Chew on it.

Chances are all we have.

Tag: Hunger

Dimmed.

“What moves you?” you ask

Looking at me in a crowded room

As the crowd presses with its eyes

On the new victim of your unwanted curiosity.

But I will know that later.

 

That evening of dimmed lights and glasses half full,

I have nothing to say.

I know your gaze anchored to my unseeing eyes

Is a game you have played and mastered;

But a game that matters only to you

A personal victory that does not scratch the surface of another soul

Yet here I am writing about it.

Let me explain this.

You asked a question,

And I will answer it because the question

Intrigues me.

Let’s not presume it’s you.

 

You don’t know how far back

I have to scroll my photo stream

To find a picture of myself that I clicked

That I may like.

That show my eyes without the baggage

Of nights I lay trying to court sleep

He, like everything I desire, rejects me gently.

A picture of a friend pulling me close

To share the moment.

Of family that does not hand me the camera

To capture them, ever so complete without me.

Of any trace of my existence.

 

Further back, when a boy asked me

If I could honour him with my love

I refused to believe that my love is honourable.

No love that has rolls of fat

No love that has broken teeth

No love with pimples is honourable.

I shall get my share of loneliness

That my loud faults warrant.

Because anything good in me

Is swallowed by my lard.

 

A little before that, not long ago.

A woman whose womb I come from

Looked me in the eye and said,

I cannot love you anymore.

And she cut the umbilical cord.

She was free.

I was happy for her.

She was free

Of being tied to a millstone of disease

Of shame, of questions and worry.

She climbs mountains now,

Watches birds, flies with them.

The farther she goes away,

The closer my demons breathe.

 

Before that.

A school bell rang and a gang of girls

With quieter laughs and thinner knees

Sat away from me.

When I opened my lunch to share with them,

They inched away.

I’ll have all of my lunch myself.

Yet I felt hungrier.

 

What moves me?

I don’t move.

Pangs

It’s hunger that drove me to knock your door. A hunger I never knew existed. Such a ridiculously imposing word, ‘hunger’. It rises from the darkness of somewhere inside you- maybe from the stomach, maybe from the heart- and sometimes from even lower. But when it does, it wipes away conscious thought. It diminishes you to a creature that knows only one feeling that’s sounding from somewhere right inside.

I couldn’t stop myself from eating. I still can’t. There’s a peace in eating that no sleep has given me yet. It’s mechanical and it guarantees some flimsy satisfaction that I cannot express. I’ve just suddenly stopped eating. I come home and something about this house makes me reject anything edible here. It’s been 21 years, and I haven’t felt this dejected. 

5 days and counting. Subway sandwiches are alright, buy I haven’t swallowed a bite beyond. This is scaring me.

That hunger from the down below? That craving for the touch of bare skin? Satiated for a bit, almost- and diminished now. Strange isn’t it? I thought I’d like to live that way. Nothing stays. Except a memory that gives a little bit less of a jolt every time there’s a new message on the phone, and a name in class reduces you to inexplicable tears that you never knew existed. The lip-biting has stopped, only to give way to gnawing at the knuckles. 

This doesn’t scare me. I have seen the yearning reduce and one day it’ll be a memory that nothing will remind me of. No signs will bring him to mind and no scars will have a name to them.

It’s the third kind that scares me.

This need for conversation that I have grown into. This constant itch for making someone spill out a bit of them to me. Their arrogance, their way with words, their disappointments and a trail of knowing. It isn’t that kind where you make a connection, talk about a word and keep in touch for years later. Mine are volatile. Because I fear the proximity and the exposure that bringing someone close risks. I will put my world down into as many words as I can, but to have someone stand there and expect a reply from me is a new thrill, and a fear.

Which is also a feeling that doesn’t  leave me, forgive me. It stays, lingers like a memory in the phone inbox or the DM tab- and suddenly, I’m lonelier because I know that someone had tried to talk to me and had to eventually give up.

 

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