Pritika Rao's Blog

So, you want to hire a freelancer?

I’m as happy as a clam!

Let me start off by telling you

All you need to know about who I am.

I’m an economist and writer,

Poet and author

Who loves data and research

Just as much as prose and verse

I am a professional with a desk and a chair

And the occasional pencil shaving in her hair

I have a pretty hectic schedule

So respecting my time: that’s kind of an unspoken rule

I can assure you that my quality of work is exceptional

And that I pay great attention...

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It is both painful and glorious.

To do the work for which your heart burns.

To pour out, day after day.

Effort, words, presence.

And at night you fall into a deep slumber

Your dreams filled with a sense of being seen. Acknowledged. Celebrated.

Somedays they come true.

Most often, they don’t. And it stings.

But this is the very blessing of the whiplash.

The noise, the inconvenience, the sharp snap

Commanding you to sit up and take notice.

Inviting intentional breathing exercises to get throug...

we broke apart

just for a second

and i knew

that you could still see me

from where you stood.

we only had to travel

the distance between mind

and heart

it’s too bad

that neither of us would.

even bread

needs yeast

to rise.

she was a girl

that picked at her own flesh

and cried wolf

setting the demons of her mind

on those around her

not knowing that

they were chained to her wrist

like dogs.

the barking drover her mad

the ropes tore her skin

and the stench of her own frustration

beckoned the ravens.

for a short while

you can turn your face away

from the blisters and bruises

that your words have inflicted on me

but when you wake from the denial

and the anesthesia of your ego wears off

you must face your own sickness

and the truth

that my forgiveness is the only cure.

to wait for you

was like waiting for rain

it couldn’t be forced

couldn’t be conjured.

all i could do

was lift my dry heart

to the heavens

and pray.

if you’ve walked away,

but still linger in these thoughts of mine

what good is good-bye?

all broken hearts

make full recoveries.

A good measure of my childhood was spent in the soft oblivion beyond poofy white clouds. 
I wondered when I’d go to Malory Towers or St.Clare’s, silly thoughts for a little girl who couldn’t fall sleep unless her toes touched her mamma. 
I swam in a little pond outside my house and imagined it were the size of the ocean. 
I was overjoyed when I discovered that I’d outgrown my clothes. 
I paid far too much attention to my handwriting, experimenting with different styles of font and trying to f...