complexionperplexion

[complexionperplexion]

So the prompt was into the woods. Can you tell I was struggling?

[complexionperplexion]

My mum told me about the importance of jewellery after my grandmother’s death. She showed me her earrings and necklaces, all gold. It stems from protection, as a woman you had no financial independence. You belonged to someone, always. But if you had a gold, there was an opportunity for freedom. If things were dire, you could run. It’s stuck with me, and even though I am not one for flashy jewellery it has a place in my heart

[complexionperplexion]

Hi I’m a smaller writing blog and I want to follow other smaller writing blogs!

If you’re a writeblr who has less than 1k followers, and you post a lot of original content (poetry, prose) and/or talk about your oc’s, your process, etc. can you like or reblog this? 

I’m not looking for fanfiction writers, sorry.

I’m also an adult, so if you’re a minor and that puts you off, don’t interact. 

[complexionperplexion]

So the prompt was moon, and with Ramadan coming up I couldn’t not talk about it. A crescent moon symbolises the start of a new month (Islam bases its calendar off the lunar year) and so the start of Ramadan is marked by its sight. Nowadays we use science, but in the past there would be teams of people (usually men because sexism) who would go somewhere high up and search for the moon. If it was cloudy, then you’d celebrate the next day, but if you saw it then Ramadan would start that day. I’m not massively religious, but Ramadan is my favourite time of the year hands down. It’s gonna be different this time, there’re not going to be any community iftars and with the lockdown I’m not going to have to go to lectures or anything, but I think I’ll still find the same peace I usually do. Fingers crossed quarantine will be over for Eid at least.

[complexionperplexion]

 The arctic woolly bear caterpillar dies for a while, then comes back to life. It’s a hibernation of sorts, but it straight up dies you know. It’s freaky and I’ve been low-key obsessed since I was a child. The ice should kill it, instead it steadies itself, takes a pause, lets the world happen, and comes back to normality. After about 7 years it turns into a moth for 3 weeks, and then it dies. I question life a lot, and when things get rough I find my thoughts drift back to these caterpillars. They make it through death just so they may have the brief joy of being a moth. I kinda dig it.

[complexionperplexion]

When I was a kid I used to star at the stars. One of my favourite memories is driving in South Africa in the middle of the night, my eyes glued to the constellations. I had never seen so many stars before. I’d grown up feeling isolated, but when the world seemed so big I couldn’t possibly be alone.

[complexionperplexion]

So this is more retrospective. My childhood was rough at times, and tbh so was a big chunk of uni. I got scared of being happy, it only made the bad times so much worse. I’d ruin things for myself, tear down the happiness in my head. I guess I thought if I knew what pure joy felt like it’d hurt that much more when I lost it. I’m still scared. When I’m happy I’m still wary. I’m finding less comfort in that fear though, and kinda forcing myself to push through it. Idk life is shit and mental illness is rough, but like at the very least I have some hope I may be happy one day.

[complexionperplexion]

I tried something different, not sure how I feel about it. I’m not usually big on the whole rhyming thing but I kinda dig it. Also, although there is some personal connection to this, it feels more like I’ve written it about a character than myself. Idk, it feels nice to distance myself from what I write. I’m low-key proud of myself.

[complexionperplexion]

So I’m doing escapril (yes I know it’s already halfway though but better late than never). I miss living in the city. At times it would be overwhelming, my eyes would catch a stranger and I’d get caught up in the idea that in another life we would know each other. There’s so many possibilities, I get lost in imagining i how things could be different. Wishing I’d told strangers how beautiful they are, because that’s something I so desperately wanted to hear. There seems to be so many missed connections, and despite being surrounded by people walking down the high street is when I feel most alone. I take a moment to wish the strangers around me the happiness that I crave, and then I move on.

[complexionperplexion]

Wrote a lil thing about colonialism. My identity belongs to three countries. I was raised in the UK - racism is still a thing and it completely baffles me that the people who descended from colonisers and have stolen from so, so many cultures have the audacity to demand that I, and other people of colour, leave their country and return to places that they destroyed. I was born in South Africa - my parents lived through apartheid, they tell gut-wrenching stories of their everyday trauma as if it is normal. My skin belongs to some South Asian country, colonialism drove my family out of South Asia at risk of persecution probably over 200 years ago, we have our own folk tales of the perilous journey across Africa, and some detective work has led to theories of where our family’s roots once were. But sadly, it is lost to us. I live in limbo, not knowing my history and unable to move forward. There is no singular place where I fit in. My skin does not belong in the UK or South Africa, but my being holds no roots in South Asia. As with many of those who find themselves in conflicting cultures, I am lost. And that is who I am. But I hope that I can one day come to terms with it and help the future generations.

[complexionperplexion]

I wanted to be different. Whiter. Skinnier. Funnier. More beautiful. I hated who I was so much, who I am really. I let society dictate my insecurities, and I projected that onto the people I love. How could they bear to be near me when I was so disgusting? I still have these thoughts, I think I will for a while. But for now I’m trying to recognise them and be kinder to myself. I deserve love, and I want to be me again. I will be me again.

[complexionperplexion]

I’m actually feeling pretty good today. And it feels good to feel good. The last few months have been chaos. My degree was more hectic than I thought it’d be, I lost someone who I was close to this year. With each knock I’ve felt myself slip away. And as much as I resent the lockdown, I know that the stagnancy of it is what I’ve been craving for years. With the stillness I find myself noticing who I am, the pieces that I’ve lost and who I want to become. I replay the trauma less, or maybe I don’t, but it has less pain behind it now that I have the time to listen to the birds sing.

[complexionperplexion]

Losing someone is fucking hard. Sometimes I wake up still thinking my grandparents are alive, and as my eyes open and reality sinks in, I can still allow myself to imagine I might speak to them again. The moment when The Depression seeps in haunts me some mornings.

p.s. I do have happy poems I’m just feeling kinda low and wanna release some of that, you know?

[complexionperplexion]

I’m calling this one Incomplete Farewell

Ya gal got her heart broken. I’d started to say goodbye in my mind before things were fully over. It felt inevitable. And then corona happened and I had to leave suddenly. I wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye yet and all too soon I was never going to see anyone again.