like last time. You promised, not once, but twice. My phone buzzed, and a jolt of anticipation vibrated through me. It wasn’t you, it was the other girl. My fingers fumbled to type in the password and a neon green text message popped up:

“My parents told me I couldn’t come today because there aren’t enough people going. Sorry, I was gonna tell you yesterday night.”

I probably read through that message 5 or 6 times.

Please, no.

Don’t do this to me.

I stifled a whimper and clicked the phone off. My hands fell to the hard concrete to support me as I swung my head back so that I could see sky. It was blue and calm and beautiful, but I wasn’t trying to admire it. I was trying to keep the tears from running down my face. I couldn’t seriously be crying about this. It’s not like the world is over or anything. Afterall, you were still coming. The other girl just forgot to tell me, that’s all. We all forget things from time to time…right?

30 minutes past when I was supposed to meet you, I finally got your message. You were late. You had an appointment. It was going to be another hour before you reached. You were sorry. Okay. Okay then. That’s fine. I guess I’ll just kill another hour. It could be worse. I got up and wandered into the sea of people. I searched through the various stall until I found the ticket vendor. I’d bought my tickets in advance, so I walked up and exchanged my coupon for the large set of tickets.

This wasn’t so bad. I had tickets and there were games and I had time to kill. The first 45 minutes were fine. I’d picked up a giant Pikachu plush as a prize already, and was wandering around with it tagged to my backpack. My sister was going to freak out when she saw it. I figured I should probably save the rest of the tickets so that I could spend them with you. I sat down on a nearby bench and sent you a text:

“Hey! Are you almost here yet?”

You were not almost here yet. It was going to be an additional hour. You apologized profusely and, after typing then deleting my response multiple times, I told you it was okay.

I was not okay. Reality was starting to kick in. I was a girl, alone, wearing clothes that weren’t as conservative as I was used to, and I was in the middle of herds of people. This was not okay. But you were going to be there soon, right? The weight building in my stomach was growing. Stop it. She told you she’d be here, didn’t she? Besides, this place is supposed to be fun, so stop worrying and enjoy it. I spent another 45 minutes burning through tickets. I won nothing. I bought lunch, but didn’t eat it. I wished you were there with me.

By the time I called you, the time had shifted from 2pm to 4:45pm. On the second try, you picked up. By this point, I don’t know why I asked you where you were. I know you. Had you been on your way, you would have messaged me which train station you had reached. But instead, I was calling you again. I’m not sure if you could hear it, but as we spoke, a voice of spite found its way into my words. Something about the fact that you continued apologizing set a small fire in me. That fire wanted straight forward answers. It sneered and fed an attitude into my tone. It asked you if you were coming at all. You said no.

That was it. I walked up to the nearest stand and spent my remaining tickets as quickly as I could. I bumped into people and didn’t bother to turn back and apologize. You weren’t coming? Why was that surprising to me? It’s not like it hadn’t happened before. My mind filled with thoughts much worse than that, but I’m not proud to remember them. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to think about how much I wanted it to work out. You promised. And I trusted you. Again.

The anger didn’t last long, but I was upset for quite a while. When I got home early and my parents asked me what happened, they didn’t seem surprised. They banned me from hanging out with you alone for the next couple of months. I never told you much about that though because even after I realized that I was not at fault, I also knew that you were just as aware of it. I never asked you, but whenever I saw you after that, there was this solemn look in your eyes that apologized. I know you felt bad. So I never told you how bad I felt. I didn’t want to make you feel any worse than you already were. You recognized what you did, and that is why I wanted to stay friends with you. I’m sorry I never told you the truth about how I felt though. Communication is a street that goes both ways, and by neglecting that, I’ve caused unnecessary tension between us now. If you’re reading this, I want you to know that I’m sorry, and that I’ve forgiven you for that whole situation. I just haven’t forgiven myself for hiding from you.

Ever since then, part of me stopped trusting you. It has been literal years, and the both of us have grown into very different individuals, and yet I still don’t fully trust you. You have made up for this whole thing on many occasions, and we have even discussed how much closer we’ve gotten. But for some reason, I never let that fear go. That fear that you were going to break my trust. So, the day that you told me just how much you trusted me, I realized just how stupid I was being. By not telling you about my feelings I created this divide, this separator that is no longer appropriate in our friendship. So, with this post, I hope to complete this overdue explaination.

but. I still can’t bring myself to tell you. I’m a coward. But still, that isn’t a very good excuse. I hope you read this. Cause I can’t bring myself to tell you. I’m sorry.

Spoken Word + Blackout

Letter – Iris (slowed + reverb)

Spoken Word:

Don’t Cry.

You can’t buy happiness. You can make it, share it, or even find it. And yet you can’t buy it. I wonder why it’s so easy to steal then.

If you can make your own happiness, then why would you steal mine? If you steal it, you won’t gain it. And yet you snatch it from me anyways. You snatch this invisible comfort from me, crumple it up, mock it. 

You break it. 

Every single time, you break it. You hold it up to my eyes and force me to watch you shatter it. The little pieces, unfixable, unrecognizable. I wonder if you laugh behind that anger.

Maybe you make your own happiness when you see others lose theirs. Does it inspire you? Does it satisfy your ache of emptiness, knowing that you can make others empty too? Or, do you still believe you can have it for yourself? Do you believe that you can trade joy for pain, even though you already know you can’t replace the hole you made with another? Why don’t you learn, even after experimenting thousands of times? How much evidence do you need? 

