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Deliberately Drea...

PO# 345219
India
India
Eternally tired. Almost a doctor. Procrastinator.
September 27, 2018
 

Dear Lettrist,
Why do we not go to bed hoping to dream

And not just fall asleep

Like we once did,

To hold butterflies in the palms of our hands

When we put them out instead,

Rather than curl them in our pockets?

A silent protest hidden underneath the denim of your jeans.

A silent protest underneath the scrutiny of the stars.

If your existence was so unbearable how do you still look into mirrors

Dress up as a different person everyday

Speak like someone else

Love strangers like your friends

And friends like strangers

And pretend to have dreams

And places to go to

Timings to keep up with

When you're always late for bed

Anyway

And you curl into your blanket

Hoping to ...

HELLO AUTUMN
3
0
September 23, 2018
 

Dear Lettrist,
Always remember
That we're human.
Not a ladder,
Not a staircase
You try to climb up with
There is nothing at the top of this mountain
But more of us
And More of you
Still struggling
With the different people
Winthin us.
We're a carousel
A circle
Constantly spinning like the moon herself
On an orbit
That will take you up one night
And bring you back down the next day.
Yours truly,
Me.

BE KIND
2
0
September 14, 2018
 

Love
Isn’t love just fear.
This entire God damn place
Soaked in oil
Ready to be set on fire.
When I look at you
I love you
When I look at you
I fear I may lose you
I fear I may hurt you
I fear
Day and night
Till I reek of oil
At dawn I wake up to find
You’re awake too
You’re the God damn sun
And you scorch this place down to bits.

ORIGINAL
0
0
September 9, 2018
 

Dear Lettrist,

I begged her-
Dear Sunday, hold me constantly
In your infinite embrace
But she like you
Tossed me
Like the waves do
To Monday
Who with his weak arms held me afloat
Till i drowned in the week that followed.

Yours truly,
The Weekling.

THAT'S SO SAD
0
0
September 7, 2018
 

Dear Lettrist,

We're busy painting our cities with rainbows

And opening closet doors

Still speaking in euphemisms.

Maybe it's because we're a nation

That speaks different languages

But seldom tries to understand each other.

Yours truly,
Hidden in plain sight.

HARMONY
2
1
September 5, 2018
Seeyati, India

I'm a bag of mixed signals

Fleeting glances and dilated pupils

Hidden smiles under dimples cheeks

Petulant lips and lingering stares

I know you're watching me move

Calculating each move i make

And wondering why they don't all add up.

I'm a bag of mixed signals

Ill tempered

And obnoxious

Confused and forever screaming on the inside

Never happy with who i am

Because i am constantly changing on the inside

And what you see on the outside

Is only temporary

It's only fleeting

Lingering

And petulant.

You're forgetting I'm so much more.

That while you're to trying to break me down

Figure me out

I'm building myself up

And so

The math will never actually add up.

GREAT THINGS
1
0
September 5, 2018
India

Dear Lettrist,

Be careful with me.
Fold me along the lines
And keep me safely away
In your pocket.
I'm your little secret.
Just yours to keep
Carefully tucked away in
A Place they'll never see.

Yours truly,
Your Pen Pal.

WRITE ME SOME LETTRS
0
0
September 3, 2018
Seeyati, India

Dear Lettrist,

I want to die
On this bed tonight
So i don't wake up with
Regret
On another day

I don't want to lay
My demons to rest
I want to watch them play
All night long

I want to stay up with the moon
Tell him all my secrets
In the company of the night sky
In the darkness of my mind
He'll shed some light

I want to sing into the night
Like howling wolves do
One soulful symphony
Lonely and triumphant

So that when i die
On this bed tonight
I don't wake up with regret
One other day.

Yours sincerely,
The Nocturnal.

---------------
Does sleep touch your eyes when you haven't done all that you wanted to?
And does the morning kiss with your regrets?
Then this one is for you.

THE ORBIT STAMP
1
0
August 31, 2018
Seeyati, India

Dear Lettrist,

I'm lying on the table-
Bared.
Naked, for the world to see.
Blinded by a thousand lights.
I've been pricked and prodded by a hundred needles.
I've been cut,
Incised.
And Sutured.
Parts of me taken out and
Replaced.

My thoughts, my thoughts - stripped clean.
My conscience unconscious
Of what's been done to me.

