Arushi Singh's Blog, page 2
November 11, 2017
Virginal
The first time I was touched
I didn’t know what it meant
I knew I knew
It was something wrong
A storm
through a broken
Wind chime
An old rhyme
The second time I was touched
I knew the word “molestation”
I knew I knew
The most dangerous words in the dictionary
Were “uncle”, “cousin”
Strange whispers whispered
While strangers touched little girls
In funny places
Little girls
Growing with a growing
Chip on their shoulder
With a growing fear
A terror of cold winds
A terror of the words
“It’s okay”
By the third time
I was a woman who walked through
Broken glass
Just so my lips looked the way
My chest felt
He kissed my lips with his fingertips
But it meant
Another dangerous caress
That lingers on my breath
The way the stench of guilt
Lingered on their flesh
The third time
sadly
It was real It was good
It was virginal
And I
I had forgotten how to feel
The touch of a man who wanted
Not chest my chest
But the stars inside
The third time
Was my first
And I bled tears
The way wrists bleed hope
When the knife touches the most
Vulnerable part of the skin
Thankfully
The third time
I finally learned that the closest
A woman gets to salvation
Is with lips on her neck
And the closest a man gets
To surrender
Is in orgasm
November 10, 2017
Buttons
You rest your fingertip
on the first button. Rest it on its
lips
tearing it open with a violence
with a force
not yet known to you
the second one wilts in fear
but your fingers scream
unrelenting
the countdown begins
by the time you reach the last
life has taken another meaning
a car without wheels
or wheels you
pulled out in ignorance
life has meant
a thousand infinitesimal moments
wrapped in a card
signed with a “yours truly”
by the time you reach the last
the body begins to shrink
itself into the size of a coffin
made just big enough
to crumple you
by the time you reach the last
it begins
this is how the body turns
this is how the body becomes
undone
Sole Survivor of “the sun and her flowers” — They Got It Covered!
Unlike its precursor, the sun and her flowers by Rupi Kaur is not painted in black. The cover is pale white and minimalistic, and and it is a good metaphor for this book because the sun and her flowers is more or less the paler version of Rupi Kaur’s first poetry collection, milk and honey. They say success […]
via Sole Survivor of “the sun and her flowers” — They Got It Covered!
Looking for Book Reviews of my poetry collection
Hey,
I am looking for book reviews (professional and amateur) for my poetry collection- This Is Not For Us (amazon.com/dp/B07762BK6N). I would be honoured if you guys could get my book from Amazon (for free!) and read and give honest reviews on Amazon and Goodreads). It would really help me grow as a poet.
Thank you
Arushi
November 7, 2017
Get my book for free on amazon!
hey! I am arushi singh and i have recently published my second book, “this is not for us”. you can get it for free on amazon for kindle. you can also get it in paperback!
do give it a read and support my art.
love
arushi
October 22, 2017
To the denizens of this mountain
To the denizens of this mountain,
I will not ask why you fell
it isn’t fair it isn’t fair to ask the flowers
why they abandon hope in the absence of
the sun
I will not ask why you found comfort in the
dark
in the whispers of the voices in your head
I will not ask why you swallowed pills with
a pint of vodka for pain is minimal
when intoxicated
I will not ask why
the world turned its back on you for it turned
its back on me too
I will not ask why
because we often forget that the people
with mental illness did not ask
to be there
to hear the voices in their head
to die everyday
I will not ask why
but I will
stay
all the way
all with my eyes
I lost
all the way whispered
the roads
even my bones knelt
beside me
this landscape
marred with a scale
weighs in
on itself
this sky held down by
its lies
carries the earth
in whispers and lies
who knew the price
of dreaming
was losing my hold on reality
-Arushi Singh
October 17, 2017
#metoo #mentoo
when i was 11, i learned to survive being “touched” by my cousin, who would later say he didn’t rmember doing so.
when i was 12, i told the first person i was touched. i didn’t yet know the word for it. she went and told everybody that i had made out with my cousin.
when i was 15, i got groped by a carpenter, and just moved on like nothing happened.
when i was 19, i was assaulted by my first boyfriend.
the same year, i was raped by a classmate. in response, my boyfriend told me it was my fault and i was unpure. many of my friends refused to believe it happened and he got away by saying that “she didn’t say no loud enough”. i was soon hospitalized in a mental ward.
three weeks ago i tried to kill myself after i was groped by an auto driver.
i was told it gets better. i never moved on.
now i am 21. and i am here. and to everyone who has become a part of the #metoo movement, I love you. to those who do not wish to speak out, I love you.
October 16, 2017
murmur
the murmur of peace
steps across the sky
untouched
unfazed by the gunfire
and gunfire?
that is just another way to
die without trying
the murmur of war
silent in words and impossible
to escape
you carry drones on your lids
so every time lift them
another life slides
the murmur of life
breathing breathing
another son dies
June 2, 2017
between the boiling coffee that waits for
no man to ...
between the boiling coffee that waits for
no man to the
genie of false courtesies and lies
i held on for one second
no
not the second in which i stepped backwards
from my mother’s room to my mother’s wishes
or the second it takes to crawl out of the bed
and lie i was already up
i mean the second it takes for a mother to watch her
daughter wash down into a coma
out with the wind because the driver and the phone
the second it took for me to find the blade and
play with it
the second in with my sister watched her
childhood slip under his underpants
that second
and the everything that wanes
