Verbal Vomit

Am I talking too fast?

Am I staring too hard?

Please don't judge me,

I only want to kiss you, a little more perhaps.

Am I spacing out too much?

Am I too involved?

Please don't hate me,

I only want to love you. 

Boy v/s Man

I'm infatuated with you, why can't you understand. I think about you when I have nothing else to think about. Think of me too sometimes, please. Or I'll end up giving my still broken heart to someone else.

We're all so lonely, looking for some company. We crave for someone to wake up next to, not always but once in a while maybe. Someone to share and over-share with. 

Isn't it the best feeling, to not go to bed with a broken heart and wake up with a smile? Knowing that someone cares very deeply for you. 

But you're not the one. 

You're not the one I've been looking for.

It's alright though.

I give up.

I can't spend my life chasing after you.

He's new.

Brand new and shiny.

With the face of an angel.

He wants to know me, pick my brain.

The feeling is mutual.

Maybe I'm a bad person for humoring him because I can't have you.

But what do I do?

I'm lonely too.

Simplicity.

Innocence.

Humility.

It'll only be a matter of time I will fall deeply in love.

I thought I'd be you.

I was wrong. 

Lover Of Lovers

I still think about you sometimes.

I wonder if you think about me too.

Do you love me still?

What if I said I love you, too.

But I'll never come back to you.

You pushed me away, threw me out.

I can't return to you anymore.

All the lies and slander.

Your desperation.

Your infidelity.

So many good things, too many bad.

Sex.

So much sex.

Oral.

Anal.

Top.

Bottom.

Left.

Right.

Side.

Upfront.

Standing.

Sitting

Lying down.

Bending forward.

Bending back.

Bondage.

Submission.

Role-play.

Or plain vanilla sex.

A rush, everytime. 

Do you remember the first million times we kissed? Under the moonlight, not a soul around. 

One could make a movie out of our lives.

But so much violence, so much pain

I didn't mind how you'd handle my body.

Paint your pictures.

Mark your territory.

Kiss every inch of it.

It felt like you worshipped my body sometimes.

It felt like I knew every inch of your skin.

Strange familiarity.

You knew my kinks and I knew yours.

Our deepest fantasies, our biggest dreams.

Was it even real what we had or was it just the drugs?

It makes me sad to think that you'd probably try and recreate what we had with someone new, as will I someday.

It makes me lose hope in the concept of "love".

Maybe I wasn't all that fantastic.

Maybe we didn't really have a connection that goes beyond words, it was probably a little fantasy I had conjured in my head.

My heart refuses to let go, make room for someone new.

They won't fuck me like you did.

They won't fuck me like you do.

Off and On

When someone takes your clothes off, piece by piece.
There's a fire burning in your lions.
You want him, more than anything in the world, you want him.

You kiss.
Your tongues find each other.
They dance.
Mate.
Connect.
Become one.

He holds you in his arms, you're in love.
All of a sudden.
Your guards drop.
You're naked and vulnerable in front of him.
The two of you know you want to make love.
For a change.
Probably your first time.
You want his love more than his hunger this time.
He treats you gently, doesn't reprimand you like the other times when you two've frolicked in public spaces, cars, rooftops, rooms etc etc.
He enters you without his guard on.
His heart is his dick.
So gentle, so loving, so satisfying.
You don't orgasm but you feel strangely ecstatic, like you're on drugs.
You feel whole for a fraction of a second and you want to hold on to that feeling forever.

You make endless and eternal love on an afternoon as the sunlight soaks in through the curtains. You're in his room, you want to be in his heart.
Hours seem like mere minutes.
The deed is done, you're back to wearing your clothes again.

Why must he tell you that he loves you when he doesn't.
He mistakes lust for love.
You mistake love for lust.
Game over.

