- Sasha Anand
"Poetry is everything to me" : Selected Works by Arushi (aera) Rege
Foreward by Sasha Anand | By Arushi (aera) Rege
As we come into the month of May, most students face some familiar feeling. The sound of the trees, the incoming feeling of a summer yet again, and of course: finals week.
This month at The Youth Press, we are all too well aware of the feelings that finals week brings, but for some besides a heightened sense of stress, maybe depressive thoughts, or something worse.
This is one of the primary reasons our team has decided on the theme of "healthy habits" for this months theme. As students, we understand more than anyone what teenagers go through by the end of the school year and encourage every teen to take a moment for themselves, even if it seems impossible. Often that moment, for some, can mean the difference between life and death. Remember that the life is made up of more than one moment and that there is always someone who cares about you and believes in your future, even if you dont yourself.
This month, we will hear from a student who worked through their own struggles, with a unique healthy habit: poetry.
If you are facing suicidal thoughts, need someone to talk to, or are in distress call or text 988
On what inspires them to write:
I mostly write in order to best work my way through my emotions. I started writing because I had a lot of emotions to work through, coming out of a bad period of mental health.
In essence, I wrote because if I didn't, I would've died.
I use poetry as a method of ensuring that I can discuss my emotions and harder aspects of my life, while also ensuring that I continue to do something I really love. Poetry is everything to me. It's a way of communicating with others, a method of expending my emotions in a healthy manner, and a way to continue to produce work with a lot of creativity.
twin exit wounds & a love song
the myth starts with a hello baby; the myth starts with my hand on yours & my lifeline placed on
kissed-raw lips & whiskey-flavored mouths; the myth starts with prometheus & fire & a
penchant to burn. you have a need to set things on fire & i’m the matchstick willing to be lit
aflame; the myth starts with strobe lights & meteor showers we pretended were falling down to
scorch; we deserve this, you know, the ring of fire we pretend we can’t feel under stars that
scream for recognition; the myth starts like this, we pretend to dance underneath the candlelight.
waltz. salsa. the details don’t matter; the myth starts like this, i think if i met the goddess of
beauty, she’d take your face & your voice & your body & she’d be you; the myth starts with a
halo of galaxies untold & a fire under our asses & my rage (love) sold out a concert hall & i
screamed until my throat was raw & my fingers cut into the filets only a violinist could achieve.
(the truth is my rage barely fills my body, an exit wound with no point of entry.); the myth starts
with agni & a story about love & a cheesy line about the tunnel of love & how you’d never let
me go if you had the option; each morning an elegy & each afternoon a funeral & each night a
burning pyre (burning love burning body burning hearts); the myth goes like this – i tell you i
remember what it feels like to be lit aflame, paper-mache skin & nyx’s red lipstick (shade
copenhagen) & the raw red of my skin on yours – we pretend this is what nights upon nights
look like (not a burning pyre. never the burning pyre; a nightmare long forgotten, a bullet hole
with no casing). we pretend this means you never leave. we pretend this means i need you to stay
(we pretend that i’m burning. this means i need you to stay. this means i pretend i’m not lying.
this means the ring of fire has our name on it & the halo’s a scorching earth or a broken promise
or a moth towards lightning or a self-portrait in only one color). the myth ends with a hello baby;
the myth ends with the ending we deserve, an unfinished poem & a story that refuses to burn & a
man that controls fate (leaving. staying. what does it matter anymore); the myth ends with this: i
step on your toes when we dance the waltz (there’s something poetic about this, how the air
burns with the desire of it all, how we’re locked together with a halo & a ring of fire); the myth
ends like this: we just want to love, baby. we just want to be two exit wounds with no point of
entry. we just want to take up space. we just want to burn.
