Tag: lovers

Mirror

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I can never be assured of my worth. In the scheme of things, I can never understand just how much I mean to someone I love. I know what they mean to me and just how much it would devastate me, if I lost them. But I can never realise what it would mean for them to lose me.

I’ve known men to love me and then give me up. It doesn’t take them much to discard me like used toilet paper. I’ve seen the ones who love me lose interest in me sexually. It happens over years and sometimes over months. I guess that is true of most relationships. But it’s always sad to be the one who gets faded out first.

I wonder what it would take for someone to be completely compatible in at least one aspect of the relationship. I’ve been hearing quips about age. Then there are comparisons to my way of cooking in which I fall short. There are incompatibilities in bed. I am left to wonder who doesn’t like kissing? I mean anal sex is preferable to being French kissed and that sets my alarm bells ringing.

But through it all I doubt myself. It’s never the other. I find myself lacking. That’s what happens with love. We revert the accusations. This self hate pierces directly in my heart and character. Has the abuse from my father and the lack of a male figure in my life made me incapable of seeing myself worthy in the eyes of any man? That’s a very scary thought.

I look at myself in the mirror and I see someone who has a bad body and a lopsided face. People on social media say I look magnificent. There are men I have met who want to wed me, bed me, the entire fucking deal. But then I know how that works. It all is roses and attention in the beginning. But eventually the roses die and the attention diminishes. So I am back to the mirror.

But is my self worth really in their hands? How they see me? Is my identity linked to whether I am fuckable? Or if I want the question to seem worthier, lovable? What is with me that I cannot see myself as a survivor?

I lived through abuse. Determined my sexuality with no help but my own research and knowledge. I faced bullies. I made my own way. I took care of my needs. I raised my fur kids. I braved heart break. I faced depression and anxiety for decades. I met death head on and battled the overwhelming sense of losing the loves of my life. I dealt with diseases I feared and I helped others through them. I shunned discrimination. I loved those who loved me and then some. I provided a safe haven in my own home and with my family for the men I love. I helped them to understand what it meant to be gay and accepted and loved. In the process, I understood love, loss and lust. I became who I wanted to be. I remained true to myself and showed that truth to the ones I loved.

So why the fuck do I give my power to the men I fall in love with? If it’s because of some thing my dad and I have to resolve then well, he’s dead. I probably need therapy to deal with that. So then, so be it.

Receipt

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I wait for the delivered sign
To change to a read receipt;
But, knowing you are fast asleep,
It most becomes a matter of conceit:
To be upset you could turn away
And find peace in sleep so soon,
When I can’t help lie wide awake,
In the darkness of my room.

I wonder if our differences
Would be smaller than love,
If you know I’m not stronger
Than those who push and shove,
Who play games that shed blood,
With guns and ganks and strategy,
Who are young with ribs and abs,
With no depth to counter young vanity.

I wonder, if you notice all the nights
I lie awake and wonder if I’ll win,
In this round of relationships
And manage this subtle crucifix of sin.
With shards of jealousies and tempers
That have not worn out with age
And if I begin to speak of my faults
I’d need more than one soliloquy on stage.

Yet I have eyes, eyes that glisten
With past sacrifice and present emotion
And they gather all that there needs to be known
About people, love, lust and devotion.
You have my love now for better
Or for worse, for all of my remaining days
And perhaps all of the hours and years
That make up the sum of a fantastic always.

Make me know if I have yours and you
For I bitterly fail at the one thing called trust
So give me hope and make me know
If we can link our fates or perhaps if we must.
And the signs must change as is their wont
And sleep will come floating down the throat of night
As I sit and lie and live with or without you
Choosing in bursts to win or surrender the fight.

 

Friends and Lovers.

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

Friends and Lovers.

You asked me, some days back, why friends are all to me,
For, you say, I neglect you and think of them constantly.
When I’m with them, I give them the leisure of my smile,
But you are part of my frowns and tears all the while.
I write this on a rainy night, for you caused me hurt,
And impregnated my eye which has just given birth.
You misunderstood my heart and raved some days before,
Though I thought you – of all men – knew my heart to its core.
I feel that I thought wrong and you, a contradiction.
And now let us just dissect fact from fiction.

My smiles are not all heartfelt smiles with all of my friends;
For they neither know where my love starts nor where it ends.
But you, you do. (Or I thought you did.) They can – do not.
And intense emotions do not fall in friendship’s lot.
(Unless, of course, love plays its tumultuous role in it.)
And that is the space of difference you need to hit.
The rain has stopped outside briefly and our dog wants out:
I walked her and glared at the surrounding muck and doubt …
I have let you see the side of me only few see;
But you wish to be blind to this part of me.

Since you wish more smiles, you rate yourself to be a friend
Nothing more. So decide true, as lovers then we end?
Now, for example, take the pentacled box you bought me,
‘Twas a gift needed! Joy untold! Such felicity!
Mother asked for it since I have not put it to use,
But memory of your love, I could never abuse.
So it remains, filled with smiles (unused) still on my shelf,
Until I find a better use for it by myself.
You think (yes, yes, you do!) I look to friends more than you;
But, my silly dear, pigs will fly, if that is true.

When I first fell in love, I thought silly things,
I thought all love is the same song that life sings.
With years, I thought I learnt a different song.
Today, I know on both counts, I was wrong.
The silly band has changed, as has the sharp tune;
But the words sound the same to this bloody loon.
You talk of my friendly smiles and frowns in love,
But now let me speak of what I’m thinking of!
My box, your phone – love’s gifts – one to the other.
Though when it comes to your friend – oh, no bother!

Off goes my gift in his hand – just for a day, you say,
Oh? But there goes your argument, up the arsehole’s way!
I trade mere smiles in my friendship, mine to make and give!
I gift the love that I make myself – that’s how I live!
But you just traded my love for the sake of your friend!
I guess this is where my argument should end.

5th August.
3:30 a.m.