Newfound Singlehood:Observations

1.  The ratio of man:woman at social gatherings is terrible. Even if you don't want it, you will find yourself chatting with more men than women.
2. At what point does a conversation become flirting? I am so terrible at flirting. I have the charm of a cockroach. It's sad and hilarious at the same time.
3. It is now very clear that I only pique the interest of 30 somethings and about-to-be 30 somethings. For me, it is scary because I still identify as a girl and not yet a woman. Like a game, I try and pick their brains, try to figure them out. It's exhausting though, they're tougher nuts to crack.
4. My options are endless but why can't I find a person I actually like and want to be with? I'm not compromising anymore, if you want me then you'll have to woo me, seduce me, possibly make me fall in love.
5. Nobody tells you how lonely it gets from time to time. You don't want to spend so much time choosing from available options, ultimately I'd like to hit it off with that one special person and be with them and only them. I wish I could function like a guy in these matters, I'd just fuck and forget. It's a lot more convenient that way.
6. I am totally crushing on a douchebag at the moment. Why, heart, why do you do this to me every time?
7. All these months of being single has made me realise that human beings are conceited, full of themselves and most of them are damaged beyond repair. I almost regret sticking my tongue down this one guy's throat who will just not stop talking about his ex girlfriends and lovers. OH MY GOD, IT IS THE WORST THING, to have to patiently listen to people go on and on and on about their sexual/romantic history. Why do grown-ass men do this!
8. Women are wicked. Stay away from them. DO NOT fall in love with another woman. DO NOT. Just don't, no good will come of it.

Deepest Wounds

I'd rather take a knife to my stomach than your cruel words.

Your lies.

Your beliefs.

Your self-obsession.

I'd rather get punched in the face, kicked, slapped, bruised.

Like I have been so many times before by men, boys, monsters etc.

This superficiality around me makes me so sad.

Nobody cares.

Nobody loves.

Nobody lives.

Nobody believes. 

It's unfair that I feel all these feelings so deeply and most people don't.

It's not a fucking superpower, it is a curse.

Over the years, I've learnt to abandon my firm belief in the fact that someone will come and rescue me from my endless tragedies. Someone will love me slightly more than I love them, for a change. Someone will fix all these holes in my heart, if nothing else. 

Disney movies, however, are not real. Real life is cruel. People are cruel. I can't fathom why, but they are. I guess everybody is too involved with themselves to care about anybody else. It's incredibly heartbreaking.

Sometimes I wish I could physically feel all of this pain instead of this sinking feeling in my stomach.

I am tired.

I am so tired.

Of being this cheerful.

Like nothing is wrong.

When in my head I've devised a million ways to kill myself.

I want to die.

I want to die.

I want to die.

I want to die.

I want to die, please, universe.

I don't want anything.

I just want to die.

Note To Younger Self

Dear me,

Thank you for holding on, despite all the tragedies you've had to undergo. There are things which you probably should have done and things that you shouldn't have. But that's okay. Life goes on.

Love

Slightly Older and Wiser Me

Broken Social Scene

I don't need tinder 

I don't need facebook

I don't need the internet to find you

I'll find you in real life. 

You exist.

I've passed you so many times before.

Maybe we've glanced at each other.

You holding someone.

Me with someone else.

You exist.

I know you do.

You could be the one I've kissed while drunk.

You could be the one I've kissed completely sober. 

Out there in your world, I hope you think of me too. 

I hope you feel as deeply as I do.

I exist.

Only for you. 

Deep down I am a junkie. I get addicted to all sorts of things, activities, people etc etc. But I abandon my habit one fine day, just like that. I've been like that for years now. With time I have learnt to channelise my addiction to constructive things. Lately it's been working out. I am dying to get back in shape, be flexible like a freak because I want to have sex with someone, let him see me naked. It's exciting, my motivation. It's quite effective too. I mark my workouts on my calendar, went shopping for sexy fitness wear to wear during my workouts and what not.

It's taken me a long time but I've learnt to love myself, give myself some credit for pulling off the stunts of my past.

It feels almost comical to remind myself of my dendrite days, I'd like to think I've come a long way since.

