am fourteen rest read out from my posts

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  • rutvi6 2w


    //The pain of blank pages is best understood by an artist.//

    A painter who is not quite able to able to blend colours on the canvas the way life carved lines on his forehead.
    // This time the best colours are too dark, or maybe too bright for the darker than black of live's reality.//

    A musicain who falls to beat to the beat which has kept him alive all along those dark days and sleepless nights.
    //This time, even if this yound bold heart(which has been fragile) beats to those life giving beats, the society calls it chaotic or too loud or simple not the ideal kind.//

    A dancer who fails to crease her fat curves and not so smooth edges on stage to express her offerings to spectators who are hungry for false beauty, for being impressed.
    //This time her curves are becoming lines and her edges fullstops to an amazing expressionist, to her real beauty, her imperfections.//

    A dramatist who knows theatre to its core and its aim at the best which is too bring reality to the front face of the arena, to express, to make people happy and instill in them a hope to live is now taking circles of big directors and producers who want money, fame at the cost of anything, even morality and humanity.
    // This time pure souls are hidden, punched in the face and maube lost forever because of hunger for things which dont last forever.//

    A writer, an aspiring one , fears black pages because they remind of failure, failure of penning down his own story, what was known to him beacause of the unknown, for the society which will never be satisfied even if you gift it with pearls made of your flesh, for people who breathe in cruelty and virtuality and then he stops believing in himself and surrenders himself to the dark unknown of the light within him .

    // This time not just aspiring writers, i think at times the so famous successful writers fear blank pages, fall short of words, curse the ink filled in the pen because all of these cannot do justice to a side of him which is hidden from the world, the unknown broken kid in them who had no friends, an introverted teenage boy who never really fitted in, a drunkard who cried herself to sleep, or maybe the seemingly perfect and happy adult in them who never wrote the spirit and the flame which got them writing, whi are not happy.//

    Repeat after me,
    NO ONE

    Image credit - rightful owner.

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    //They say stares are powerful.//

    I was staring at blank pages, and when i was falling short of words and the ink in my pen was cursing itself for belonging to me, the blank pages revealed their story to me.

    //The pain of blank pages is best understood by an artist.//

  • rutvi6 3w

    Disclamer: The first two paragraphs have very bold language.Do not read.
    I know the lyrics does not quite go well with the poem i wrote last night. Never the less, i was driven by my instinct to do this. Sorry if it didnt came out well.
    Note : The body has lines from a book named "The 5 a.m. club" by Robin Sharma.
    The caption includes the poem i wrote.

    //Buddy, you're a boy, make a big noise
    Playing in the street, gonna be a big man someday
    You got mud on your face, you big disgrace
    Kicking your can all over the place, singin'//

    I am guilty of sins, i never comitted.
    I am unworthy for lies, i mever said.
    Give me pain, and i shall accept it.
    Punish me till dawn, and i wont disapprove of it.
    Let me down, and i wont dare to rise.
    Plung a knife deep in my spine, but my soul wont demise.
    For bloody sinners, this is what would suffice.

    //Buddy, you're a young man, hard man
    Shouting in the street, gonna take on the world someday
    You got blood on your face, you big disgrace
    Waving your banner all over the place//

    Kick off my ass, and i shall bend more.
    Suffocate my dreams, and my voice shall choke.
    Stretch my legs, penetrate my scars.
    Keep the blood which seeps out in jars.
    Push my down, and more shall i kneal.
    Hide me from kids, but i wont conceal.
    For blood-thirst criminals, this is how goes the deal.

    //Buddy, you're an old man, poor man
    Pleading with your eyes, gonna get you some peace someday
    You got mud on your face, big disgrace
    Somebody better put you back into your place, do it!//

    Appreciate my presence, and i will give you more reasons to.
    Hug me once, and i wont let you go.
    Run hands through my hairs, and i shall never cut them again.
    To smell of acceptance in the rain of pain.
    When my lips shall you kiss.
    In your fate shall I spellbound bliss.
    A monster am I.
    But i have nightmares too, to your suprise.
    Inside me a devil dwells.
    Which has a story to tell.


    Image credit -
    To its rightful owner.

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    A gun would be too violent.
    A noose would be too ancient.
    And a knife blade to the wrist would be too silent.
    So the question became
    "How can a once glorious life be ended swiftly and precisely with minimum mess yet maximam impact?"

  • rutvi6 3w

    Those holes which you created in my heart, will remain hollow, would bleed. Every month but not on a fixed date. The ones you pierced with your silence. Remember?
    Even when you will leave.(I know that you are about to.)
    Even when someone else will cross by, they will remain hollow with bloodstains and some traces of dried tears, because wanting to feel that love again will cause me to feel that hurt again.

    They will remain hollow,darling!
    In your memory?Not exactly!
    But they will.
    And the beautiful part is
    These bloodstains will be your kisses.
    These tears, your warmth.
    And these holes? Their graveyard.

