fatpanda

India

hopefully won't be back (much) until i have completed campnanowrimo

Message from Writer

happy pride month!!! ahhh my heart is screaming
want to help? read these:
https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/171125/version/338405
https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/171297/version/338788
https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/176352/version/351132

i'm bad at giving comments and reviews; if you'd like feedback, link your piece in any of my non-writing pieces, and i shall get to it when i can!

been reading 'the picture of dorian gray' since the past three months (update: i'm finally on chapter 3 and the book is. art)

shout-out to the_enclave, Brielle P. Chor, Chloe :) <3, Wicked! and Vinter Vejen for their amazing pieces for my contest!

Published Work

look straight into the wall, how do you see the world, still?

too much-- when space buries into your skin, is it 
too much? when the marble bids farewell, when the 
pine lifts you up. (we’re in the air)
                                          linear planes, they fall into the mud. his fingers hold 
                                          my face. i am magnetic, but not in the way 
                                          you think. (patience, my love)
like how we never considered the grieving of a canal. 
the lights that fell on the grass. we thought they 
were edible & (how the blankets ate us later?)
                               ...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 14

writing streak week 14 days 1-3

day 1: city of stars from la la land

city of stars / break open my ribcage, say if / my heart beats to the thrum of tyres on your streets / say if my eyes hollow the embrace of a wraith / say if a dream has been caught in a plastic bottle already / was it thrown away? / in the ocean? / place your palms on asphalt, feel how the music rattles / how jazz silhouettes itself against the trees / how a smokescreen lets loose / the way the ocean surges its grief / how a winged deity makes the earth shake, the way its / lava eyes break ground but warm the hearth / how the wind dances with the rivulets of the leaves / how i want to reach up there to high-five liminality


day 2: ever since new york by harry styles

tell me something / do beaded questions clasp their hands in...

a whale's voice

& i don’t remember being born but i think somewhere, i was stalled. my fingers wrapped around a concept i couldn’t fathom, and in its halting way, it led me astray to the metalsmith: there, i was broke down, scratched-- refashioned til i could be moulded no further, spat out til my mouth tasted like gum. & i don’t think i’m angry; i like how liminal i seem, how sentient i can get-- nails scratching on chalkboard & i am mozart, fingers splayed across glass and chopin condemns me. my goodbye is more of a fade-away, i exist only til the murk is at waist-level, & after is a simple state of being, a body i wasn’t taught to embody. a lullaby slides down my throat, the only thing i was ever taught to be was static, but disobedience juts my hip; i am spangled with blood the piano has drawn from me, up-down like clay hands playing with my...

Mad Libs

in which i tell you a little bit about my ocs

ncuti is a sixteen-year-old voracious daydreamer who lives in her mind, for the most part. known for asking absurdly poetic questions and replying to them herself in an absurdly poetic way, she wants nothing more than to explore the place she has created in her mind, along with her best friend. she pretends to be nothing she is not, but sometimes she’s afraid that she comes across as too whimsical. ncuti’s biggest fear is that space and art will stop conversing with her. what ncuti needs is someone who can understand and love her despite how blabbery she can get; the biggest thing getting in the way is her own negative opinion of people around her, and the fact that what she desires most is hidden in plain sight.

rayna is a seventeen-year-old girl, though no one actually knows her age, who lives in the moment, even if she hates how cliche it sounds. known for being crazily intimidating and...

q&a answers!

by  t r a l a l a

favorite color?
green, particularly the forest shades.


by mia_:)

favorite season?
we don’t really have seasons here where i live-- it’s mainly hot, and not-quite-as-hot with a bit of monsoon in between. but i love how my neighbourhood looks during february and march.

what superpowers would you like to have?
superpowers sound weirdly freaky, but super-smartness wouldn’t hurt, according to the half brain cell i have.

physical appearance?
i’m average heighted and have the word ‘queer’ tattooed across my forehead.

favorite movie (genre)?
i’m a basic bitch; rom-coms, though i do love mysteries.

describe your personality?
an ironic uwu who cracks horrible puns.


