New Song

Inspired by Florence + the Machine

Surrender – Anusha Ali


You took my heart
Split in three
Put it in a bowl
And served it to me

Tangled in your web
A sea of lies
I look to the horizon
Painted in the sky

Rubbed my skin raw
My eyes drained
Twisted love is yours
Cursed is my fate

[Chorus]
You make me wanna scream
More! More! More! Don’t stop please!
Feet are bleeding, and now I’m singing
Enough! I said don’t make me
Cause every slap is an adrenalin rush
My ears are poundin, bring me down to earth
Raise me up high, strike me down to sea
All around, there’s a whispered hush
Lay me down in dirt, gently….darlin


Claw through your skin
Let me feel your bones
The light has blinded me
All I can feel is a center stone

You’ve shut me off,
Let me believe I can work it off
The water calms me, peacefully
Drowned me in your silence, please

Won’t you scream for me?

[chorus]
Willingly eaten my own heart
I’ll never be a part of your melted scar
Bring me into to being
Shake me till I’m completed
Scream till I can’t feel you
Drink till you can’t see who – you’ve become
The face of love
[chorus till fade]

WTH i should have this published!

I found another sonnet - it's REALLY good! i thought it was by an actual poet but i guess its mine!


Words are written in the sky to call
Upon the one who etches them in sand,
Knowing they shall be upon nightfall
Like petals falling softly on his hand;
Life is but a victory in guise
To mortal men whose lives lay in the scale
The whispers of eternity are lies
For those who strive and push to no avail
The words of knowledge beg for ears of men
Unknowing they tell secrets of life past
As death comes like a dawn to waken them
From endless sleep of ignorance at last
Oh, mortals know your life is but a spark
But words immortalize that which death marks

A Sonnet

I am really losing my creativity in titling my posts. Whatever. I wrote a sonnet during my AP Lit class last year and I decided to post it since it's pretty damn good if I do say so myself :)
A Walk In The Meadow

Those porcelain lips do I yearn to kiss,
To greet the frost with fire from my heart;
As snow doth melt upon my lover’s hand,
Such beauty only tainted hands could mar.
As I approach thee nervous from thy gaze,
My breath escapes me as I see thine eyes,
Like mirrors searching for the hidden truth.
To lay mine lips upon thee would but stain,
Like drops of black upon an angel’s face.
As torment tears my trembling heart in two,
I can but wait as breath escapes your lips
To taunt me, perfect words that wound so deep;
And thus do I stand here before you now,
Choked by mem’ries held by fading strings.

An Actual Story

So I began to work on my own novel - I guess that's what you'd call it? I'm only on the first draft of the first chapter or so and I need some motivation to continue so I decided to post it. That way, I may be more motivated to continue it. Anyway, here it is. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1 – Hell Week

“Ughhhh” I groaned as I tried to turn over to my side but a stabbing pain in my side reminded my why I was lying the way I was in the first place. As I tried to stand up, my foot caught on the side table and I fell to the floor, as blackness covered my vision. “Damn..not again…” I mumbled as I sank to the ground, too weak to fight off the darkness.

It seemed like only yesterday I was laughing and throwing fries at my friends except it’s been about half a year. The truth is I am sick of the lies everyone lives on, sick of all the petty little dramas that go on in high school. Then again, the drama that’s currently ruining my life started in Middle School. I know what you’re thinking, “the good old days” where blowing off a class meant you’d get detention, where you could sleep in math and still get an A, where your friends liked you for who you are and didn’t judge you. I miss that childhood innocence, but I soon realized it was all a façade and it took me three years to figure that out and I’m trying to save you that trouble. Friendship didn’t matter unless you had friends who were connected to the right people in High School. Everyone knew how important popularity was once you got into High School. In High School, if you were popular you ruled the school and it was a serious game to see who would get in and who wouldn’t. Middle School was the judging ground where your High School social life would be decided. The friends you made in Middle School could make or break you and believe me, friendships lasted only for that reason – to climb up that hellish social ladder.