You steal it from me. You might say that I can easily remake it, but why would I keep remaking something you’re going to break? It doesn’t make sense. You only realize how deep your void is when you remember how full it used to be. You dig deeper every time, and I cry everytime, and yet you keep testing to make sure your answer is accurate because you don’t like the answer. Why do you hate me? Or why do you hate seeing my happiness? Do I threaten you? 

Am I your reminder of what you want (what you need), what you aim for (what you hurt for), what you have dedicated yourself to (what you intentionally empty others for)? Is it funny? In your world, is taking that same as giving, is anger the same as joy, is breaking the same as making? Why do you do it again and again?

Maybe it’s reassurance. That you’re still in control. That you know what you’re doing. That you hold the power. Are you actually powerful if you have to steal to feel complete? Do you need to steal in order to feel adequate enough that you will trade in the remainder of your joy for a taste? You tell me that my tears are useless. That they make me useless. Why do you keep bringing them back? To tell me that same line again? To push the dagger in just a little bit deeper each time? 

How often do you lie to me?

It’s delicate yet whole, it’s elegant yet casual, it’s comforting yet vulnerable. Open the flood gates. Let it rain again. Let it be destroyed. This little light of mine. Let me hide it from you. Why would you take away what lets me be me? Maybe you don’t like me. Maybe you don’t like you. But that’s a secret, don’t tell anyone. Don’t let the truth be the truth, because then the roles would be reversed. Once a thief, always a thief. Funny how that works out.

I can’t say anything. I can’t steal it back. I can’t fix it. Are you testing my resilience? Is this your duty, your responsibility? Say it again. Tell me it’s for my own good. Poison is still poison, whether it’s in apple juice or alcohol. It still kills. I still die. And yet, what if next time, I don’t? What if I remain unaffected, and watch you watch me, and let your certainty shatter just like my happiness? Or, what if I die this time, and never come back? You keep testing the theory again and again, and yet, even though you don’t actually like the result, it’s better than something different happening. That’s why you don’t actually break me. Just my happiness. Just the structure of my soul. That’s ok. 

It hurts. Why are my bedsheets drenched in absence? Why do I stay away from you? Why can’t I just be happy? The easiest questions to answer, yet I don’t give you the right responses. I don’t give anyone the right responses. I’m not happy. I’m not me. I’m not okay. But don’t tell anyone, that’s my secret. After all, the weak depend on lies. Maybe my tears do make me useless.

I can’t buy happiness. I can make it, share it, or even find it. And yet I can’t buy it. I wonder why the most valuable resource in our lives is one that can form or vanish in seconds, yet is the most plentiful and scarce at the same time.

I wonder if I’m turning into you.

Author Comments:

I don’t like this spoken word. In fact, I probably hate it.

I wrote this all in one sitting yesterday night. Life hit hard, and I lost it. I didn’t have any control over anything. Everything just kinda plummeted, and it dragged me down with it. If I’m honest, it was a reality check. A reminder of the little box of rage I carry with me. I genuinely hope no one reading this ever understands what I’m feeling right now.

I didn’t know what to do. There was nothing to do. I was not me. Just raw, ugly emotion. So I put that monster on this page and walked away. I drew hatred from my hidden reserve and strung this together. I hate it, because it is my hate. I don’t want to be this person.

I don’t know if writing made me feel better, but I do know that it made me believe my thoughts. That said, they are not nice thoughts. They are ugly and abusive and of bad intent. I’m embarrassed to say they are mine. I don’t know if I actually want people to read them. I just want to leave it all here and forget. I already don’t want to read the comments. At the same time though, if I don’t post this, I don’t know what I will. So I guess this abomination is here to stay.

In terms of the structure of my poem, at the time, my mind was spitting fire, and so the tone of the writing depicts that. It’s aggressive and choppy and insecure (just like me teehee), and that’s shown through the short questions and the long accusations. I also tend to use the “rule of three” in this piece quite a bit. While others might say that listing three things in a row is the strongest way to support a statement without making it drag on, I just find it’s natural. It builds up the thought in levels, making the final statement feel lasting. Along with that, it just sounds better to me. When I talk, I do the same thing, and it just kind of made its way into this poem without me thinking about it. I used metaphors and similes throughout, such as the poison and the comparisons to happiness, which were really just a way to relay a feeling or highlight something indirectly.

If I’m honest, the use of literary devices didn’t even occur to me when I wrote. It wasn’t my priority. The reason I wrote every single line just comes down to the fact that it felt true. It felt like it needed to be written that way for me to feel like I was the writer. I needed to write in a way that I was comfortable, as I wrote about my discomfort. Everything is written in this way, because I wanted to write in the voice that I was feeling. That’s why there are big gaps to relay pauses, and bolded words to express emphasis. I have no other reason for it. I don’t know how else to explain it.

In the end, I’m not sure what the purpose of this poem was. It’s just here. I guess I was really dedicated to sharing my soul on this blog, huh? Either way, it’s done, so it’s staying. I’m not going to let it bother me.

Blackout Poem:

DON’T CRY.

i find you in The others too.

you made me remember to cry.

do you break the same as i do or feel my tears each time? 

lie to me.

Let me hide from you.

don’t like me.

I can’t lie again.

break me.

tears scar

-Simran Sidhu