  • rutvi6 4w

    When my pen bleeds without ink
    I find a fragile link
    Surrounded with assumptions and prejudice
    Dipped in cowardice
    To a past i survived
    To my soul i lied
    For writings i left incomplete
    For memories i dod delete
    For reasons far-forgotten
    For purpose yet rotten
    For tears i didnt wipe
    For fruits which didnt ripe
    For holes which seemed like cracks
    For meaning which my feeling lacks
    Tracing ways
    Though in greys
    I found me!

    Image credit- to the eughtful owner.

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    When my pen bleeds without ink
    I find a fragile link..

    ..Tracing ways
    Though in greys
    I found me!

  • rutvi6 4w

    I wrote a melody on life.
    Love bled on the first line
    Death beautified the nexf
    The sing ended.

    Pic credit- to the rightful owner.

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    I wrote a melody on life.
    Love bled on the first line
    Death beautified the next
    The song ended.

  • rutvi6 4w

    What's the worst thing?

    "To be judged by your looks."

    "Not to be given a chance to prove that judgement wrong." I corrected.

  • rutvi6 4w

    I wanted to join your sirname to mine
    You taught me to scribble your initials on my scars.
    And now its irresistible, bewitching.
    Yet, magnificient.

    Image credit- to the righful owner.

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    I wished to join your sirname to my name
    You taught me to scribble your initials on my scars.

  • rutvi6 5w

    //They say acceptance makes things easier, maybe they are correct.//

    I am a self accepted failure .
    A failure with great grades.
    A failure, whose father talkes about Moksha.
    And whose mother knows the perfect balance between work and family. 
    A failure, who has the best people to hang around with.
    Above all, a failure not just because of the scenarios outside, in the surroundings but the situations and the conditions I created inside my own mind.
    But they say acceptance makes things better. And it has, not the usual kind of better but somewhat clearer.
    I am too numb for feelings and emotions.
    My periods last very long these days. And I smell like blood.
    I am too tired to speak.
    The saliva of my mouth has stagnated and feels good to be that ways, it's only my pen which bleeds (and my skin which stinks), because I am tired telling the same tale to different people and then being shattered yet again, it makes the story longer every time, new betrayals add chapters to the story.
    I have become fragile Now with many cracks.
    Too fragile, to handle a loud scream or a glare, I am timid.
    And accepting this makes me a little stronger because now I have forgotten to fight, to scream back, to question and to re-question.
    But there seems a ray of hope.
    I am waiting for you to eat me up.
    To egulf me, please and I would happily jump in the inferno of your flames.
    And if I am left as ash, throw me up, up there. And I will mingle with the five elements.
    Because holding things Now feels like a curse. I want to flow, And let go of the flow.
    All of my fears, my insecurities, my bad, my flaws, my cliches, all will be a part of this world in the form of the wind, water, earth, sky and fire.
    And then a part of me will be a part of you.

    Image credit - to the rightful owner.

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    I am too numb for feelings and emotions.
    My periods last way too long these days.
    I smell like blood.
    I am too tired to speak.
    It's just the blunt pen which bleeds.
    I have become fragile.

    DEATH engulf me up, And I shall happily jump in the inferno of your flames.
    And if I am left as ash. Throw me up. Up there.
    And then a part of me will be part of you.

  • rutvi6 5w

    Because the fake stays, And real feelings are so f**ked up, that they are craving for being forgotten and deleted.
    Btw.. Goodbye.

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    I have been raped.

    And the artist or this art is still roaming with liberty, breathing without guilt and regret, relishing her taste buds with someone's flesh, entering other's thoughts and shattering others peace, to decorate her arena of power, of satisfaction through misery of innocents, her world of stains!

    SHE is FREE.
    She is clean, yet unknown to the world of who she really is : A SCAVENGER.

    Stab on the face of humanity.
    Curse on the kumkum beckoning her forehead.
    An Artist; capturing blood, bloodstains, creating big black holes in while portraits.
    Vanquish of feminism; moulding the bashfulness to wrath and lust.
    Enving small hearts who wish to fly, to dream.
    Nagging faiths and tiring the threads of others fate all round her wrists.
    Greedy of other's happiness, greedy of cries and screams.
    Embarrassing feline tender and delicacy.
    Raged mortal who is blood-thirsty, toxic and cruel.

    Which court will give justice to me?
    When will my culprit be behind the bars, known to the world of her sins?
    Who will stand for me, if my legs are a little too fragile?
    Will my pleas be heard, if my screams and shouts weren't?
    Where shall I beg for my virginity to be restored and my body cleaned?
    If I say I raped myself.

  • rutvi6 6w

    You are the girl he flirts with in the bright and colorful noon.
    I am the one who has wiped his tears in all those bitter blue - grey nights.
    We aren't the same.