Madhuri Pavamani's Blog, page 9

#Poesia – REVELATION

REVELATION

I like you

but I like me more

Random Thoughts

I wrote and saved this post four months ago. Not sure why I never published it, but thought it might be fun to take a peek and see what’s happened since then.

1. Why is it so damn difficult to find a decent desk lamp? UMMM, YEAH. THIS IS STILL CAUSING ME FITS. EITHER I’M JUST BEING A PICKY BITCH OR IT REALLY IS DAMN NEAR IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND A DECENT DESK LAMP.

2. I’m about to enter into my first, professional editing experience and am terrified and thrilled. I have no idea what’s coming my way, how Dutch will be ripped to shreds, but I’m looking forward to the experience and coming out the other side a better writer for it. SO THIS HAPPENED AND MY EDITOR, HELEN HARDT, IS THE SHIT AND YES, I CAME OUT OF THE EXPERIENCE A BETTER WRITER. I STILL THINK I’LL MAKE SOME OF THE SAME MISTAKES IN JUMA, BUT NOT AS OFTEN AND WHEN I DO, I THINK I’LL HEAR HELEN IN MY HEAD, WILL STOP WHAT I’M DOING WRONG AND DO IT RIGHT. INTERESTINGLY, AND WHAT I DIDN’T TAKE INTO ACCOUNT WAS THE FACT THAT ANOTHER EDITOR COULD COME ALONG, LOVE DUTCH, AND WANT DIFFERENT EDITS. WHICH IS BASICALLY THE PLACE I FIND MYSELF TODAY. AND WHY I’M HELLA GRUMPY ABOUT ALL THIS EDITING. FINGERS CROSSED IT PAYS OFF. 

3. The dog stinks. Oh man, like so bad. What a little smelly fucker. HE’S STILL A SMELLY FUCKER, BUT WE LOVE HIM.

4. My current WIP is coming along quite well. Last night around 2:15 I looked up and found my word count near 8K – I have no idea how that happened, but I’ll take it. This is the story with no magic, just lots of romance between people – humans, in fact! – who have no special powers, don’t work for Death, or make a career of killing folks with nine lives. This is just the simple story of a girl and two guys, which I guess right there, that tiny detail that I tossed out like it’s nothing, makes it hardly simple, especially where love is concerned. But yeah, there are no dragons or poison swords or armies of Imps. Just a girl and two guys. OH YES – AMAL AND JACKSON AND ANDREW AND ALL OF THEIR SEXY. I LOVE THEM AND WHEN I WANT TO ESCAPE THE WORLD OF KEEPERS AND DEATH AND DUTCH AND JUMA, I FIND MYSELF LOST AMONG THE COMPLICATIONS OF MY VERY HUMAN, VERY MESSY THREESOME. NOT TOO SURE MY AGENT LIKES ME DABBLING IN THIS CREW, BUT I FIND THEM IRRESISTIBLE AND A FEW MINUTES OF WRITING SOME INSANELY HOT SEX AND WITTY BANTER ISN’T GOING TO KILL ANYONE. #famouslastwords

5. Here’s a little taste – it has no name and is very raw and unedited, so hold your tongue if you catch mistakes: NOT SURE THIS HAS CHANGED AND DON’T REALLY FEEL LIKE CHECKING, SO JUST READ IT BECAUSE CHANCES ARE, YOU’VE NEVER SEEN IT BEFORE. AND IF YOU HAVE SEEN IT, BE QUIET AND READ IT AGAIN. 

We were young, sexy, and happy. We were fresh, light, and in love. We fit together, everything about us complimented the other, we were everyone’s ideal. Jackson Rashard Davis and Amal Warrier Naipal. The perfect couple. Until we became a threesome.

“Every woman on this campus takes David Andersen’s course.”

