the woman, a poem

“the woman”, an attempt at horror poetry writing for Halloween.

***

during the noiseless night crows call her name.

the woman mauls her way out of the depths of earth, grimy and sickly.

blue fingers adorned with jewelry that wasn’t her’s.

maggots cling onto the meat dangling off her right hip.

her wispy hair is a veil she drags across the ground.

a crow sits on her shoulder and mimics her, the sound of her own voice makes her delirious.

the sound of her own voice makes her delirious. the sound of her own voice makes her delirious.

she can’t help but smile, showing all 32 teeth.

her eyes are like fogged glass. she’s constantly cynical because they’re useless.

her eyes. and her victims.

you don’t see any of this though,

unless she pays you a visit.

know she’s unfaithful, to you and possibly herself at times,

because she never learned empathy, it was always about her.

she knows how desperate you truly feel,

how you won’t admit that you’ve dreamt of her

and that you now fear such intimacy.

so you wonder if these dreams count as intimacy.

“Can I come with you?”

the question slips out of your mouth while you sleep.

yet you don’t know why you ask it.

she slithers her mouth up against your ear.

“No. Your soul has to leave first.”

When anyone pays you the sort of attention you used to crave,

you feel a strange urge to dimiss them.

this faint tug in the back of your mind.

you shun them. they’re not good enough.

you don’t know if you have it in you to give what they want.

after many of her visits,

you see your skin is greying. perhaps it’s fatigue.

on another day your eyes are bloodshot. perhaps you’re still tired.

you’re noticing scabs all over the following week.

but you can’t remember picking your skin.

one morning, the last morning,

you look at yourself

and she’s there too.

it’s finally time.

Copyright © The Mouth That Writes, 2018-2023. All rights reserved.

Follow me @tannaaz for more.

July Music Recap. Discovering New Stuff!

Though this is only the third post of eight, I’m starting to believe there’s little reason to continue this series, but for the sake of not backing out I will continue it. I must stay strong!

Let’s start like this: July was a big month filmwise. Barbie definitely impacted my listening habits.

FIFTY-FIFTY’s “Barbie Dreams” had been played multiple times leading up to and after watching the movie. I personally really enjoy glitchcore music and this song was a good mashup of basic pop and hyperpop. It’s probably not everyone’s favourite off the album, but I think it’s fun and the lyrics perfectly capture what it means to be a “Barbie Girl”: sparkly pink pizazz.

If you’ve seen the movie, then you can agree that Ken’s ballad-turned-rock-musical-song is an earworm and is easily one of the best. Gosling made Ken one of the most likeable characters and therefore his solo is equally favourited.

Otherwise, I’ve been listening to more indie rock music. Indie music is one of my favourite genres but it’s been about a month since I’ve last listened to it. I almost forgot how satisfying my alternative music playlist is!!

The Japanese House is becoming a popular group and they released a new album recently called In the End It Always Does. The majority of songs on it are slow jams. I prefer higher energy, so some of these were dull and frankly sounded similar to each other. “Touching Yourself” had been played on repeat, and I’d argue it’s one of the best (or even the best!) on the album.

But I feel like if I see them live they won’t play it. My theory is that most times I go to shows bands somehow magically decide to not play my personal favourites. Or maybe I don’t listen to their most popular songs, who’s to say?

Another song on repeat has been “Simply Simple” by Mother Mother, which led me to their album Eureka (which gave me a eureka moment when I found that “The Stand” is also on there). It’s a great album, though it’s hard to peel myself away from that one song.

I also like “Shine” by Collective Soul. It’s got a ’90s grungy essence that I’ve been leaning towards recently. I’d never been a fan of 2000s alt rock music because I think most of it is too heavy or it sounds too whiny, but I’ve truly realized how important it is to spend time sorting through music. For example, in a bid to find similar sounding music, I also found “Reptilia” by The Strokes. I asked myself why I confined myself to listening solely to The New Abnormal, though granted, it is one of their most popular albums. (I feel like any music-conscious person who exudes general pretentiousness would scoff and ask why I bothered to mention The Strokes. Oh well.)

There’s so much available to find and listen to, it’s a little nerve-wracking. It feels like time passes and you have less time to find a new song to enjoy or possibly add to your list of “best songs ever”. All it takes is a wrong click and you’ll miss it and listen to something else that you’ll hate, and I hate that!

I think this month’s theme has definitely revolved around discovery and rediscovery. Sure, I’m listening to music genres I already like or artists I’m familiar with but it’s about exploring within subgenres and checking out previously ignored music. I wouldn’t call myself a fan of any of the artists mentioned simply because I haven’t listened to enough of their music to give a solid opinion, and that’s the point! I’m excited to pin down what exactly I like listening to and partake in annoyingly obnoxious conversations about which Barbie song is catchier, or which album of The Strokes is the most potent and influential.

