Thoughts to Words

A part of your lie, A part of your truth, A part of your love, A part of your hatred, Floats around in freedom, Joining hands, As one single entity, The ship of my life, Is lost in your seabed, Parts of you have set me free, And, some wrecked the whole of me. ©songbriti

My soul is devoid of a soul. The last time I checked I did not even have a definite purpose in life. My canvas is not blank, it is an abstract painting. Colours welcoming change and freshly forming hues of diversity which to be brutally honest is confusing. There are dots that are missing, and the connections failing. But what if the missing dots are invisible? Drops of the rain will help the missing dots to take off the cloak of invisibility. When I succeed in finding a soul for my soul, I will then feed it with the fruit of purpose. ©songbriti

Slut, Bloody Whore, Motherfucker, Bitch, Cunt... How often have you utilised these cuss words? From body shaming a woman about her height, weight, complexion to the way she dresses up, the way she talks, eats and walks. You even have this irrepressible habit of commenting on her virginity. I am not going to tell you something along the lines of, "Think about what if someone abused your mother or sister the same way. Would you tolerate it?" You are not in the position to think that way in the first place. If you were, then your behaviour would talk for itself. I am a woman and I also happen to have a degree in psychology. I understand that there is an underlying reason for your behaviour. On that note, I insist you to get some help for yourself. By help, I mean you need therapy to rescue yourself from your present way of thinking and behaving. Go to the therapist, discuss the emotional and intellectual experiences you have had so far. Get some perspective on what frustrates...

I am the captor and the captive dissected into two halves but joined together with stitches that a common man's eyes fail to see. A part of me dreams to be set free and the other holds me like a dead tree using all its dry branches and roots to coil itself around me. It hardens its wholesome grip and I am incarcerated for its sustenance. It is as though its sniffing the air inside me to regrow from where it was declared defunct. It oppresses me and is fanatical about winning the challenge of life. If it loses then hell will break loose. Not that it hasn't already but it would technically pulverize my other half and set it ablaze. I am the captor and the captive who gave up one life to save another. ©songbriti