I've now healed.
And like a corpse I live within this body
Dead on the inside,
Stitched together on the outside.

My thoughts, my thoughts - stripped clean.
My conscience unconscious
Of what's been done to me.

Somehow.
Was this how heaven was supposed to feel?
Anaesthetized?

Yours truly,
Numb.

-------
I don't know how you interpreted this...

MAKE IDEAS HAPPEN
1
0
August 23, 2018
 

You can kiss my mouth
And pretend like you cannot taste blood
From years of holding back words
Underneath a writhing tongue.

You can hold my hand
And pretend to not feel the bones underneath
Severed and broken
And yet healing.

You can hold my heart
And pretend to hold it.
Pretend to always take a part of me
Wherever you are
Without realizing
That this heart that I hold
Is a prisoner of my soul.
That even caged within my ribs
It can never be taken out of me
Because it is too
Reckless and free
Just like all the different parts of
Me.

FOLLOW YOUR HEART
0
0
August 23, 2018
Chennai, India

Dear Lettrist,

There is pain in my bones.
Constant and unceasing.

This, I thought, had to be a result of fatigue.
That even as an intern, learning to become a doctor
Entailed pain at all times
Constant and unceasing.

Till I sat still and met people
Whose bones also hurt
But for different reasons.
That prescription pads could run empty
But the pain, never truly killed.

Constant and unceasing.
That pain has no reason,
That medical books have confirmed.
And this bothered me till I realized that
life, as it is
Was never meant to be painless.
Because then that would mean being
Numb.
Sleeping like the dead.
Feeling nothing.

Yours truly,
The Intern.

PAINLY APP
3
0
June 5, 2015
 

Dear Lettrist,

I have clenched teeth behind smiling lips,
I hide a misled soul behind focused eyes.
I've  bottled screams with  sarcasm.
I wage wars with words.
I hide tears behind fluttering eye lashes.
I have a graveyard of stories that cannot be exhumed.
I'm black hidden in white to appear grey.
To seem acceptable.
To take and never give.
To receive empathy with apathy.

Pretentiously,
Me.

ORIGINAL
2
0
August 9, 2018
 

Dear Lettrists,
Her body was beautiful
But her soul, malnourished.
What they thought were toned legs
And strong shoulders
Were broken limbs and tired bones.
Awaiting relief from sickeningly rigid routines
That she was endlessly trapped in.

Love,
The Fitness Freak.

Thumb_signature_1533759363619
VISIONS
0
0
July 30, 2016
 

Dear Lettrist,
We've got two things wrong.

We speak with our fingers
And snap with our mouths.

Sincerely,
Miss. Foot in mouth :P

INTELLECTUAL
1
0
July 22, 2016
Chennai, India

Dear Lettrist,
Today I watched a man flee like he'd been freed from a Friday.
Yours truly,
The Weekend.

JOKING
4
0
June 19, 2015
 

Dear Lettrist,
I lost her to conversations I couldn't hear,
Her cocked eyebrows and the smirk that tickled her lips,
Locked away in a different world, far from here;
She told stories in her head that only she could be in.

The grounded gentleman.

2015 WOMEN'S WORLD CUP
0
0
July 10, 2016
 

Dear Lettrist,

In my city, in my city

The girls are pretty

And they like to party

In my city, in my city

I get to be anything I want to be.

In my city,  in my city

The girls are pretty

And they like to party

In my city, in my city

Over the loud music

You can never hear them scream

In my city, in my city

The pavements gleam

And everyone can see

In my city, in my city

Her die while she bleeds

And does not breathe.

In my city, in my city

The girls are pretty

And they like to party

In my city, in my city

I don't look up

I only look down

I can watch eyes follow up my skin

Underneath my clothes

I can feel soles of shoes

Graze up my shin

And up my skirt.

In ...

BANKSY SWING
4
0
July 10, 2016
Chennai, India

Dear Lettrist,

Is the world a constant reminder of
"Don't be pissed, don't be sour
Be a lady ever hour."
To you too today?

Yours,
Miss. Grumpy.

THE PENGUIN STAMP
2
0
April 13, 2016
 

Dear Lettrist,

I haven't heard from you in days,
but you still hold some of my memories,
like shattered glass clinging to ruptured skin
and like broken conversations passed around in bits of papers,
pocketed and treasured till we find them someday-
incomplete sentences, only we know the endings to.

