unhung branches

Unhung branches they cover my trees 

i’m imaginary 

it’s written on some of my tees

unhung branches they cover my sleeves

they’re imaginary 

It’s stained on some of my glees

unhung branches they cover my breeze 

it’s imaginary 

it’s sticky and unwashed like grease 

its sweat has me tainted 

i’m being drained from it all 

i’m turning into a puddle of my own dark grey pool 

my end is near 

and only a colour blind artist can make use of me 

make good use of me 

for I am who I am from within 

I am dead.

-nn

The worst week of his life

he told me he hated her
would love to chew her tongue
and gauge her eyes out
he told me he loved her
kiss her till the sun rose high
and love her even when the clouds came by
he said things, her heart doesn't let go
she reads in on her forehead,
every morning on the mirror or so

eyes shut, nostrils flared
she exists, it was his worst nightmare
I love you he whispers
her heart purrs, he's her whisker
he's looking past, not at her
a shallow water ledge
an unwanted bridge
 she was never his, was never his sun
he had someone else, he was done

when it's 3 AM and she's drenched in sweat and tears
he's happy he's content so he chooses not to hear
but, he feels her pain when he kisses Her in the rain
her tears like water droplets, screams like thunder
but when he looks up the skies are blue
he's happy so she doesn't want to be a blunder

so after months of anguish she finally calls him
it's 3 AM and he's provably having supper
a Girl picks up from the other side
She exists, it was his dream come true
She speaks softly, afraid to scare her away
"he's coming" voice like a sunny day
"don't worry his time is at bay
keeps on waiting at the gate
don't blame him for anything
he's not sure he has decent clothing
his life is at the stake, he always holds a knife
this happens to be the worst week of his life."










-nn

Untitled- 2016

When I was a kid, I used to hide my heart under the pillow because my mother used to say, “If you don’t hide it well enough, someone’s going to break it.” It’s quite safe to say that under the pillow is not a very good hiding spot because I’ve been shot down so many times that I have altitude sickness just for standing up for myself.

Yes, that is what they say ‘ Stand Up For Yourself’ but do you know how hard it is to do that when you don’t even know who you are, you’re supposed to know who you are from such a young age and if we don’t  they will, fat, ugly,gay,short. Ask me, I’ve heard of it.

When I was a kid I had this fascination with trimming my nails. Now? Not so much.

When I was eight I wanted to be princess. When I was ten I thought that I was very ugly because my parents never had time for me and who has time for an ugly child like me? When I was twelve I thought that I was completely useless only because everyone said so. When I was fourteen I felt like I was dead inside because I was sexually abused and I had no friends. I am sixteen years old and the one thing I want in life is to die.

Not before being a writer that is, and when I said this to someone their initial reaction was, “Be more realistic.” So I said, “Professional writer?” then they replied, “Don’t be stupid!”

See, they ask me what I want to be then tell me what not to be. I mean sure, my dreams are sad, they’re depressed, they’re pathetic but at the end they are my dreams. They can’t be dismissed that easily. But what better way to dismiss a dream than to find another dream and follow it. Poetry. I remember the very first poem that I had written. It was last year of a heart-break that I had about someone-leaving-me-for-someone-else.The first line was,” I loved him not for the way he was but for the way he is for her.” Sobby, I know.

See, that boy, he made me degrade myself.  And I am not the only one here; they make us degrade ourselves. They make us feel useless, unworthy, unloved. They force us to believe that we are supposed to grow up all alone. I mean I also had friends until of course I realised what they talk about me behind my back.And some people have the audacity to say ‘Get over it’ as if depression can be cured with just mere words or a first aid kit because I’m trying; I’m trying so hard and failing equally.

I’m a freak. I’m the freak that you see in the circus, I’m the freak that you point at and laugh. I’m the freak that has to take pills to be happy, pills to breathe. But you know what? When you all are asleep I am the one who has to walk on the tightrope, we are the ones who have to walk on the tightrope. And some of us fall and some of us don’t make it.

But I am here standing today to tell the ones who didn’t make it. You don’t think you’re beautiful? Buy another mirror, take a closer look, stare a little longer because you are so, so beautiful. And strong. Oh wait, you don’t think you’re strong?

Think of all those times you had only one thought on your mind ‘O God, please, please kill me now!’ and all those nights you were contemplating how you wanted your family to find your dead body. Your father opening your bedroom door to see you hanging from the ceiling, your mother banging open the washroom door to see you lying in a pool of your own blood and your brother trying to wake you up one morning like ‘Nikki!Please wake up!’ but then you don’t. And even after all that, you wake up and you breathe. Sometimes just breathing and starting a new day is the bravest thing to do.

Don’t look behind; don’t look at the future, look at me. If an average girl like me, an average girl like Nikki Gautan can do it then so can you. Because there is something, something inside of you that have made you to keep moving forward after everything you’ve been through. You are strong and brave! 

You are beautiful, you are kind, you are worth it and you are everything you’ve always wanted to be. And you deserve it.

-nn 

0’16

Downstairs, the party goes on

I look at the sky and how the moonlight swallows me whole

I contemplate how I feel and I decide that I feel hollow

so hollow I can't even feel the thump of my heart

and I think to myself

how can I kill a non existent heart

a heart that is already dead

I hear laughter

downstairs the party goes on.

I hear something, and it's a man

a man whose life lies only in a bottle

his head is full of torment

with the excitement being only the pop and crack that surrounds his mind

and only when he takes a sip do the butterflies fly, high enough to see his life

so his thoughts stop to admire his sight

but when his thoughts jiggle

the bottle hits his head and he bleeds to a certain death

the butterflies never existed

downstairs, the party goes on.

The woman's screech,could be heard from miles around

and yet the champaign couldn't go to waste

as the women filled the room with cheers of laughter

and the clinking of glasses, no one could hear

while she cleansed herself with their laughter gallore

her face full of brightness

I could see the closing light

the butterknife is her knight, gripped tighter every morning

even with me looking at the sky and my back facing the doom

yet my ears perked up from the screams that she bellowed

which echoed in the walls of her mind

never being able to come out, the waves of her voice trapped in

so when the laughter is at the highest peak

she decides to take a peek of her demons inside

while her hand holds the trigger, her mind is free

with a thump her body falls and her thoughts ooze out all mighty and red

they hear the laughter and they think

downstairs, the party goes on.

My tongue sits sound, tasting all the remorse and hunger since days

it comes quick; the bile rises

and all it gets is the bittersweet taste of being choked

and as it lets the liquid flow and drip from the mouth

making me shiver and shake; dying from rumble and rust

I hear nothing, finally the end

downstairs, the party goes on.

What if we are already dead?

dead souls, hollow with vain walking around trying to show betterment

so that when we die, we don't vanquish towards the stairs downstairs

and we write it down on parchments on how we dislike it

sitting atop a burning a ground foolish enough to a heat stronger

residing in hell as we are, wishing and praying not to go back to the place of birth

This is it, this is hell.

where is heaven and what is it?

is it above us? glittering and laughing at us and their so called superiority?

I laugh and i'm sure they heard it

and they must've thought from above,

downstairs the party goes on.

-nn