Back then, there were basically three groups – the “Little Devils”, the “Tolerated” and the “Forgotten”. The “Little Devils” were, in a word, goddesses. Everyone worshiped the ground they walked on. Girls would kill to be a part of them. The “Tolerables” were just that – tolerable. They were deemed socially acceptable. They were smart and popular, but not as popular as the Devils or their boy counterparts the “Players”. They were in fact players and the sole property of the Devils. If either caught you looking at them, rumors would go flying at the snap of a finger – Sheila’s finger to be specific. She was the Zeus of the Olympians, the Riff of the Jets, the Regina of the Plastics (that is the perfect analogy, may I add). Her counterpart would be Michael of the Players – the most handsomely cruel of them all. With light brown hair sun kissed with blond highlights, deep-set soft brown eyes, and the build of a Greek God, he was the desire of all the girls and the envy of all the boys. He was Sheila’s property and she his. They were THE exclusive couple of the school and had enough drama to supply the entire North Shore of Illinois. Michael was not as stupid as people made him out to be – in fact, he was the brighter of the two, though not by much. It wasn’t just perfect grades that set them apart from the rest; it was their uncanny ability to manipulate anyone around them at their will and some would call it close to Antisocial Personality Disorder. It was Michael’s job to seduce any and every girl he laid eyes on and then rip out her heart for the world to see – and mainly torment us, the “Forgotten”. Ironically, we weren’t actually forgotten; we were the most targeted. We were deemed socially challenged and inept. The Devils and Players took it upon themselves to torture us whenever they could – which meant every second of our lives. It wasn’t always physical torture (though that was preferable). Mostly, it was mind games and nasty rumors spread by none other than Sheila.

(to be continued...in the near future...hopefully)

A Short Story

This was the first assignent in my AP Lit and Comp class last year (senior year of high school) and we had to write a fictional short story about anything. Here's mine. Enjoy!

The Rocking Chair

The rain fell in a calm rhythm as the thunder roared above her head. The sound, ironically, used to put her to sleep as a child, yet now emphasized the tension in the air. As she ran, she wasn’t sure if the liquid running down her brow was sweat or rain. The place was desolate, as if someone had unleashed an atomic bomb on it. Things were scattered here and there and there was ash on everything. Frantically looking for a place to hide, she spotted a familiar looking abandoned house on the side of the road. She changed from a run to a quick walk, not wanting to arouse suspicion in any onlookers, not that there were any, but you could never be too careful. “Why did this have to happen to me of all people? What great sin did I commit??” she muttered to herself as she pried open the door. Looking around, she saw no one in the house and proceeded to find the nearest couch. Disappointment set in as she noticed there was no furniture in the house except for an old rocking chair with the initials “RM” engraved into it. “Strange…those are my initials too” she noticed. Deciding to put aside this coincidence, she threw her bag down on the floor and curled up in the chair, hoping that this was only a dream and soon the smell of pancakes and eggs would drift to her room and wake her up.


Rabia Merchant’s life wasn’t always like this, constantly on the run, fearing another sudden attack. She had it all, the looks, the money, the brains, and the perfect family. Her life was perfect; every wish she had was fulfilled, everything the wanted, she got. Her dad was the CEO of the most successful company in America, SYNTRON, and her mother was the head of the PTA at her school and a stay-home mom. Rabia was an only child and was quite gifted. Aside from being athletic, she was also an artist. Her paintings were featured throughout the city and won multiple awards, though she insisted they were never good enough. What she hadn’t told anyone was that she felt she hadn’t drawn them. She never remembered painting the pictures although she was sure it was her, not someone else. She wondered if anyone would understand but never told a soul for fear of ridicule. Many had asked to sit with her and watch her paint but she always politely refused, knowing that it wasn’t safe. She had stopped painting a while back, but started up again when she began to have fits at night. She would not be able to sleep and her hands would burn as if on fire. Scared, she didn’t know what else to do but continue her art.


