Writing Is My Cure

My Name Is Nishat & I Write To Stay Sane. I Post Everyday At 8PM CST* (Usually)

“The solor flare was supposed to create an aurora over the northern part of the states tonight
But the sky is so gray that we couldn’t see a thing in the midwest,
And I bet that
Tonight I’ll fall asleep and end up dreaming about you
Taking a drive with me to Seattle so we can stare at the lights for the very first time,
Rest our tired souls on each other for a while.
I’ll imagine my hand on your thigh,
Your lips on my neck,
Then all at once I’ll wake short of breath
And curse my head for pretending these things again.
I’ll curl my shaking fingers around the loose bunch of sheets
On the edge of my bed wondering
If circumstances had been changed would I have woken up to empty space?
There are strings on the harp of my heart that I never thought would be pulled
And they’re playing a song I swear I’ve never heard.”

—   "Storge" - Nishat Ahmed (via sickwithsyllables)

Don’t teach our daughters how to defend,
Teach our sons how not to attack.

Instead of saying
“Baby, you shouldn’t have dressed too pretty,”
Say,
“Boy you know better than that.”
Change the culture from one where
We buy our girls pepper spray and self-defense lessons for their 18th birthdays, charge them for birth control and tampons;
And then we give out condoms for free,
Pat our sons on the back with a hearty
“Go get ‘em!”
There needs to be value placed upon the body and I shouldn’t have to
Justify my cause with the fact that
Over half my female friends have been sexually assaulted.
We are the next generation of parents;
We can do better than the society we were raised in.
I hope my son will live in a world where he knows that a human body is a home,
And he can knock if he wants to enter,
But he will never break down the door.
I hope my daughter will live in a world where she can safely walk home in the dark,
Where her body is adorned with respect,
Where she does not fear the fact that she is a woman.

Don’t teach our daughters how to defend,
Teach our sons how not to attack.

—   

"Don’t Teach Our Daughters How To Defend, Teach Our Sons How Not To Attack" - Nishat Ahmed

I know this poem will never do you ladies justice, I know nothing besides real change will ever do you justice, but I’ve read so many articles, heard so many stories; this just needs to stop and it hurts so much to know this is a problem today as it was centuries ago. I have my fingers crossed that we can be the ones to change this.

Today I Cried To A Title Fight Song

I’ve been losing sleep over you again.
I’ve been hearing things in my dreams:
Metal against bone,
Bone against concrete,
Our old songs pouring out from cracks in the sidewalk.
I can’t believe I have to be here,
While you’re not here with me.
What was it like? Were you scared? Did you know?
Why didn’t you tell me?
Why didn’t you tell me?
I couldn’t tell you how many times (how many years)
I’ve spent my nights trying to claw this out of my mind.
But now I’ll undo all the stiches,
Jump off all these bridges,
Try and break every bone
So I will not forget the way you hurt.
That’s how I will keep you alive
Keep you a fresh wound in the flesh,
Keep itching at my veins right below my wrist.
Trying to ignore circumstance and death and now
I haven’t come to terms with it yet,
Be it 8 years since:
I can still see the hospital bed,
See where you lay.
I can see the EKG,
See you gasping on the edge.
Hear the whirring of your lungs
As they try to spit out last words,
Just as they spit out your last breath.
God damn it I swallowed my tongue right when
The sound of machines went still.
Your body turned into a time capsule of memories.
So there I sat, next to your hospital bed,
Your hand in my hand
Feeling the cold come in.
I feel you leave every winter.
Last summer I drank for the first time.
Every drop in my mouth scorned my throat and my stomach
Because all I could think about was the alcohol on his breath,
All I could feel was the hood breaking your ribs.
All I could do was sit there in silence as you wheezed out your goodbye.
All I can do now is cry.
I listened to “27,” twenty-seven times,
Do you think that’s enough to bring you back to life?
I never even got a gravestone to forget you by
And they say I could have never loved
Someone when I was so young
But everybody has a piece of your smile,
I see you shine in everyone else’s eyes.
I’ve tried
To recite these lines like they could
Save me,
But it seems like I’ll find you
In every person I’ll ever come to love.
It seems like now I’ll end up drunk on the weekends
Hoping your image will stay off the back of my skull.
I don’t know where you are (stay happy there)
But I know where I am (and I am not happy here.)