Spoken with amused disdain, and a low growl of a whisper, masculine and deep, meant for my ears only, as if the fact I held Professor Andersen’s syllabus in my hand both bored and disappointed. Any other moment in my twenty-one years of living on this planet, a stranger getting so close, invading my space the way this one did, warm breath on my neck, heat at my back, would have resulted in all kinds of fuckery. But this stranger’s voice did things to me, making it difficult to put up my walls and lash out in irritation, and instead of stepping out of his orbit and away from his invasion, I found myself welcoming it with a slight curve of my mouth and a rasp in my voice.

“That is because every woman on this campus dreams of fucking David Andersen.”

For two beats of reality, I wasn’t living it. For two beats of reality, I stepped outside myself and became someone else. Those two beats became everything.

6. That moment when your reality is about to get turned on its head – I think I’m three steps away from it. I’M IN THE THICK OF THE SHIT STORM AND IT’S RAGING, WILD, AND UNPREDICTABLE. CROSS YOUR FINGERS FOR ME.

7. And this. Because I’m me and he is David and really, must you ask. #ohmyGandy NOTHING HAS CHANGED HERE. NOTHING WILL EVER CHANGE HERE. HE IS DAVID AND I AM ME AND HOLY SHIT, HE IS SEX PERSONIFIED AND I’M GOING TO ENJOY HIM EVERY DAMN TIME HE CROSSES MY SCREEN.

And on that note, that insanely sexy and wicked note, I am out of here. YES, I’M OUT OF HERE BECAUSE I’VE NOW SPENT AT LEAST TWENTY MINUTES PROCRASTINATING AND IT’S TIME TO GET BACK TO DUTCH AND EDITING CHAPTER TEN.

#Poesia -BEAUTIFUL ADVENTURE

BEAUTIFUL ADVENTURE

When I’m alone

and missing you

I read through

random notes

and messages

back-and-forths

full of teasing and flirtation

and sometimes

just downright filth

and I get lost in our words

It’s a beautiful adventure

The #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. These pieces are slightly edited, totally unscripted, spontaneous, super loose, and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

#Poesia – THESE BLUES

THESE BLUES

These blues

begin in my toes

balanced on the edge of

forward movement

and yet

My legs ache

with a yearning

and need

for something new

light

and lovely

but now’s not the time

for good shit

now’s the time

for some dark fuckery

Moving through my hips

those sexy things

boys wrap their hands around

hold onto

love

is some gunk

a lingering bullshit

that stews and spits

My pussy

that gorgeous mystery

of sweetness

and honey

clamps down in ire

shouting a warning

“enough already!”

but no one’s listening

Churning

burning

smoke

a fire sparks

in my belly

ignition

but will it be enough

to scorch the sadness

Arms

sinew and muscle

wrapped around

a lover’s neck

can’t seem to shake

the feeling

of loss and confusion

anger

and mixed in

for good measure

a little grief

My throat

sensitive as fuck

aware of the slightest touch

feather-light kisses

breath-like caresses

constricts

closes

as if to ward off the dread

but it keeps

marching on

Lips

parted and full

sometimes in mischief

or maybe lust

but today

downturned

yet determined to smile

again

soon

That funk

that junk

that crap I can’t shake

it’s dark

dank

cloying

It reaches my eyes

those mirrors into the soul

and even though

I might laugh and crack a joke

smile

blow a kiss

look deep my lover

past the pseudo

joie de vivre

really get all up in there

and then you’ll see

My deep browns

fuuuuuuuuck

they’re blue as shit

The #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. This piece in particular is inspired by an exercise for my writing group, The Inky Path, using the title of Marquez’s (brilliant) novel. These pieces are slightly edited, totally unscripted, super loose and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

#ThursdayThoughts

YES

#WednesdayFreeWrite – IMPERFECTION

IMPERFECTION

“You should take your big lips and nose

and go back to the jungle

with the other monkeys”

said my fifth grade classmate

during lunch that day

in front of all the other white kids

I don’t remember if anyone laughed

or got quiet

or shifted uncomfortably

I just remember thinking

how much I hated my nose

By that young age

I was already kind of falling for my lips

full and dark and just kind of nice

when I smiled

but me and my nose

we weren’t on such friendly terms

My classmate wasn’t the only one

to take notice

My brother

loved to bring up my nose

his favorite weapon of choice

whenever we got to brawling

and a war of words broke out

[Lovable asshole that he is

has the same damn nose]