from Anne Blackwood
if you could live anywhere in the word disregarding finances, where would you choose?
a smol (actually quite big) city in india called chandigarh because childhood memories (and really pretty houses!)

the weirdest dream you’ve had?
i don’t dream quite as much now, but a lot...

does the blood of my ancestors make me stronger or does it weaken me?

streetlight wisps poke hunger into her skin; she is

etched into the corners she wasn’t allowed to wear 
a skirt in, bloodied even as two years of textbooks 

rot under her brother’s feet. & yes, she dreams in 

analogous shades of gold, but her eyes color 
everything pale blue-- unbridled locks stroking 

freedom across the sky, nails where dust knew not 

how to play; resonation when the national anthem
broke in half on the hood of a stolen car. she 

whispers symphonies to the plants at the garden,

buries a twined ring in unspoken memory of a man
who promised only to help. she lies upon a marble 

bed, she knows what life is and she knows that 

each time she breathes, it is only a half-truth 
that is being exhaled. the rust that has settled

down in her veins beseeches her. she thunders

a place for herself in the discrowned desert, 
wonders when the parade will come to cheer...

beauty/pain

Business knew not any pleasure-- her mother blew out 
her sniffles but with fire, kissed a soft desiccation
on the throat, pulled out knees, shedding her torn duct.
Ears are but vessels for glory; death a depraved vision.

Where sheets of snow thanked her on virtue. Where she
carved lines unto a halted achievement, where a malady
threatened to tear off skin. She may still open one eye,
proclaim final regret, dance on a twisted silhouette, away.

One day, she won’t see the crescent. Won’t know how
secondary offerings fell to dust, the way neon bloomed
open the forgotten. A slated gift harries as though snow
too doesn’t know when it is not needed. Surety is laid.

It is not long gone, yet. Effervescence is spectacled,
speckled, read between the lines. It treads out, begrudged.

an old woman watches the sea

twenty years ago i 
liked the way my elephant bones rang when
i sharpened them with a knife, when i saved 
their remains in a box. two days ago, they
were narrower than when we had pigeons for
breakfast, narrower but i have my needles to
remind me of the clang-clang of past times. i
think my hands will fall off under the weight
of a younger dance, i think they will crab their
way across all of earth, i think they want to
escape me. i surrender. goddess laid before 
me, could you care for them? they stole all 
the calluses right off my body; i just might
evaporate. just might see cruelty as you 
stretch out one finger and poke them into 
place, see you as a protector as i too am 
streaked, fragile under gravity, powerless. 
salvation is you. duty is you. take me. 

 

a beast of your own creation

my sister she crafted me from the mud of melting bulbs,
founded me on the curve of Gaea’s hip; i, sickly fledge
swam past as her mouth bubbled sympathy, as she 

crushed motive beneath her feet. i am of the slated people, 
lolled between finery like a frantic beholding; lone, even 
as the forest chuckled. i have bottled pittance in a void,

seen it as they do, yet known only white. my sister, she
says that
                                                                i am a handlocked four, numbering ideations
                                                                lest they come to fruition. i am a rolled-up
       ...

a memory: pangong lake, summer 2018

where sunlight lilts / and dust ladders on itself / the water tank shrivels, bursts pipes / we meet at the turn of an elbow / as the furors lake into display / as auroras smile into the water / as the scootering songbirds sip chai / the afternoon unfolds, colds itself where our cities clasp hands / we reveal ourselves to the fatal truth: glory / is laundered / it singsongs where corals break their grief / where the windchimes sway their regrets / where the fabric is matted / our throats throne occurrence / redden / at its frothed edges / as our eyes wood a remaking / pencilled light drowns itself into gravel / 

; we are undone

how's this for a fairy tale?