What Doesn’t Kill You Haunts You Until You Die

I twiddled my thumbs all through your cremation and began to
Chew the dead skin on my chapped lips
Until the pyre on the stick met the wood caging your body.
You were wearing a dress that you hated.
I knew that because you didn’t fucking like wearing dresses.
Ever.
After the wood, the cloth caught first,
Then your hair.
Even singed, I smelled a hint of your cucumber-melon shampoo.
I bet your mom knew to use it.
Memories that involve more than one bodily sense tend to stay longer in your long-term storage.
I can still see the orange flames licking your body,
A sick and vile lover.
Your fingers curled up in the fire,
The hands that trembled in the grasp of mine peeled back to expose bone.
You’d think that bones could not burn but after your chest caved into your spine
I watched your ribs catch like matchsticks.
Out of pure chance,
Your face burned last.
Closed eyes without coins to show we didn’t know where you were going,
(And I hoped you hadn’t even left)
Your lips were glossed with your older sister’s old lipstick.
I’ve lost count how many times I’d tasted it.
Finally all you were was ash
And I had to be held back by your mother and her friends as
I screamed out your name again and again.

There was silence,
Then a prayer,
Then they threw you against the wind.

You want to know what the most fucked up part is?
The one thing I remember most is that
Burning flesh smells like chicken.


Cosmic Background Radiation

It’s funny how the winds change after somebody dies,
How ‘heart’ and ‘home’ go back to ‘muscle’ and ‘house’.
The rooms become blueprints devoid
Of the memories once etched
Into synthetic wood coffee tables.
It’s funny how suddenly the sunlight becomes too bright,
But everything else seems painted in a new shade of dull.
Sometimes my feet still fall asleep
When I’m still standing up,
The radio fuzz like some otherworldly buzz in my toes.
I still cringe and make faces at cough medicine,
I still need splenda in my sweet tea,
All the things in my life stay the same
Except on the weekends I never see your face.
And I won’t, never,
Not ever again.
And technically
We don’t see anything,
All we see are the light waves reflected in space and some days
I can see a shifting of rays in the place where you used to sit.
I’m uncertain how certain I am on your disappearance
‘Cause I can still hear you in the wind chimes,
And I still see your smile in empty picture frames.
What did it feel like?
Was it peaceful? Or were you seized by the pain?
(I’m sorry.)
Are we all just cemeteries?
All just ashes to become?
Our headboards are practice for headstones
And all the nights we spent in basements
Prepare us for graveyards.
When we die,
Is our last breath a sigh of relief?
Or do we inhale? Try to take it all in?
Try to take back all the things we couldn’t bear
Just vying for one more moment?
I’ll always be clawing for a memory.
I’ll always miss you,
I’ll always make a mess of it.
I’ll always end up drunk for a week straight,
I will try and swallow the sun, I will try
To swallow the moon.
You always wanted to exist in a place where nothing else exists.
I don’t think its coincidence that we are nothings on an everlasting timeline,
So I will exhume all the light that is inside me;
And of that which passes through my eyelids, I believe,
Is somewhere else glowing.
Somewhere else
You are glowing.


Elegy For Baby Moons

Last night I threw up twice before making my way to the top of a parking garage.
I listened to exactly six Fall Out Boy songs and only contemplated jumping once.
Nobody was on the streets but three cop cars passed me. (Just one slowed down.)
At the end of the night, you were still dead.

You are still dead.
But I still shut my eyes and try to imagine where’d you be now.
Some days they are good thoughts, like I’d lift my eyelids to see your body
Framed nicely in the portrait of my bedroom window,
Your back to me, arms outstretched over your head, the elastic of your underwear snug tight against your hips.
But some nights they are bad thoughts, and I can see you states away much happier
With someone else. But none of that matters because
You are still dead.

I felt alone, and I was so scared.
A telephone call to make sure I wouldn’t slip over the edge.
I told a friend that we scattered you against the wind that blew over the lakeshore
And she told me we might find you in California or Maine; that you are traveling on that water for miles and miles.

You always did love the Pacific,
I will swim.
I will search.
I will swallow every ocean until I find you whole.

My heart has never understood self-preservation
And my brain has never learned forgiveness
But one day I will earn the
Goodbye I am trying to give you.