He never invoked my lips

because like I said

they’re kind of nice

and my smile is killer

but that fucking nose…

Years passed

of longing for a different nose

a more perfect specimen

something cute

like my sister’s

something thinner

like Lisa Bonet’s

something pretty

like the white girls

It got so bad

and I was so down about it

that my parents finally relented

and agreed

that if it was so important to me

and I really needed it

to feel good about myself

and see myself as pretty

then upon graduation

from high school

I could do it

I could get a nose job

Yea

my little ninth grade self

breathed in relief

Redemption at last

in the form of a scalpel

some scraping

and a whole lot of pain

but fuck it

because after all of that

I would have

what I always wanted

A perfect nose

Then a funny thing happened

life became a series

of voice lessons

horseback riding

soccer

swimming

learning to drive

sneaking out

partying

smoking weed

laughing

applying to college

traveling

studying

acting

dancing

kissing boys

crying

clubbing

LIVING

And suddenly my nose

stopped being my cross to bear

and evolved into

what it was always meant to be

just my nose

And yeah, it’s big

and has a funky bump

that an ex-boyfriend

who was a painter

used to love

mostly because he was an artist

and they love funky shit

And when I smile

it gets even bigger

which kind of drives me nuts

but so what?

I have a fucking killer smile

forget the damn nose

And it’s nothing

anyone would ever call pretty

but it’s got character

and soul

and hella crazy spunk

And after all these years

and all those moments

of kinda hating it

and all of its bigosity

[not a word, I know]

I have to say

these days I look at it

and think to myself

Big Nose

you’re kind of perfect

in all your imperfections

My #WednesdayFreeWrite series is based on what I write during the 10 minutes allotted my writing group’s Wednesday Prompt. As always, these pieces are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. They are unedited and unscripted, super loose and probably my favorite ten minutes of the week. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

#Poesia – STRANGE PILGRIMS

STRANGE PILGRIMS

Strange pilgrims we are

forever butting heads

attempting to eclipse the other

with snark and sarcasm

building walls around our hearts

determined to erect a protective fort

when all we really want

is to curl up in the comfort

of each other

As always, these #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. This piece in particular is inspired by an exercise for my writing group, The Inky Path, using the title of Marquez’s (brilliant) novel. These pieces are slightly edited, totally unscripted, super loose and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

#Poesia – SWEET GIRLS

SWEET GIRLS

These are not sweet girls I create

because I’m sick of reading about sweet girls

the types who need a man to define them

who tamp down their sexuality

to make everyone around them comfortable

who hide their intellect

so as not to seem too aggressive and demanding

Fuck Those Girls

It’s time for a paradigm shift

As always, these #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. This piece in particular is inspired by an exercise for my writing group, The Inky Path. These #Poesia pieces are unedited and unscripted, super loose and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

#Poesia – WARMTH

WARMTH

He held my cold hands

in his own

and smirked

“I’ll be right back”

then disappeared

into the crowd

returning with a gleam in his eye

… and hand warmers

“You are a total freak”

I laughed

“Who knows just how to keep you warm”

he replied

then kissed me

And hours later

upon parting

I slipped my hands

into my pockets

and felt his heat

As always, these #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. These #Poesia pieces are unedited and unscripted, super loose and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

#Poesia – LOVE

LOVE

Last night

I roamed the aisles of a bookstore

without a care in the world

touching spines

flipping pages

inhaling the sweetness of the written word

and amid all that divine beauty and wonder

I thought to myself

This

all of this

It is love

As always, these #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. These #Poesia pieces are unedited and unscripted, super loose and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.