Gretel kneels before me-- it’s a repetition of
flailing water wings, buttons unable to collapse, 
an unintentional ruse. a bloody mouth with 
crunched-up teeth & a throat that repels sweets,
but it’s not a deterrent. & Gretel, she startles, 
woodcutter limbs & cherry fantasy, pickled, spat
out. see, this house is without beams, with soil of 
unbalanced chemistry, of untold signatures. the 
lone coffee plant is unsprouted, it is wont to cry &
it assumes consolation. the crickets’ clap-clap
knock on cellophane windows, dust off their 
feet on my porch. Gretel stifles a laugh. fair child, 
she is of apple beauty & i am renewed, made 
from black thread, now, vapor skin, a foreign tongue-- 
now, i am Snow, the yodeling kind, a butter knife 
& here, my heart is gone. served as a one-seventh 
portion, & i am frailer than ever; i bite into a glass 
coffin, see their reflection in the fog-- my friends, 
how they rain...

hey angel

sweet angel, made of satin ties and rubber gaps, tell me, do you ever stall? look at your reflection in the mirror until you are withered, then blink in confusion and move on? do you ever marvel at your own beauty, skin made of porcelain material and lips of frozen flowers, the form of a millennia-old goddess? do you too see yourself as a breakable thing-- a lingering caress, and you just might fall apart? cords wrapped around your neck like a vice and golden knobs holding you in place, do you realise how you are a victim of your own fragility? do you see like i do, multicolored hues fading off into derision, or is your world of a dual color scheme? is that why you forgive and forget, because it is so hard for you to distinguish between evil and the simple bloom of life? how i wish i wasn’t a simple plastic cover-- angel, do stars too...

#126 contest results!

i want to start this by giving a sincere thank you to everyone who entered this contest, or even considered entering. i received over 55 entries across all five prompts, and i never thought that this celebration of mine at reaching 100 followers (126, really) would be so well received. this contest lasted for four months-- that’s two more than i intended it for to-- and thank you to everyone for sticking around till now.

before i get into the winning entries, please don’t be disheartened if you didn’t win anything. there were a lot of entries for each prompt-- picking them was in a task in itself. 

here goes!


prompt 1

FIRST PLACE: the_enclave’s an incoherent set of words that might or might not mean a thing.
the word count dracula sucks that’s a lot of big no no don’t say that you’ll get down to sesame street is a good guys are underrated movies deserve their boxes...

CONTEST #126 (closed)

Since lockdown's going to be extended for another 6 months at least, and I'm already bored of the prompts, the contest is running again.

Here are the prompts:

prompt 1
In one of my favourite books, Stargirl, the main character, Stargirl Caraway, delivers an unexpected speech with no central theme, in an oration competition which ends up winning first prize. For this prompt, you will write something similar: you will jump from one stream of thought to another throughout the piece, never dwelling on one topic for long.
The piece has to be about you—one moment you can be telling me about your pet dog, the next about a peculiar cloud formation you saw the other day, and the next about something totally unrelated. Go into as much depth as you want, and/or make me feel like you’ve picked out floating ideas from midair and squashed them together to form your piece. The intention of your piece is to...

if you entered the #126 contest, please give this a read

i had written the announcement for the #126 contest when the first few cases of coronavirus were popping up around the world and it was still a distant concept in my country. my board exams were just going to end, and i had planned that after school started again, i would sit down for an hour every day after coming home and judge the entries. the process was meant to be a small break before i had to get back to studying, was supposed to be relaxing and exciting. 

now, i've been stuck at home for more than a month and a half, and am forced to sit in front of a mobile phone or laptop due to online classes. the 'relaxing' element of judging entries is missing, so i have not being doing it.

this notice is mainly to tell everyone that i am postponing the contest until further notice. the contest will probably be resumed when i physically...

CONTEST #126 (closed)

I reached a hundred followers last year, and I never got around to thanking all of you. Before this site, writing was something my father forced me to do, but I started extracting genuine joy from tracing words after getting real feedback on it for the first time. This site has helped me grow in so many ways even outside of writing-- like exposing me to so many different perspectives from around the globe, helping me look at events from all viewpoints. Thank you to everyone who has ever read, liked or commented on my work, it has meant the world to me.

Here are the prompts for the contest:

prompt 1
In one of my favourite books, Stargirl, the main character, Stargirl Caraway, delivers an unexpected speech with no central theme, in an oration competition which ends up winning first prize. For this prompt, you will write something similar: you will jump from one stream of thought to another throughout...