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This deeply moving poem explores how love and passion can veer into the realm of toxicity. What happens when we let love destroy us?
1. I looked at you with all the cacophony of the wild in my eyes. 2. You did not flinch. 3. My demons played hopscotch in your backyard. 4. You threw them scraps from under your table. 5. My soul hollowed at the sound of your name to accommodate space, they shrunk from within, my lungs filled with your breath, you were me, all of me. 6. Your eyes swallowed me whole. Slowly, slowly, till there was nothing left of me. Funnelled into the iris, no easy way out, right into the centre of your existence. 7. My skin was a map and your kisses were home. You inked me till it hurt, and then I believed all the places that didn’t hurt weren’t home. 8. The music of your voice was my only compass. Your best song was the way you said my name. 9. You filled yourself with vestiges of everything I was till I was nothing, just a floating apparition. I was sinking, I was scared, I was stupid, I was sad. 10. My demons are all dead, your plates all clean, and my compass shows me broken North and battered Souths. 11. You’re breaking, you’re fading. You’re calling out my name but it doesn’t sound like music anymore. 12. I’m gasping for air. 13. You’re drowning, I’m dying. You’re calling this love, you’re kissing me under water, I kiss you back to only realise this isn’t a kiss, this is stealing. This is stealing all my air. This isn’t fair, you’re flinching when you look at my half empty eyes. 14. I’m sorry, I’m lost. I’m sorry, I’m dying. 15. You’re not sorry, you won’t let go, for the love of life, you’re strangling my neck, you’re taking your first whiff of air, you’re breathing, your lungs full of life and your fingers cutting through my neck, I’m dying, I’m sorry I’m dying.
Now I’m half alive, looking for broken walls and shattered glass vases, blood and nail marks, and pain tattooed onto the skin like ink with a broken compass for company.
Because you taught me that any place that doesn’t hurt, isn’t home.
Image credit: Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara
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UP Boards Topper Prachi Nigam was trolled on social media for her facial hair; our obsession with appearance is harsh on young minds.
Prachi Nigam’s photo has been doing the rounds on social media for the right reasons. Well, scratch that- I wish the above statement were true. This 15-year-old girl should ideally be revelling in her spectacular achievement of scoring a whopping 98.05% and topping her tenth-grade boards. But oddly enough, along with her marks, it’s something else that garners more attention – her facial hair.
While the trolls are driving themselves giddy by mocking this girl who hasn’t even completed her school yet, the ones who are taking her side are going one step ahead – they are sharing her photoshopped pictures, sans the facial hair, looking nothing less than a celebrity with captions saying – “Prachi Nigam, ten years later”.
Doctors have already diagnosed her with PCOD in their comments, based on photographic evidence. While we have names for people shamed for their weight – body shaming, for their skin colour- racism, for their age- age shaming, for being a female- sexism, this category of shaming where one faces criticism for their appearance has no name. With that, it also has zero shame attached to it.
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