dust storm season
when it says pull over it really means / don’t get caught in / endless sea of brown / emergency
warning blares / you pull over / sit down / get comfortable / siren song won’t leave for an hour /
our deserted city awaits / what i mean is its / one hundred and twelve degrees / and we’re
doomed anyways / no point in getting out / what i mean is we can / sit here and chat / dust storm
warning means / its arizona / so it's summer, so its dry pools and suburbia / cancel the touch tank,
darling / the storm hasn’t rolled over yet / what i mean is my skin is the same color / as the storm
/ what i mean is i’m sitting / in your car / hoping for death to roll over / play dead itself / what i
mean is its / dust storm season / so the cacti are withered / so its a dry heat / so the dust storm
warning continues / pull over, darling / we can’t win if we’re all dead / the storm isn’t going
anywhere / just recline the seats / we can stay here a while / so it’s summer, babe / so it’s
suburbia / so it’s suicide / so it’s empty pools / cracked lips, bloody with disuse / sweat soaking
my bra / the machinery has rusted! / rejoice again! / god’s still roaming this earth / what i mean is
/ maybe we aren’t doomed this time / maybe we haven’t lost against all odds / maybe the house
doesn’t have to win again / what i mean is that / i need you to stop thinking i’m the storm / what i
mean is / i promise i’m not / fundamentally unlovable / please, darling / you’re here with me,
aren’t you? / what i mean is i need you / to pretend that we aren’t dying / or already dead / or
something in between / what i mean is i need you / to look at me like you love me / what i mean
is i need you / to pretend the skies aren’t red / to pretend this isn’t how the world ends / what i
mean is / my skin is the same color / as the storm / so its dust storm season / so its suicide / so its
suburbia / so i’m sorry / what i mean is / the radio static continues in the background / what i
mean is my skin is the same color / as the storm / i need you / to stop thinking of me / as if i’m
the storm / i need you to learn who i am / i need you to turn off the siren / i need you to say my
name right
lifecycle & love
i know i promised you that i’d
love you forever but baby i think i’m
stuck on the notion of how i’m going
to remember you longer than i’ve
loved you. it goes like this, you
call me again, on the phone & i promise
that i haven’t been taking tylenol
again. i’m thinking of kissing
the boy on the phone i’m thinking
about being a boy i’m thinking that
maybe growth & change are just
words that mean “i don’t have you
anymore & i don’t think i’ll ever
know how to live my life without
you.”
so maybe i’m the villain here, baby,
i know what this looks like. under
fluorescent streetlights & bright
red skies, i know you’re staring at
the girlboy i’m becoming & thinking about
how i couldn’t grow (change) enough for
this to be enough. i’m a broken record &
you’re a broken heart about promises
that i’m going to change & you’re
going to be here forever. i know we’re
desperately holding on, in as many
languages as we can. sonya, tujhavara
prem aahe maala. i know too many
languages, baby, and i don’t know how
to love you in enough of them.
so just. entertain the idea that
growth & change are lies we
tell ourselves to become better
people because i said i’d end my
life cycle with you
birth death birth death birth death
(somewhere in between it’s about how i’d never leave you.
somewhere in between it becomes romance)
& tell me. am i going to be a chrysalis forever?
am i going to be your pretty little
butterfly? representative of all that you
wanted but couldn’t have? are you going
to keep me to be this little
lifecycle replica of what love is
(birth. death. repeat.)
(verse. chorus. repeat.)
i’m sorry baby, we know how the world works.
we know how life works. we know what it
means to change & i know i’d grow & change
if it meant you’d stay & if it meant you’d
be mine or baby.
(birth. death. repeat.)
ode to frank ocean’s cayendo
aqui, acaso voy cayendo
sing to me softly, my simple angel
make me pretend the world’s not ending
or dying or dead already because i
can’t think with all this fuss i
can’t be with all this noise
aqui, acaso voy cayendo because
at least as the world’s ending
frank ocean is still singing and
the world is ending and
nothing is okay but at least
frank ocean is still singing.
turn the radio off, love, we
don’t need to hear about the crisis, we
already know what’s going on, we
already know how the story ends because
frank ocean is singing so it must be
dead of night or
four-fifteen in the afternoon or
when i miss you terribly or
when i’ve gone and broken my heart again because
you don’t know how to love me in a way i understand but
the world is ending and perhaps
we can wait for a bit because
frank ocean is singing
aqui, acaso voy cayendo
here, in this parking lot with
the fluorescent orange streetlights that burn
the image of you leaving because
you always leave and i’ve never seen you stay,
not for your mother on her deathbed and
not for me when i need you and
not for yourself when the world’s ending and
aqui, acaso voy cayendo
sing for me softly, my simple angel while
you tell me your tales of woe because
darling, the world is ending and
you won’t stay but you won’t leave either
so at least keep me company in
the world’s final moments even
though you’ve never wanted to be here. i
kept you as the moon keeps
the tides as the sun keeps the moon as
we are just celestial bodies because the
human race is just a bunch of tiny stars tiny atoms
except atoms never touch so i’ve
never held you, darling except
fuck it, frank ocean is singing and the
world is ending anyways so
sing to me softly, my simple angel and
tell me your tales of woe,
porque aqui, acaso vamos cayendo