But man o man, I was so incredibly addicted to dendrite. The first time I got high on dendrite was when I was at home one day. That was the first time I heard or one of the first times that I heard, In Utero. It was dreamlike. It was surreal, scary, grotesque and yet so comforting.

I've changed a lot since. I really have. Sometimes I can't relate to the person I was when I was 15/16. Why did I do the things I did, to get here, where I am today? 

My only addiction that still remains is probably dick. I went through a phase where I wanted Mister Mystery's dick inside of me 24/7. I never wanted him to pull out, for us to stop. It was a strange kind of addition. I almost relapsed into something similar with A. But dick is like heroin. It slowly kills you, sucks the life out of you in exchange of endless pleasure. 

Orgams.

I'm an orgasm junkie.

"I think I'm dumb. Or maybe just happy" 

Done By None

The older I grow, the more I am sure that dating men isn't quite my thing. I love dick, but I hate the person it comes attached with, usually almost always. The last person I was in a relationship of sorts with, scarred me beyond repair and somehow it's not even about him, all men are like that. At least almost all the ones I have been with so far in life. I don't get men, I just don't understand the way they think and function. First they chase you, woo you only because they want to sleep with you. It's good initially and then they have this obsessive need to look around elsewhere. You can be a goddess in bed and yet your will find it hard to control his roving eye. Why? I don't get why sex is so important for men, sex without any connection, without any intimacy. I need to feel connected to the person I am having sex with, how can I have good sex otherwise? I probably won't even orgasm.
Why can't women orgasm as easily as men?

I have often dated people who I have been obviously too good for and yet it is they who have treated me like shit. It's a little absurd when I think of all the vile things people have done and said. But why? Why are men so cruel?
I'm done with men. All of them. I'm sick and tired of pining after guys only to have them crush my heart into pieces. I think I have been going about this all wrong. I need to find me a good woman with the same relationship goals as me.

Your loss, men of the world.
I could have been the best you've ever had, but you missed your chance.

Something In The Way

With so many new projects in the offing, I'm slowly starting to get into a groove of sorts. It feels quite fantastic to play my music with people I've looked up to growing up. This is real. This is my life and I'm doing something I've always wanted to. I took a big risk, my world is at stake. I don't know if any of this will work or not, but I'm not in this for the power, popularity or the fame. 

I could do this for the rest of my life, playing my songs with people who get me. 

Some money along the way would be good too though. 

Replay.

I wake up with a hangover. I check to see the contents of my phone. No embarrassing pictures, no drunken texts to anybody. Thank god. I remember playing M's telecaster, jamming with the guys on a new song they've been working on for the last couple of weeks. I am surprised by how much I've grown over these last few years, quite quickly in fact. I think of the young starlet and her desperation to fit in, to be accepted. I feel bad for her since I've never had to go through a phase of not being liked by anybody. That's probably because I've been serious and humble all my life. I don't do the page-3 scene. I have talent, like many others. But what I have more than others is probably self-respect, when it comes to my work. I want to reach out to her, sit her down and advice her to pick up the pieces and turn her life around. But I don't think she'd like that very much. Sometimes you have to let people learn from their own mistake, you cannot guide everybody all the time.

I don't understand arrogance, what causes some people to be so incredibly proud of having achieved so little. It turns me off. I guess I'm allowed to be a snob about these things because I've seen and worked with greats from a really young age and when you grow up watching someone like Amyt Dutt and Jivraj Singh play, you realise how inconsequential your achievements really are. You are a great big nothing in comparison. What's so inspiring about all these greats is their humility, their grace. I am in awe of them, I want to emulate them somehow. I feel grateful to be surrounded by all these individuals who I have so much to learn from.

