The Girl With Smiles...

Divya,

I can't write beautiful poems like you do, but I just wanted to say this: You always wanted to help people, save someone, and you should know that you have already, atleast one, by way of your friendship. Thank you for being there for me, thank you for always being so strong and courageous and kind and in turn being an inspiration for me. Thank you, for just being.

Wish you love, happiness, success, good friendships, health, wealth and peace.

Happy birthday :)


Love,
A

Clipped Wings...

I am scared of being caught. Scared of being put in a pigeon-hole. Scared of someone telling me, you can't do this. I hate that. I can do anything. I want to believe that.


Friends often make fun of me when I tell them I am claustrophobic. I don't like small cramped places. Small rooms. The first time I heard about Vaishno-devi, I was scared and amazed. There's a small hole you need to pass through to enter the innermost chamber, and that to me seemed impossible. Every time someone talked about it, I saw myself stuck in it, always. As a kid, and this is funny, I believed, ardently so, that I was some sort of an angel (well, not like a nice person, but someone who could fly) and that I had come to earth for some reason and having done my job, one day, I would fly back to wherever I came from (Yep, stories, stories, I always loved listening to them and making up my own). I once dreamt in college that I could fly. I rose above the ground, very ethereal, and flew away from the living room window, like I was a light bird and my dad was trying to hold me back, like a kid who is trying to save a balloon that has escaped from its grasp. I told this to my family once, and we all laughed at how silly it was. Why am I so scared of being caught? What is all this struggle about?


I love windows, big windows; they represent freedom, an escape. As long as there's a window in the room, nothing can keep you tied down and helpless and locked. You can always flee.


I think I am running away from me. I think I am struggling to be free from my own grip.


There are so many things I want to do, and the only thing that's stopping me is, perhaps, me.  

Unbuttoned & Attentive Red Lips...

Throughout history, women have been depicted in great works of art. There’s the Venus de Milo, Mona Lisa, Virgin Mary and even the Statue of Liberty. One thing they had in common: They were all the vision of perfection through the eyes of a man. “Society has a problem with female nudity when it is not . . . ”—Badu pauses to get her words together; she wants this point to be very clear—“. . . when it is not packaged for the consumption of male entertainment. Then it becomes confusing.”

(Source)

True enough, womanly beauty has always been depicted and painted and poetised and talked about in terms that would appeal to men. You'll argue that beauty's whole purpose is to appeal to and attract the opposite sex, for a whole lot of evolutionary reasons. And fine, I understand the whole science behind "attraction". But we have been so brainwashed by what "men" find attractive in women, that we, women, have forgotten what we find attractive in us. We have come to see woman's beauty only through the male perspective. We don't understand beauty any way else. And everything from hair shampoo to foot crack cream is sold with a promise that it would make us women beautiful to men.


Ask me and I would talk about a woman's slender neck. Those delicate shoulders, those striking collarbones, the hollows at the base of her throat, the foot arch. I love curvy feet or then shapely calves or even a beautiful navel.


Why aren't there any women artists, women poets, women writers, women sculptors showing us what feminine beauty means to them? Has no one ever found it necessary to find out what women find beautiful about themselves?


Is a woman beautiful only if men find her beautiful?

We Are All Going Forward. None Of Us Are Going Back...

Dear Forgiveness, you know that recently

we have had our difficulties and there are many things

I want to ask you.

I tried that one time, high school, second lunch, and then again,

years later, in the chlorinated pool.

I am still talking to you about help. I still do not have

these luxuries.

I have told you where I’m coming from, so put it together.

I want more applesauce. I want more seats reserved for heroes.

Dear Forgiveness, I saved a plate for you.

Quit milling around the yard and come inside."

— Richard Siken

*****

"I’ve been rereading your story. I think it’s about me in a way that might not be flattering, but that’s okay. We dream and dream of being seen as we really are and then finally someone looks at us and sees us truly and we fail to measure up. Anyway: story received, story included. You looked at me long enough to see something mysterious under all the gruff and bluster. Thanks. Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them."

— Richard Siken

*****

"All night I streched my arms across

him, rivers of blood, the dark woods, singing

with all my skin and bone ''Please keep him safe.

Let him lay his head on my chest and we will be

like sailors, swimming in the sound of it, dashed

to pieces.'' Makes a cathedral, him pressing against

me, his lips at my neck, and yes, I do believe

his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars."

— Richard Siken

Just Like A Woman...

Nobody feels any pain
Tonight as I stand inside the rain
Ev'rybody knows
That Baby's got new clothes
But lately I see her ribbons and her bows
Have fallen from her curls.

She takes just like a woman, yes, she does
She makes love just like a woman, yes, she does
And she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl.

Queen Mary, she's my friend
Yes, I believe I'll go see her again
Nobody has to guess
That Baby can't be blessed
Till she sees finally that she's like all the rest
With her fog, her amphetamine and her pearls.

She takes just like a woman, yes, she does
She makes love just like a woman, yes, she does
And she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl.

It was raining from the first
And I was dying there of thirst
So I came in here
And your long-time curse hurts
But what's worse
Is this pain in here
I can't stay in here
Ain't it clear that --

I just can't fit

Yes, I believe it's time for us to quit
When we meet again
Introduced as friends
Please don't let on that you knew me when
I was hungry and it was your world.

Ah, you fake just like a woman, yes, you do
You make love just like a woman, yes, you do
Then you ache just like a woman
But you break just like a little girl.

Cupcakes...

Wicked Bookmarks...

Oooh I love this! So want!

A bookmark with the Wicked Witch of the East's legs and the ruby slippers...

Totally delish!

From Oops, I craft my pants. Lovely blog. Do check it out.