—   "Elegy" - Nishat Ahmed

To anyone that has ever lost someone.

This is important to me today.

Anonymous said: I just want you to know I love you. I love you so much. I have had the loveliest day thinking of you. You're the best.

This made my heart weep with joy at a time where my eyes did from sadness. Thank you. I love you too <3

Anonymous said: You are more than what consumes you. There is ocean in your blood and sky in your eyes, just as vividly as there is bass in your eardrums. You are more than what you consume. You are not made of gas station liquor or jagged metal or broken glass. Your body is not a crime scene. You may be at war with yourself, but that means only you can win. Be victorious.

Thank you.

I am falling into
Patterns inside my own head again.
I tried to scream on the way to the bottom
But I lost the sound
To a mouthful of water.

Turn the tide off,
My legs can’t swim as fast as my thoughts can.
Head spinning, dirty water down the drain,
Wash me away, wash me away,
Memories are cascading into my neck
It’s so hard
My bones might break.

Let it all just slow down,
Let this be a slow drown.

The current hits right in the spine,
I…
I…
I…

The bottom of the sea is a place where I…
Visit,
When everything gets bad.
This is the best that I can do to keep
The horizon from bleeding into the ocean
I am losing grip on all notions of “alright”
I am whispering lies to my friends again at night
(“I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”)

I’m lying as I’m lying in this bed:
Worry about me.

Sunday night drinking myself almost to death
With cheap whiskey and cheaper beer
In the cheapest attempt to forget that I am here.

In my head I hear someone say
“Slow down”
Betting that this time I’ll slow drown.

The bass hits right in the spine,
I…
I…
I…

The last hour of the night is where I…
Find myself sitting in the middle of the street,
The cold wind kissing me like I did you for the last time,
My headphones are pressed against my ears
I want my eardrums to bleed out all my fears;
My wrists itch for the quick flick of metal
So I can settle the score with all these songs
Begging to come out of my blood.

Visit me,
You always visit me
On the off chance that I sleep
And you sing to me in my dreams,
The words I’ve lost eight years in the making.
I am faking my stability
My ability to sit still has been killed by
An illness so deep
Even the Atlantic pouts in jealousy.

I…
I…
I…

Falling.
Fall-
Ing.
I…
I… am
Falling
Into
Patterns
Inside my own head again:

I never wanted to visit this space in the first place.

—   “I Tried To Scream On The Way To The Bottom But I Lost The Sound To A Mouthful Of Water (Falling)” - Nishat Ahmed

I can’t sleep.

“I’m shitty at being honest,
But I want to be honest with you and
Honestly everything about you scares me shitless,
From the way your lips are still glistening with the aftermath of my anxiety
To the small of your back pressed softly into my hands.
I am so small when I am next to you,
Engulfed by you, infinite,
Falling into the back of your throat as your laughter swallows me,
Muffled and slow.
The sunset smears clouds across the sky with brushstrokes of light,
Painting the portrait of a nebula and
I swear to god you are every hue I’ve ever loved;
Just like that you are dust and gas compact into these atoms
I can’t fathom how the universe designed you.
I can’t think of the equations that led our lines to meet,
My hands are clasped in desperation that we can bend so that after
We intersect we will not have to leave.
My heart is a kick-drum slamming inside my chest to
The rhythm of your fingers running through my hair to the nape of my neck.
No amount of sound can touch me now
As I write this down,
Trying to pen you onto a paper. It’s the best I can do
In the stead of paint onto a canvas.”

—   "Portrait Of A Nebula" - Nishat Ahmed

Anonymous said: My boyfriend left me without any excuse but now he's back with many reasons.What do you think,Nish?What should I do?

If he can drop you for no reason you have no reason to take him back. If his reasons really can make up for what he did, then consider it, but otherwise never take shit from a boy and never let a boy treat you like shit.

Anonymous said: i want to follow other boys on tumblr who write about love like you do. who are your favorite male poets on here???

Im totally drawing a blank and I apologize to anyone that I do follow who is a poet and a male, but I dont think I follow any! I have a plethora of female poets who will blow your mind though!

Anonymous said: congratulations on the single, Nish! You deserve it! It sounds amazing!

Ahh!! Thank you, lovely!!