I crib about my daily struggles to someone who's produced all the greatest bands and artists you've probably heard. Starting from Jerry Garcia to Nirvana to Radiohead. When people like that advice you, guide you, you have a tremendous amount of pressure on your back to do something with your life instead of fooling around. I guess grace is something that people from other cities will never know. But I think of how me and my friends are at a juncture where people are starting to take us seriously. It's intimidating, their expectations. I'm not a wonder kid with spunk anymore, I need to engage women and the youth to think and practise thinking instead of taking what they have for granted.

On my way to the restroom, I see a bunch of kids sitting around, whispering excitedly as they see me pass. I hear someone murmur my name. How do they know my name? They seem to be in awe. I glance at them, I expect they're looking at me because I look hot (got to pull out a few sexy tricks out of the bag once in a while to stay relevant!) but that is not the case, they give me the 'Oh there goes Suyasha didi' vibes. I am flattered and quite amused. I also feel responsible all of a sudden. I should be able to influence these kids, teach them the importance of being humble and hardworking.
I need to work harder. I need to be more dedicated perhaps.

My band has been in the spotlight since the release of our debut album but that's really nothing if you think about it. I have my body of work on record and I am proud of it, definitely. Yet somehow it is not enough.

I have been working harder since the release of the album. Exploring new genres and styles, trying to create more music, better music.
I am excited about the new projects that I've been working on. The harder I work, the more I practise, the more self confidence I seem to have. The line between confidence and arrogance is a thin one. My reality check comes when people I've grown up idolising want to play music with me. It feels strange, almost like I high. But it's a scary feeling.

"What if I play wrong chords?"
"What if I sing off-key?"
"What if I can't deliver?"

I ask M if I can play his guitar. He brings out his amp instead of poking fun at me. We exchange guitars and he teaches me to play his song and I sing along as he plays one of his older tunes. He's the sweetest guy you'll ever meet if you can get past his obnoxious outer layer. I love how he's so incredibly sweet to people he likes and such a bitch to people he doesn't. There is so much to learn from him. People need to cut him some slack I think, especially those who don't know him or have never hung out with him.
This Calcutta clan is tight as ever, almost like a family now. I am one of the youngest in the brat pack and I love every minute of it. I feel safe, protected. This is something that I have been craving for for a long time now-acceptance for who I am, without having to pretend.

I had very predictable reactions of my set from those who came in last night. The audience loved it, that's not the point though. The audience will love anything as long as you play from your heart. That isn't even a criteria for me anymore. But I've still got to fine tune, smoothen the creases. There's so much work still left.

I want to work my ass off these next two months and then take a vacation, which I am hoping will involve some drugs. I need to squeeze some sex in there as well, I don't know how but I have to. I have two frickin months to find someone I like and want to have sex with. That's the one thing I need to keep me rooted, down on the ground.

Sex really is my biggest stress buster. I have said this many times before, I am a very sensual person by nature. When I'm writing a song or playing a gig or even practising, it is like fornication for me. It is sacred, the experience is deeply personal. I guess that's why I am so attracted to music, it's basically like fucking for me.

Anyway, two months to find a new squeeze. Challenge to self accepted.

Young Drunk Punk reprise

In 2014 I had a rather rude awakening. There are no female musicians in my age group (?)

I don't understand why chicks don't pick up instruments and play the fuck out of them. It makes me so incredibly angry. I refuse to be the girl who "sings" in a band and looks pretty. I am a musician. I write my songs. By writing I don't mean vocal melodies and lyrics alone. I compose. I arrange. I paint the whole picture, not merely add shades to them. 

My les paul has somehow changed me as a musician. I'm playing better guitars. I'm writing better guitar parts, focusing more on layers. It's fucking inspiring as fuck.

My new songs are raw, grotesque. I want to explore and exploit this new state of mind. My life is as Indian punk as it gets. Neo-Indian punk. 

I finished tracking guitars (about 4 layers, mind you) and vocals for a new song today and although it's just a scratch, I feel a strange sense of excitement, of bigger things to come. 

I have been working my ass off for as long as I remember and like a phoenix, I shall rise again. It is only a matter of time.