When she finally had herself under control, things began to fall apart. She would forget where she was and wander off, sometimes for hours. Her hands began to shake and she began to have delusional dreams at night. Her parents started to worry when she locked herself in her room for days, doing nothing but paint. They found the best psychiatrist in the world, Dr. Edmund Wilde and insisted on regular appointments, hoping he would cure their daughter. Days were spent in vain as he could only reach one answer: Schizophrenia. Rabia knew that what she had was not Schizophrenia; there was another person living inside of her, who longed to be free but was trapped by her body. She tried to relate this to Dr. Wilde but he noted this down as delusional. She knew she would never be free of this problem unless she took matters into her own hands. Dr. Wilde only knew of the disorders he had read about, but he had never experienced one himself so he couldn’t relate to Rabia. She needed outside help and she had to find it herself.


She had made up her mind to leave the next day. Her things were packed and she had written a note explaining to her parents what she was doing. She told them she loved them but this was a journey she had to take herself. Her cell phone began to vibrate. “Hello?” she tentatively asked. “It’s time…I’ll be waiting at our discussed location. Be quick” The voice was scratchy and she couldn’t make out who it was. Before she could ask, she heard a click. The person had hung up. She quickly gathered her belongings, left the note at the dining table, and ran out of the house. She didn’t stop until she reached the outskirts of town. At first, the place seemed empty and she began to have doubts about her friend. He had called himself “Doc” but she couldn’t just shout Doc. She heard footsteps behind her and she whirled around ready to punch her follower in the face but she lowered her arm in time. It was him. He was dressed all in black and the only part of his face that wasn’t covered in soot was a gash from his left eyebrow down to his neck. She didn’t want to ask how he got that but she felt uneasy looking at it. “So how do you plan on helping me? I hope you’re not a fake because that would make me really mad.” She tried a threatening tone, knowing he was probably unfazed. “I assure you, your money is well worth it” he replied, his voice velvety-smooth.


He took her to his workshop. It was a makeshift house, with wood slapped here and there as if made by a child. “It’s not much but I get by” he added apologetically. She nodded. She wasn’t here for comfort; she needed answers and she didn’t care how uncomfortable she was. The house was dimly lit and there was a faint odor of cigarettes. “Here is the book you are looking for. It will explain everything you need to know. I’ll be back. I have some unfinished business to take care of. You have my number so call me if you need any help” His lips twitched once, as if they were attempting a smile. “Yeah, thanks” she replied looking at the title “The Troubled Spirit”. The door creaked shut and she began thumbing through the pages. There wasn’t enough light to read so she moved to the window. “Hmm…dissociative identity disorder…” that was the closest she could come up with to explain her problem. She knew there was more than that though. As she read, she realized this was not a simple psychology book. It was written in the 17th century regarding people just like her. There was a case in Salem of a woman who claimed she was possessed by another being who made her do things. She apparently did not remember doing most of the things she was charged against. As she continued to read, she found she had the same “symptoms” as many of these people. The only cure was to destroy yourself to destroy the soul of the other being or to destroy your surroundings and sacrifice yourself so as to let the being take over you. “What a bunch of bologna” she muttered. She had lost track of time as she was reading and night had fallen. Doc was not back yet and it was getting cold. She gave up on the book and got up. As she began to look for a place to rest, she came across an old drawer labeled “Explosives”. In it she found directions to make a bomb and some notes. They looked like directions but she could only make out the street name “Belvoir Drive”. “That’s strange. That’s the street my house is on…” she remembered what was written in the book about destroying your surroundings. “He wouldn’t” she whispered to herself. She suddenly realized what was about to happen. “He’s going to blow the town into smithereens” she gasped. The thought was so sickening it almost deserved a maniacal laugh. She ran out of the house, hoping it wasn’t too late.


