Product of Trauma

So deep rooted, it runs in my blood,

perhaps it is an essential part of my being,

I cry a little after the alcohol has hit my system,

unwillingly reliving some dark moments,

of unimaginable trauma.

I grow up, grow apart.

I run run run, 

like a shadow,

it follows,

my long history of unimaginable trauma. 

Anxiety

The vulnerability of familiarity,

the subsequent trauma of attachment,

I feel terribly sad.

I want the moment to last forever and after.

Kiss me, keep kissing me.

That's the only way to cheat time.

Hold me, hold me like our first time.

I want to stay in your arms forever. 

The night is long but unfortunately finite. 

Lover, You're All I Think About

Disease, like a drug.

You're all I think about.

I'm impatient.

I want your touch, I want your taste, I want your smell.

I want you inside me,

again and again and again. 

You leave me in a daze, my sense of reality is warped.

I only want your company, your time.

Sublime.

It's a feeling I haven't felt in a long, long time. 

26 and Then Some

It feels a little bit strange to see my beautiful boy this way. Of all the people I've cut out, he always found a way to claw right into my inner circle, my pillars of strength.

There've been so many birthdays of the boys landing up at 12am to wish me and get me hammered till I've knocked myself out. It's excruciating to not have him by my side as I go on my adventures. We're the same age now, I tell him. I remind him that it's my birthday. His stare is empty.

Beautiful boy, oh my beautiful boy, it's a long long road but you'll find your way home. We're all in this together. 

Nightmare

I'll have these recurring nightmares where you're still married and I'm the whore.

I'm so young, so young.

You're so charming.

Morning After

Even though we'll lay after, cuddle and talk about who we are, I can't help but feel overwhelmed by all the baggage I unintentionally carry.

I see his eyes change. There's no longer laughter but a deep concern. "Don't, I'm quite alright now"

...but am I?

I try and break my patterns, so careful to not set new  ones. For a brief moment I forget, I forget it all. The scars heal, they become horror stories that often incite more sadness than disgust. 

"I'm quite alright now...I guess" detaching myself to go smoke a cigarette outside.

But I crave for his touch, run back to him almost immediately.

I hate how safe I feel in his arms as he coaxes me to fall asleep. I hate how good it feels. I hate how he holds me and I bury my face in his chest. It'll be different when we wake up. I hate him for being so incredibly wonderful. How do I demonise him, my lover? I hate that I can't.

I kiss him, I kiss him for long. There's no music, only the sound of rain. I swear it's better than what they'd show you in movies. I eventually fall sleep, worn out, he holds me. I wish he wouldn't, it'd make it easier to let go later but he holds me tight. He doesn't let go.

When it ends I'll pinch myself so I know it wasn't all a dream. 

Bend and Unbreak

Like the frames straight out of a porno, my body contorts in strange new ways. 

Off the ground, holding on.

He says he likes how tiny I am. To be fair, I equally enjoy how big he is.

Wet wet wet, so wet.

Hard to imagine I'd be dry like the Sahara a few months ago. I guess the wait makes it all worth it.

26 in a few days and I'm easing myself into a brand new phase. Physically, I feel great. With all the hours  of asanas I put into my body, I see it do wonderous new things. My body feels firm and yet supple. My body feels mine. It helps my pride that the men I've been with lately have been good lovers in every sense of the word. No games, no sadism, only love. So I guess there's no point of looking back, the present is all I have. The present feels good.

Daddeh

My bed feels lonely without your presence, my head is all kind of distracted. 

It's so beautiful, the sound of rain against the windowsill. 

I can't wait to see you again. I won't wait to see you again.

Go on your adventures as I go on mine.

Come back when you want to, I'll still be your little girl.

Always and forever. 

Kissing In The Room Of Mirrors

He bends down unexpectedly to kiss me, oh wow, he's really tall isn't he.

We're in the room of mirrors. Infinite images, a moment preserved in time.

Monsoon is for romance, monsoon is to find myself over and over again. 

The Oldest/Youngest I've Been

With another birthday round the corner, I'm strangely indifferent about it. What do I want from life this next year? I don't really know. At this point I'm grateful to be alive, somewhat sane.

It feels a little bit strange to not have the usual pillars around but I guess the good thing about ageing is that you start looking inward for peace, meaning and you learn to slowly stop projecting on others all the nasty things in your head.