Brace yourself world, this  young drunk and punk girl will hit the right spot. I can sense it. 

My Head, My Rules

I have been working out religiously these last few weeks and even if it doesn't show just yet, I feel so incredibly good about my body these days. Truth be told, I had let myself go and I think I reached my melting point when I'd see how ugly I was starting to become. Fat in all the wrong places, so unfit, so inflexible. But I have sworn to myself that I will not let my body go there again, it's a scary place and sometimes there's no coming back when you get there. I'm young and I refuse to let my youth go to waste like this. Shit happens but you've got to pick yourself up and get back on the road again.

I am excited to let someone see me naked, see how lean I've become. I want someone to enjoy my body, pleasure it. I don't know who and I don't know when just yet but I am looking forward to it, yes.

I make all these rules as I grow. The latest one being to not let people fall in love with me. People fall in love very easily and that kills me sometimes because I can't seem to reciprocate. This is exactly why I hate dating boys. They're much too naive, too young. They fall in love at the drop of a hat, just like I fall for older guys. It's a perpetual love triangle.
I may be a brat but I have a heart, I don't want people to undergo unnecessary misery because of me. I have been in similar situations where I've been strung along and trust me, it's not a good feeling. I hate it when people charm your pants off and then leave you stranded. I hate it. I don't want to be that person to someone else. I refuse to be a villain. I refuse to be the bad guy just for kicks.

But anyway, coming back to my body. I feel good. I feel great. The more I work out, the more I start loving my body and subsequently myself. It's the greatest romance I think-to love yourself.
I have battled body issues for a long time, since the rape to be precise and these days I don't feel inhibited or conscious to let people see me naked anymore. I give myself a pat on the back for that. Sure I still have body issues, but there are other things, bigger things in my life that I worry about these days.

It's not really a milestone, although it is something.

Seasons Change

It's hard to wake up in the morning when you have depression. It's hard to focus on things, do something constructive.
There's a voice that tells me that it's not worth it, I'm not good enough and that I am going to waste away-nameless, faceless, without having done anything commendable with my life. Sometimes it's hard to shake that voice off and prove it wrong. So I stay in bed. I keep my eyes closed. I dream of a different life, a happier one.


Living with depression has taught me to be strong, but it becomes so incredibly tiring after a point of time. Years have passed, years will pass, but my depression does not go away. It has crawled so deep into my skin that I am afraid of letting it go. What if I lose my strength if my depression goes away?

I wait patiently for the mania to strike, I crave for it like an addict. I am ready to spend an infinite amount of time in pain for that one moment of euphoria. I am the worst kind of addict there is. Sometimes I wish my parents had in fact checked me into a rehab, instead of just contemplating. Maybe I would have turned out different then.

I am a little bit crazy.
But my soul is clean.
I wish someone would atleast try to get to know me.
Unfortunately, people fall in love too easily.

I Bruise Easily

My body is a piece of art, a canvas.
You draw your pictures,
with love and with vengeance.
My body is all I have to offer to you.
I cannot give you my heart for I know you'll break it eventually.
Like you've done so many times before.
Over and over and over again.

I'm lying on the floor today.
Crying.
Replaying memories in my head.
I'm bleeding it out, like always.
You came.
You left.
I lay all along, waiting for you to finish and maybe tell me how much you love me.
But you didn't.
I couldn't feel your love, as much as I wanted to.

I wish things didn't have to be this way, but I place a stone on my heart, cage it, lock it, keep it tucked away safe. No one can hurt me now. I am invincible.

I will cry every day till I get conditioned to the pain, but I will never let my weakness show.

My body is his now.
My body is hers now.
My body is theirs now.
My body is everyone's now.
Because there is no such thing as making love, it's all a great big lie. You may have duped me once, but I've learnt my lesson. I will never forget.