Love,
A forgotten friend

ORIGINAL
3
0
January 23, 2016
Chennai, India

Dear Lettrist,
Poems written on Coffee stained paper,
Paper scrolls with Uneven edges,
Dimly lit rooms with static voices.
Blurred images of blurred faces.
A blot of misplaced ink
Untied shoelaces.
No makeup selfies.
Oddly placed punctuation.
Chipped paint underneath peeling wallpapers.
Mispronouced words.
Messy buns.

Messy is somehow the new dressy.
What a blessing to live in this era of capitalized imperfections.

Yours imperfectly,
A Perfect imperfectionist.

TRES CHIC
3
0
January 22, 2016
 

Dear Lettrist,

I've always been asked how I study while listening to music.


After all it's how know the lyrics by heart.

Sincerely,
I wish I could study sometimes.

ROCK STEADY
2
0
January 21, 2016
Chennai, India

Dear Lettrist,
My toes are staring at me,
When I look down at them consciously
aware of an awkward conversation;
They're watching me when I'm asleep;
When I'm sitting by myself
legs stretched out in front of me.
Their eyes are painted a dark blue
It was light pink a week ago.
Should I be worried?
Maybe not.
Maybe because I'm just imagining it.
They can't see you while you're asleep.
In awkward situations they don't look back at you.
they don't judge you quietly;
All ten pairs of eyes watching you silently.
They're not creepy.
they're just toes.
They are not going to kill me.

Sincerely,
Podophopic.

BREAKDOWN
0
0
August 21, 2015
Chennai, India

You can keep the world on her toes.
But your hands cannot tie me down.
I wasn't built to live trapped within your carefully calculated boundaries.
You chase after me relentlessly; your hands a breath away from me.
But I watch as they run past  me, through me and away from me,
Leaving me in a world where everyone's chasing you and you're chasing me.
You never wait for anyone.
But you won't find me running after you.
For I'm too busy making promises I cannot keep.
Time and again,  I'll defy you.

Yours sincerely,
The Procrastinator.

HANDS OF TIME
0
0
July 12, 2015
Chennai, India

When God made him deaf,
He also gave him a secret,
One he had to keep
because he also couldn't speak-
That there was more words in the silence
and in the maimed, a hundred words, only unsaid.

INTELLECTUAL
3
0
July 12, 2015
Chennai, India

From the stangnant water that pooled in the dark pits beneath her eyes,
ran down tears like the words she didn't dare tell anyone.
The Melancholic.

FOLLOW THE TEAR
3
0
June 18, 2015
 

Dear Lettrist,
Did you waste a minute to fathom
A word of gratitude
to Him who built this world with words.

the Ungrateful Theist.

ATTITUDE IS GRATITUDE
1
0
June 18, 2015
 

Dear Miss.Dayscholar,
We don't miss you or anything,
don't rely on it in your wildest dreams.
We don't miss your incessant chatter
when there are gaps in our conversations at dinner.
Our thoughts run amok through our tongues
Emboldened to hate, brazened to hurt
Without your rapt attention that hangs on to our every word,
Freed from the fear of disappointing you.

No one speaks to our souls
No one's words have a way of sinking through our skulls.
At  least not any more.

I don't miss the rasp in your voice when you sing,
I don't miss our late night conversation that end at morning.

So don't get carried away, when we wake up early every day,
Run to class to see your face,
Cause we don't mi...

MISS YOU
0
0
June 17, 2015
 

Dear Lettrist,
Are your sure you're alone in the dark?
With no faceless faces to put you to bed;
Their tears that wake you up with a cold sweat?
Certain that the sounds your hear
Are too familiar to fear?
If you look around in the dark, all alone,
Will you realize you're not the only one?

The Nyctophobic.

FEAR OF THE DARK
0
0
May 28, 2015
 

Dear Letterist,

You've stopped breathing.
You've stopped smiling.
You've stopped being you.
You.
You did this to yourself.

The answer is You.
It's always You.

You can build from scratch.
Turn mountains to rubble,
and rubble to mountains.

You can smile.
You can breathe.
You can be.

The choice is yours.

Yours,
The Pessimistic Optimist.

ORIGINAL
0
0