I feel strangely young and so old at the same time. Maybe I'll run again, for this birthday but the soberiety feels really good. It's only helped that all my recent romantic liasons have been extremely sober men with extremely progressive minds. There is no fuzzy cloud around my brain. I am very well aware of moments and I'm very eager to keep it that way.

I walk around town with a lovely man, we end up spending a lot more time together than expected just talking...about everything and anything. There is no rush, in true Calcutta style, we take it slow slow slow. He's so tall and lean. Eyes blue and shining bright in the monsoon sun, I like the physicality. But I like his head, the stories more. I guess that's what growing up does to one, you start looking for deeper relationships, ones that fill your soul a little bit in their own ways. Every story is different, every story matters a lot more. 

Still working my way around abandonment issues, my brain is careful to not get fixated on magical occurrences of the recent past. Sure there are explicit memories and some photographs but I'm learning to let go gracefully.

It's like a boomerang. Comes back, whatever you send out, into the universe.

Hate for hate.

Love for love. 

The Education of S

I have been doing the best I can to please him. My skills feel juvenile but my intent is gold.

Baby's so big, you might choke me.

I know you like it, I like it too.

I could do this all night long, pleasure you. 

The Seduction Of S

Man in the mirror, I submit to you.

Ravage me, tear me apart.

But glue the pieces back together with your kisses before you leave.

Your touch sets my soul on fire. 

Manhood, I'm your little girl. 

Photograph me, undress me, spank me, touch me, taste me, lick me, bend me, caress me, explore every inch of my being.

Open the floodgates. 

Make use of my pretty mouth. I want to swallow you whole. 

Shake me, make me, teach me, free me, love me, kiss me, fuck me, break me, pleasure me, be inside me till I explode. 

Manhood, I'm your petite little princess. 

Le Petit Prince

The universe works in strange and sometimes incredibly beautiful ways...it does, it does.

As we lay caressing each other, talking shop The Little Prince came up. He'd never read it and being the dutiful child that I am, I scanned my bookshelf for it, completely oblivious to the fact that the copy I had was one I wanted to give to someone I was falling in love with at the time. I tried to hide it but he wouldn't let me. We wrestled, I was desperate to hide it but I didn't stand a chance. He was a strong man, he was an older man. I lost. He read the note, he read the damn note. 

I sat there feeling so stupid, so incredibly stupid. Here I was, with this beautiful man full of wisdom and grace and I was just a stupid little kid with notes in books. Unrequited love, oh the shame. So awkward and clumsy, a side of me which I cannot show to the world because I'm so vulnerable. But he didn't think of it as stupid, he didn't think it was silly at all. "I like writing notes and letters", I paused, "but everybody seems to think it's stupid and a little bit crazy"

"It's not stupid, it's wonderful...crazy, yes but also beautiful" or something on those lines, he quipped. He joked about the dendrite abuse killing my grey cells, I joked about his age making him senile. We laughed, we kissed, we cuddled, we fucked. We went out for ice cream and he bought me a bunch of essential medicines because I only had Savlon at home. Alright, that's another adult thing that had completely skipped my mind. "Love, you've got to have some basic medicines at home in case of emergencies"

He held me as we walked, sneaking in a kiss or two. We spoke about Calcutta and how monsoon is my favourite time of the year here. We came back home, he looked at me as I pranced around, fidgeted. He smiled. "What?" I kept asking him as I blushed. 

I felt this weight being lifted off my chest. Later at night, he lay with me and we read the book together. 

"What makes you like the fox part so much?"

"I don't know...I just do"

"So...you think it's a silly little book, don't you?" There wasn't a chance I would impress this man with my ideals so I didn't even try I guess. 

"No, it's quite adult actually" he stroked my body. I could feel my life coming a full circle. It wasn't like any other time before.

His touch made me so wet, so wet. I admired his hands for a long time. Hands of a surgeon, hands of a wise man, hands of a lover. Hands of my lover. 

Doctor Salt and Pepper, I was his pet. I was his meek little monkey. Something in me had been undone, I was ready to submit to him. Completely. I did as he wanted, I let him do as he pleased but not once did he abuse the trust. He fucked my brains out, he made love to me. He did what he had promised, loved me all night long. 

"You're the oldest person I've been with so far" 

I guess somewhere down the line I grew so accustomed to having my walls up high that I forgot how good it felt to be touched, to be made love to.