Stone Cold

You're sober as a child, it feels strange. You're in highschool, almost. When did intoxicants take over your life, your sex life to be more precise? It's awkward, it's highly awkward. You make all the wrong moves, he pushes all the wrong buttons. It's a mess. But something tells you to keep going, maybe it won't be that bad, you just need to calm your nerves. You feel a strange sense of pressure, you assume he does too. He kisses you and this time you remember. You remember the details. You kiss him with grace, you're not a drunken mess this time. You're finally in control of your body as is he.
Your brain takes photographs of his body. He's tall, you stand on your toes to reach his face.You enjoy the challenge. He's also older than anyone you've ever been with. It's strange and yet quite comfortable.
Little by little, your inhibitions drop. Your body may be flawed, but your body is all you have to offer to him.
You kiss him, see what works and what doesn't. He's very different from the last person you were with. He enjoys your body, but doesn't tear it apart like a wolf. He grabs you and you want it as much as he does.
You like it.
You crave for more.
So wet, as he slips his fingers into you.
You can't believe you're doing this, but it feels good. Now you can't seem to stop, you want him inside you, to fuck the shit out of you.
The feeling is good,
So good.
You had almost forgotten how good it felt.

Shame

I thought about the Monster today, after a long time. I remembered that sinking feeling in my stomach. I'd wait for hours and hours for him to call, but he never did. I called him, always. But why did he string me along?
Why would a teenager, an adult ever be interested in a 12 year old girl?
His perversion haunts me till date.
Why would he stick his dick inside me knowing fully well that I was in love with him and that I knew nothing about sex?

But the older I grow, the more I find the Monster in every man I meet. They all turn out to be the same, the way they look at me, the way they touch me, the way they abandon me.

Are all men monsters?
Will I ever find a man who will treat me right, not abandon me?

I'm so sick of falling in love. I take one step forward and retract immediately. Out of shame, out of so much gut-wrenching shame. I'm never good enough. Nobody wants someone with as much baggage as me. I feel sick. Sometimes I feel like killing myself. That feeling's been growing every day.
I have a friend or two who distract me, keep me company. But they can't be with me at all times, can they? They have their own lives and their own set of problems to take care of.

I spend hours trying to figure out what will stop men from abandoning me. I think that is what hurts the most, when they abandon you after they're done taking what they want from you. It feels like my life is stuck at the same juncture, no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to break away from it. Everything is a loop. Everything is a loop.

Sometimes I wonder why I wasn't raped violently and killed after. It would have been so much easier. Living is so hard. Living alone is so hard. Living alone with so much shame, so much pain. I try to be so strong all the time, but I'm 23 and I can't do this anymore. I can't figure out how to stop this sinking feeling in my stomach and make it go away. I don't know how to make the choking go away.
At the end of the day, when I take a look in the mirror, I can't figure out why men do what they do. I have flaws, many many flaws, but are they the reason I'm abandoned?

I was born the way I am. I did not chose my body. Is it my fault I look the way I do? Is it my fault I get abandoned? Perhaps. Maybe I deserved to get raped. Maybe I will get raped again someday. Worse, maybe I will keep getting my heart broken by men I fall in love with and place my trust in. That's what ugly people get perhaps. I always figured that a good heart and a good soul was all you needed to get people to like you. But this world is cruel, it doesn't work that way. I'm not cut out for this world, it only brings me endless melancholy. I am an outcaste and always will be. I'd much rather die than live each day as a dead man, like this.

I want to die soon. I can't live with this pain anymore, it's killing me from the inside.

Death, come to me, I wait for you. Please.

I am not a believer and yet I pray every day now. I don't pray for a better life. I don't pray for the pain to go away, the shame to fade. I only pray for death. I want to die. I can't be strong anymore. I've been fighting this feeling over a decade now and it will never really go away. The last person I was with brought it all back. I can't deal with this heartache anymore. I hope the universe will be kind and listen to my prayers someday. I don't mind a long and painful death, I will be happy knowing that it will end one day.
I just want to die.
Only my death will bring me salvation.