Mimic the voices of the dead
And watch me come alive
Every time

I am Devi’s version of Draupadi
I laugh in the face of oppression
First, I let them stab and crush me
With a calm face
I let them purge my blood out
Like rubber from trees
I let my bruised hands and legs
Shine like trophies
Then I mock
Mockery is a clever woman’s tradition
Passed down like a river
I mock
Them all
I laugh while my ******* dangle
Emptily
I let their ego burn down
Ferociously
And even when I’m buried
I will laugh my heart out from the grave
And my mockery will haunt humanity
For centuries
And my dried blood
On your skin
Will never fade
I am immortal
Even in the grave
I speak.

Good-bye
to nightly
rest,
take a bite
of this pizza
that has
my toppings
and my centred
oozing cheese.
Wraps over,
all the vegies
and the bacon,
pineapple,
the biggest
part of me.
Juicy and sweet
collides
with the salty,
of the beaches
of such ladies
in bikinis.
Wrapped up
and the lust
tests our devotion
and respectability
How it pushes
against appetite
for devourment.

i’m a woman born where the hills roll like old records,
where the dirt’s thick with stories and the air tastes like whiskey and wildflowers.

the mountains bleed black tar, poison dripping into creek beds,
and the government’s promises stink like rotting meat in a locked fridge.
but the women, ******* — they keep moving.
sideways, under, through the cracks in the system.

they’re not saints or martyrs — just survivors with sharp teeth,
ready to bite through the *******,
ready to carve out their own **** place
in the raw, relentless hills they call home.

I didn't start the war.
I swear it wasn't me!
I was sitting in my bedroom
listening to music and drinking tea.

I have no reason to fight,
to **** or retaliate.
I despise violence.
And I also meditate.

I don't follow the news,
I'd say they rather follow me.
That is my only crime,
that I feel for the killed.

And yes, I cried when I saw
a woman holding her dead child,
her eyes were red from scream
to the silence of the sky.

Yes, I cried when I saw it,
I couldn't stop my tears.
That is my only crime,
that I feel for the killed.

I never knew her like you did—
in everyday, familiar ways.
But I know her through your stories,
and the love that still remains.
She was your harbor in the storm,
your steady light, your guiding flame.
She shaped the fire that lives in you—
a heart too fierce to ever tame.
She bore her faith with gentle power—
a woman pure, steadfast, and wise.
And now, with reverence in your voice,
you call her blessed beyond all time.
She taught you love without condition,
how to stand firm, how not to bend.
She gave you strength to speak your soul
and fight with honor to the end.
You've drawn in closer to your father,
your heart more open, faith made new.
And still, I see beneath that grace—
the ache of missing what you knew.
Because a love like hers is carved in soul—
unchallenged, sacred, set apart.
She is your mother—now, forever—
forever stitched into your heart.
I often wish I’d known her more—
to share a laugh, a meal, a smile,
to sit and thank her for the love
that echoes through your every mile.
And oh, I wish she'd seen you now—
the way you father children mine.
She’d see her legacy in you,
in every choice, each steady line.
I know you walk a tender line,
between the past and what is new—
still holding space for Mama’s place
while making room for what is new.
So let this be your sacred ground—
a place to grieve without disguise.
No love like hers will be replaced;
it still lives on behind your eyes.
And on this day, I stand beside you—
to speak her name, to hold her light,
to say her love still shapes your days
and walks you safely through the night.

I was born into shadows, not into light,
Since breath began, nothing felt right.
Not broken by moment, but by design,
A stranger to joy, even in my prime.

Thirty one years, I’ve watched life unfold,
Not in color, just quiet and cold.
Not hated, not loved, just unseen,
Like dust on a shelf, caught in between.

No one has called me their reason to smile,
No one has asked me to stay for a while.
I’ve spoken in rooms that swallowed my sound,
I’ve stood in the crowd but never been found.

What good have I done? What trace have I made?
My efforts feel hollow, my memories fade.
Just ticking through time, a silent parade,
Existing, not living, a slow, aching fade.

And yet, here I am, heart still in chest,
Wounded but breathing, unrested, unblessed.
Each morning I wake feels more like a dare,
To face one more day when no one is there.

So if I am nothing, not needed, not known,
Why does the ache still cut to the bone?
Perhaps it’s the proof, however unfair,
That even unseen, I’m still something there.

I expected it to be gradual,
Like feel every day of my life,
Watching the sun rise then sets,
But then I become 25,
After a nap the length of my childhood.

Once upon a time I was guided to walk,
To learn in school with a teacher,
With classmates to learn with me,
So I learned better through them,
With some friends I had fun with.

I used to write so much,
A lot of thoughts with little words,
So smart, so creative, so brave,
But then I got here,
Barely spilling time to be me.

Why do I feel so empty,
When I have a life so full.
A love strong to waive my mistakes,
A home to keep other worries out,
And a job to do that pays well.

I travel and dive to the oceans,
I drive to the far high roads,
I fly to more islands,
But then I go home and think,
Why am I still sad?

Maybe this is growing,
The uncomfortable phase of consciousness,
When you think more of the things to do,
Than just doing it,
Always with fear of getting it wrong.

Because for the first time ever,
You are alone and fully responsible,
For your whole being,
And it is scary,
Growing up is scary.

A woman, who’s really tired,
Hasn’t even go to bed.
It’s past midnight and all over again.
Her bed’s still fully made.

A woman, who’s really tired,
Forgot what sleep is.
She spent herself but stably accepted
Her Destiny’s painful decrees.

A woman, who’s really tired,
Wants simply and plainly to be.
She stopped laughing long ago.
She rarer wants to speak.

A woman, who’s really tired
Of blaming herself for breathe,
A woman, who’s still feeling,
Has simply the right to live!