Sobriety invokes strange emotions. Beautiful, pure.

I orgasmed like I've never before. There was no crutch, no haze around my brain. As he entered me deep it felt like the climax that I deserved. It was a climax like no other.

We ended together and as we slept, I clutched his body tight, buried my face in his chest. Safe in his arms, I was a little girl again. 

Floatation Devices

I've woken up alarmingly early for a Sunday and there's no hangover despite the cheap alcohol that's gone into my system the night before. Turns out drunk me is considerate enough to do the dishes and not leave them overnight. Oh well, small victories I guess.

The mixes are taking some time for me to wrap my head around but the finish line is getting close, quite close. Eight songs, many orgasms and a few bad apples here and there. Balance. L-R.

I tell A that I want to see him. He tells me something I cannot quite understand. Turns out he's trying to phrase something in hindi and google translate is a little bit of a fail. It's rather cute. He's so adorable, even from miles and miles away, through a damn computer screen. What a beautiful soul, I think to myself. There's not a hint of jadedness or cruelty in him. It feels unreal almost. Also, that accent, so yum! I could listen to him talk forever, it's a party in my pants. But superficiality aside, there's something strikingly different about his worldview. He sees me as a lover, always and forever. He doesn't want to own me, possess me like some sort of a commodity. He doesn't want to destroy me. He only wants to love me, make love to me. Mon petit prince, mon cœur, mon amour. 

Lover lover lover,
lovers everywhere.

I'm still friends with so many of them. They come around, they always do. The way I see it, after a while the sexual intimacy becomes secondary. I've come a full circle with some of them. We go our own ways, we live our own lives and yet sometimes we end up going home together and sleeping in each other's arms.

Life sometimes throws these little inside jokes and you can't help but marvel at how wonderfully weird it can get.


Anyway, it's Sunday and I have to mop the floors and pay the bills today. Mundane would be an understatement. My fingers are sore from playing too much guitar but like a drug I know I'll start getting itchy in a while and abandon domestic responsibilities to go noodle around for a little bit.



Sometimes in life, you have to jump into the sea without the safety of a floatation device. If you trust the universe, you'll always end up finding something to hold on to. I don't want to reach the shore. For now I'm happy swimming and not drowning. My floatation devices will help me withstand the scariest storms.
Trust.
It's always been more important than love.

Demon

The tentacles pull you further down into the deep, deep ocean. You're helpless like a child. You're running out of breath, you're forgetting how to swim.

How soon is now, how much longer?

Some days are harder than most, you try and yet you can't think of a reason to hold on. Letting go has never felt so easy. Write it all down on a piece of paper, articulate the thoughts and try to blame no one else but yourself.

The trance-like state induced by meditation starts to get harder, darker. There is a strange kind of manic euphoria. Like the queen who rises from the underbelly of shit and duplicity and destruction, you transcend. The moments are rare but you know, only you know that it exists. You're careful not to tell anyone. They wouldn't believe you, they haven't seen what's on the other side. It is difficult to fathom so they brush it away, going about their daily, circular existence. The loop goes on and on.That one infinite moment of peace (?)...is not for everyone, it is the most elusive, most sacred thing you can experience.

On nights you try to embrace sobriety, no longer feeling the urge to run away. What are you running from? You're running in circles, never ahead.

How soon is now? 

How soon is now? 

Eat your vegetables. Do your kegels. Don't let fuckboys mess with your head. 

Matriarch

Of what use is my voice if I don't lend it to those who are unable to speak, fight for themselves?  The instincts are starting to change, blossom in areas I assumed were dead and barren. There will be no turning point, turning back. There cannot be. If destiny is pre-determined then there is no choice, is there?  Awareness is optional, suffering is constant. 

"The Light Of My Life/The Fire Of My Loins"

The trouble with great literature is that it pushes you to explore sides of yourself you didn't know existed in the first place.  For a while it was a lot of fun. The climaxes, the look on their faces as they reached a point of ecstasy and delirium.  Sometimes I'll hear some of the voices, gently reminding me of what a nymph I've been to them. I have been cruel, but also always very loving. It's never about the future with me, I only want to create moments. But how long will this last, am I going run like this forever? Abandoment issues. Older men. The narcissistic cycle of love and destruction. But it has always been worth it. If I could do everything all over again, I wouldn't change a thing.  "পাগল মেয়ে, আমি ভয় পাই না।"