Not the way you look at me
Not the way
You see me
Not the way
You pay attention
To the smallest detail
Of my being
Anyone can look at me
That way
Or even better than how
You see me
The problem with you is
The way you have me
The way you own me
The way I give me.
And the way it ***** me up
Everytime.
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 1:25 PM UTC
I
I can never tell
a lonelier story than the time
when I thought
Love was forever—
‘cos months after
I realized:
There was no love at all.
It was a dream;
Vague and sudden yet sometimes so clear
that I could almost see
the future for me.
That was brave—
so bold and uncompromising,
‘cos I gave it all
I’d swear, I gave it all.
It was when I lingered
on lonely poems
sitting:
unnoticed along the shelves—
undisturbed, just like a child
waiting to be taken home.
There I wept alone
my hands on lonely poems.
II
But that was
History for my first self—
wanting to be free
from her struggles.
and then I asked
unlike teenage girls
who love to fall in love:
Why do you still need more
after it had proved you wrong?
Right then I hammered
my heart that was turning
into stone—
tore away the pages
of that lonely poem.
I promised not to forget
how it felt when
it ***** my soul
and caged me like
a hyena:
talking, mimicking, without
identity;
Just another girl,
he hurts me.
Just another girl.
And now
I’ve lost track of memory
saved and clicked to
flicker on screen
to remind me of pain—
‘cos I saw a mirror once again
and then another cage and
guess what:
I wished to go there!
Though I know my would-be,
still I might plan to
start all over again,
so that one more poem may be written.
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 1:24 PM UTC