She knew

He was so good for her they said. She should be lucky to have him. He was successful in his career , he was caring , he claimed to love her very much , he constantly kept complimenting her. Constantly. He was her caste. He was a true gentleman. He always said the right things. But beneath that seemingly perfect man was an actual asshole waiting to burst out. He however never showed it. But she could feel it in her bones. The way he said things which she wanted to hear. The way his lips curled down sometimes when he was getting bothered but chose not to show. The way he made every decisions hers and basked in the radiance of his magnanimity. The way he loved playing victim. Constantly making her the villain with his actions and not words. The signs were so subtle sometimes she thought she was imagining them. No one would believe her even if she told. Her own mom was smitten by him. But she knew.

 #abusivemen #ministories #theyknow #theyknowthatweknow #mentalhealth #meredithgrey #instastories 

NO

Dedicated to the man because of whom anonymous comments are disabled for all. And who is now commenting on a fake id now.

You asked me out 

I said I will rather die from the gout

You then claimed I wasn't clear 

and wanted me to come near 

If i could just open my ears 

and only hear

how much "I love you my dear"

You can call me a hoe 

but No means No.

I blocked you there

and to be honest 

what I thought was everywhere.

and now you have the gall to come HERE

my blog my sacred sanctuary

and comment without your name!

Have you no shame?

This is not a game. 

You may low

and lamenting full of sorrow

but a NO is still a NO

I report you to your boss

and you spew more lies

I am not Rachel

 you are definitely NO Ross &

we definitely were never friends

So please don't try to make amends.

No will always be No

and No you cannot call me a hoe. 

or a bro.

Valar Morgulis

This is the 21^st century

Flying automobiles may not be far away

Yet justice remains a distant dream

For young women in the Pollachi

Who got sucked into the blackhole

Where technology trapped their innocent minds

And cameras coveted their flesh

By predatory influential men

Who blackmailed them to no end

And silenced their horrors

with the concept of shame.

Yet!

It is the girls who are blamed

For chatting with these imposters online

And befalling shame upon their families

For risking their virginity and honor.

Because

A woman is just a sum of her body parts

And

A badge of honor

And

A Flawless flagship

All at the same time.

The boys?

They will remain boys ofcourse

Reprimanded for their glaring errors

And

Cajoled for their lighter ones

They will grow out of it yaar.

The trauma?

Will be forgotten

Swept under the bloody carpet

And the closet of skeletons

Put on a brave face

Act like nothing happened

Better yet

If they just die

And put their family out of their miseries

Because broken women

are a blot on this society

and we would much rather gossip

on how a woman must have tortured

that her husband had to stab her in the family court*

 rather than

have a real conversation about Pollachi.

This is the 21^st century

And ‘women empowerment adorns every manifesto.

Thank you so much.

See links on Pollachi rape here

and family court stabbing here

Shhh

Nothing good comes after 3 AM

The monsters are waiting just around that corner

I am losing already.

Great confusion over life goals

Nothing comes easily

The landscape where I once seamlessly stepped into

Now not really.

Hush! You are no more a little baby

A sad and helpless insomniac

Penning thoughts for solace in sleep

If only words can make you drowsy

Maybe I should do a push up

Or simply shut up my burning eyes

What about this constantly humming brain?

Maybe symptom of an everlasting pain

Make this stop please I beg

You can if you want to, says a voice from within

But isn’t that a case with everything?

The question of how might beat the question of when

And the collateral might defeat the win.

Shhh.  

The monster

When you were a kid

You would search for me

under your bed

the same monster

is now lurking inside your head.

Count to 10

Shut your eyes tightly to no avail

I will grow my gospel

In the darkest zones of your soul

Self doubt , green eyedness and low self esteem

Are only some of the seeds I sow

Their progenies will never really let you grow

Poor you ,

think sleep is a sweet escape

You forget each time that

nightmares are my favourite landscape.

I am the evil landlord

That vanquished your brain

When did you become the benami

Against your own benefit?

My name is pessimism

Do you even remember yours? 

So Imaginary Garden with Real Toads had this topic which really piqued my interest , the real fear which lurks in the night, So this is my contribution towards the same topic.

Hoping

Hope springs eternal they say

Only for those who bloom with sunshine

It didn’t

Give me a rope already

To hang ‘out’ with.

How can

Snaps and flashes of happy

Really compensate for this life

Which is so crappy?

Tell me really

I am trying so hard

To things not to get under my skin

Maybe a dark soul I am

For nefarious I feel

A true villain I am.

Insatiated with my genesis and growth &

Too proud to acknowledge my misery

I still give it company

I don’t want to give into this darkness

Where I seem to navigate seamlessly

When I see a happy person

I wanna dent their teeth and

Wipe that elusive smile off it

Thinking that I grit mine

And flash a fake smile and move

So what is the end you may ask?

To fit in by killing my self or

To stand out by killing myself?

Maybe it is to simply wait for a tomorrow

And hope that hope springs from within