“You can make it. It’s not too late” It couldn’t be too late. Everything needed to be fine. “He can’t let so many innocent people die!” she wanted to punch him. She regretted ever contacting him. She suddenly stopped running. She was there and it was too late. The whole town had been obliterated. There were no signs of life, no cars, no children laughing, nothing. Everyone had been killed instantly. She wondered if they felt anything. She wondered what they were thinking. Were they disappointed? Worried? Scared? Angry? She certainly was all these things. Her phone vibrated. “New text message from Doc: ‘You’re not at the house so I’m guessing you left. You figured it out, clever stupid girl. Now that you know I can’t let you get off can I? No, you’re next’” He was coming after her. He was going to kill her. Tears started streaming down her face as the sky darkened. It was going to rain. She would not go down without a fight. She would not let these innocent martyrs go in vain. She would fight back. She felt as though a weight had been lifted off her chest. The spirit that had been occupying her body had gone and she had no idea why. She remembered the book. “Sacrifice, destruction of my home…that’s what it took to rid me of my insanity” she was torn between relief and sorrow. She gave up her past life to start a new life, with new people. She had to forget everything if she was going to survive. She knew there were more people like her out there and she would do everything in her power to help them and get rid of Doc. He wasn’t her friend; he was her enemy. “I won’t let him get away with this” she cursed his name. She heard footsteps behind her. She turned but no one was there. Heart pounding, she ran. She saw an abandoned house and went inside.


Rabia woke up. “Was this some horrible dream? Where am I?” she sleepily yawned and looked around. Then everything came back to her, Doc, her family, the destruction. She looked at the chair and the letters engraved on it – “RM”. “Those are my initials…this is my house” she whispered. There was a knock at the door. “Honey, I’m home!” said a cruel mocking voice. It was him.

Another song

This song was actually written before A Walking Contra(diction) but I forgot to post it. Enjoy!

Puzzle

Just an ordinary girl
In an ordinary world
Tryin to make a name here
And still tryin to steer cleer
Of trouble

I start off each day
With a voice in my head
Ideas runnin round
Don't know when they're comin down
To earth

Put on my shoes
Step in a puddle or two
Walkin on the wrong side
Gettin dirty - well that's life
Till I met you - ohhh!

[Chorus]
You're the missing piece
Of the puzzle that's me
You're Prince Charming, I'm Rapunzle
Never destined for each other
But we showed them, didn't we?
Sometimes one plus one can be less than three

Put on my socks
Wear 'em inside-out
Plant with my bare hands
Could never do a hand-stand
But that's me

Love to make a mess, so I
Paint in my Sunday best
Run around the house and
Put my feet up on the couch
'Cause I'm lazy

But you love me still
Watched the sunset on that hill
The night of my birthday
I've never ever felt this way
'Till now 'cause..

[Chorus] x 2

[Repeat last line of chorus] x 2

New Song

I know I haven't blogged in a while and I promise to do so soon, but for now here is a new song I wrote.

A Walking Contra(diction) – Anusha Ali 09/18/10 (to a country tune sort of like Our Song by Taylor Swift)


Steppin past the cracks on the sidewalk pavement
Starin straight ahead, clutch your million-dollar handbag
Behind those tinted shades your eyes are saying everything

Slam the front door on your way to the studio
Feelin outa place and you just wanna let it go
Rememberin the day when your high-top boots were laced with snow

Drivin down the highway, cursin as you speed ahead
Wonderin where days of the care-free life you had
Disappeared to on a bright and shiny Sunday morning

[chorus]
The clock says three and you’re already leavin
Turnin past the time but I know you aint comin
Back to me,
Yeah those days were a bliss, as sweet as your cherry lips
But tonight I will rock myself to sleep with the moonlight’s kiss

Roamin round town with the top let down, and
I look through the crowd to see that face, somehow
I know you won’t be lookin back at me, not now

Cuz you have always been a walking contra(diction)
Broken promised roses with your empty sayings
Tryina keep up when you’re falling back, into a blurr

[chorus]

[Bridge]
And maybe we were never meant to say I do
But all this time I thought what we had was true
You never meant to hurt me, this much I know
But I need to let you go if I ever want to grow
Again

[chorus – soft]

[chorus – loud]

Repeat last line of chorus