Follow me @tannaaz for more + updates, or add me on Instagram @themouththatwrites

Copyright © The Mouth That Writes, 2018-2023. All rights reserved.

• Beyond the Galleries: How Navigating Museums Is Its Own Art Form
• Poor Things: Yorgos Lanthimos is a Surrealist Visionary
• My Spotify Wrapped for 2023
• My October and November Music Recap
• the woman, a poem

The Field of Forget-me-nots

The Field of Forget-me-nots, an original poem:

Forget-me-nots.

As long as my memories can be souvenirs.

Untouched forget-me-nots I pick at whim.

You’re fixated, unintentionally, by monotony,

until one day the rush of trivial details and sentiments, 

so delicate and sometimes fraudulent, 

ask you to revisit what they meant to you. 

And you’re left bemused because you can’t conjure a thoughtful answer, 

especially when time is running a mile ahead of you. 

Because in the early days you feel like you can 

either live with the inconspicuous and fleeting moments,

have them in your pocket to experience over and over again 

like a drug with no form in the physical world,

Or you tuck them in the same pocket, and toss the pants in a corner 

you’ll forget about.

Then you can feel the same way again in a decade or so 

when the pants might not fit anymore.

So you ask yourself 

if your fear is worth anything,

if you want something out of it in the end,

if you’d like to be remembered.

Meticulous choosing and picking can grow tiresome, after all.

Because people will laugh at the innocence of your doings,

especially when you don’t know any better,

when you don’t realize it,

when you won’t have them anymore.

And like the forget-me-not you only wish your memory could serve you

for as long as you require.

But you’re bound to settle for something less.

Copyright © 2018-2023 The Mouth That Writes. All rights reserved.

Follow me on Instagram @themouththatwrites or here on WordPress (@tannaaz) if you like my content!

Just a Skirt

This is an original poem by @tannaaz (me!). Follow me for more.

“Just a Skirt”

it was just a skirt.

we’re walking around in the heat.

but it’s fine, it’s windy anyway.

27km…but it’s still humid.

when i’m alone, none of that matters anymore.

don’t get me started on the tank top.

“you’re asking for it.”

on a summer’s day?

if i wanted attention i wouldn’t go looking for yours.

and i hear utterances, without looking

i see opaque eyes

that judge, giving an unwarranted opinion

and probably peeling off the layers.

the clouds above cast unwavering eyes

to follow me around.

i don’t see others dressed like me.

so how do they handle the heat?

i’m sorry, i’m sorry.

i just wanted to look nice for myself.

i don’t have a bat with a thousand nails

to shut everyone’s lips and eyes.

i’m going to walk home

and change into pants.

and when winter comes

i’ll be sad i didn’t wear a skirt

and wonder what was stopping

me.

Copyright © 2018-2022 The Mouth That Writes. All rights reserved.

Follow me on Instagram @themouththatwrites or here on WordPress if you like my content!

Please note, I blame the patriarchy for this twisted view we have on clothing and (in the context of this poem) women’s bodies and their autonomy. I am in no way saying it is the skirt-wearer’s fault for any shame. In fact, it can be said that this society has pushed women to believe that they need to blame themselves. Sure, you could argue that the takeaway for women is to take matters into their own hands, reflect, and empower themselves. Some can’t do that. And why should they? Those who cause this initial fear should be the main focus.

It’s a large-scale societal issue that everyone should understand and address. Especially in times where women’s autonomy is still disregarded. To think, we thought we were living in the 21st century!
Anyway, I still hope you enjoyed the poem, it was one of my favourites to write.

Icarus — A poem

“Icarus”

Icarus is who you’ve taught me to be.

you, the sun, burning my wings with dismissal.

I can feel the rush of wind

near death, there’s a pit.

oh, sun, your beauty and my vial for life.

and my vial for life.

you have me blinding myself

from your precious light.

have you no shame in your damage?

I flew for my unrequited desire,

and for the emptiness, you offer yourself as a liar.

deception as my bandages and tend to wounds

you claim were accidental.

so your kiss goodbye lacks purpose.

if I had flown closer,

would I have returned as ashes?

don’t burden me with promises you despise.

Icarus and his sun, intentionally

playing a game of cat and mouse.

my worship is most valuable

even if your ego thinks otherwise.

Copyright © 2018-2020 The Mouth That Writes. All rights reserved.

Follow @themouththatwrites on Instagram and @tannaaz (me!) for more on my website.