simranmodhera819 - Hello Poetry

There's something unsettling about this feeling of loving hopelessly. My toes are constantly ready to push off and dive into a pool that's empty. It holds no water or promise, but I get up and jump again and again. This is what reparable souls are made of Magic, drunken thoughts, and bravery all wrapped in delicate skin. My mother has warned me of this feeling before. and how it ends in tissues and stitches. But I call her and urge her indiscretion to my father and her emotions. I crave the feeling of feeling stuck in your gut, where your body aches but it’s wrapped in silk sheets. Feelings that consume my mind wholly, constantly, agonizing and yet I stand on the diving board ready to crash again.

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Jun 8, 2021

Jun 8, 2021 at 8:16 PM UTC

Hopeless

There's something unsettling about this feeling of loving hopelessly. My toes are constantly ready to push off and dive into a pool that's empty. It holds no water or promise, but I get up and jump again and again. This is what reparable souls are made of Magic, drunken thoughts, and bravery all wrapped in delicate skin. My mother has warned me of this feeling before. and how it ends in tissues and stitches. But I call her and urge her indiscretion to my father and her emotions. I crave the feeling of feeling stuck in your gut, where your body aches but it’s wrapped in silk sheets. Feelings that consume my mind wholly, constantly, agonizing and yet I stand on the diving board ready to crash again.

22

Cigarettes and coffee and you. If I had to name three things I couldn't live without, I guess those would be the things. But it’s not an addiction, per say. I only like cigarettes when your callused fingers offer them to me, your wordless expression showing concern and contentess. I blow away our pain and worries and pass it on for later, thinking I’ll make some coffee again today. For both of us like I usually do. Coconut milk in yours and creamer in mine, right? My toes are suddenly cold I dip them in these tender aqua waters, juxtaposing itself with the Tampa humidity that laces my cup. I can't tell if you resting your arms around my waist brings a fire within me or if it gives me chills. I start swaying to some synonymous tune that happens to play in both of our heads at this moment, even though the only music is the wind whistling through the shells and stems of the palm leaves. My lips are, coffee and cigarette and you stained. The painful heat always disrupts this heavenly time for us. So we’ll meet here, same time tomorrow. I wouldn't want to live without it.

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Mar 18, 2021

Mar 18, 2021 at 4:49 PM UTC

Tampa Hallucination

Cigarettes and coffee and you. If I had to name three things I couldn't live without, I guess those would be the things. But it’s not an addiction, per say. I only like cigarettes when your callused fingers offer them to me, your wordless expression showing concern and contentess. I blow away our pain and worries and pass it on for later, thinking I’ll make some coffee again today. For both of us like I usually do. Coconut milk in yours and creamer in mine, right? My toes are suddenly cold I dip them in these tender aqua waters, juxtaposing itself with the Tampa humidity that laces my cup. I can't tell if you resting your arms around my waist brings a fire within me or if it gives me chills. I start swaying to some synonymous tune that happens to play in both of our heads at this moment, even though the only music is the wind whistling through the shells and stems of the palm leaves. My lips are, coffee and cigarette and you stained. The painful heat always disrupts this heavenly time for us. So we’ll meet here, same time tomorrow. I wouldn't want to live without it.

26

I saunter parallel to these pews, dragging my fraying fingers along the tops. Reaching for a wooden comfort, but instead I’m pricked. I shake the splinter and splutter the blood off. Wearing my head high, I finish my descent up the holy steps. My mother stands, stuck looking past me and out the stained window, letting it strike her into a silhouette. The priest exclaims New Beginnings! My mother matches his declaration two seconds too late. My dad nods his head, the final vote of the jury locked in. With guilt and god on my side, I take the holy plunge. My head falls in, harshly. I’m aching for a numinous experience, only to suffocate from the darkness that comes with this reality I will breathe into. My head may be under the aquatic illusion of renewal but my feet stay planted on the fractured ground. I am forced to look past the daze of illusion. Because in the light I can clearly see the greys left in our destruction. I look back and my finger has bled all over the back of this dress. New Beginnings! I exclaim, with a red stain grained into my backside, but an empty canvas in the front. With my hair slicked back I hear a mumble. You look just like your mother, And maybe I do hold her eyes but I can see what she can not. The graying dreams that my parents are dis alluded to. Their skeletons in the attic or the boxes of dresses in the basement, even though today I wear one. I will look at the destruction created behind us and not walk with them. Because in this holy light her eyes bask and only look chocolate at its best. And in this dim shadow mine shine like amber honey.

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Mar 15, 2021

Mar 15, 2021 at 11:13 PM UTC

New Beginnings!

I saunter parallel to these pews, dragging my fraying fingers along the tops. Reaching for a wooden comfort, but instead I’m pricked. I shake the splinter and splutter the blood off. Wearing my head high, I finish my descent up the holy steps. My mother stands, stuck looking past me and out the stained window, letting it strike her into a silhouette. The priest exclaims New Beginnings! My mother matches his declaration two seconds too late. My dad nods his head, the final vote of the jury locked in. With guilt and god on my side, I take the holy plunge. My head falls in, harshly. I’m aching for a numinous experience, only to suffocate from the darkness that comes with this reality I will breathe into. My head may be under the aquatic illusion of renewal but my feet stay planted on the fractured ground. I am forced to look past the daze of illusion. Because in the light I can clearly see the greys left in our destruction. I look back and my finger has bled all over the back of this dress. New Beginnings! I exclaim, with a red stain grained into my backside, but an empty canvas in the front. With my hair slicked back I hear a mumble. You look just like your mother, And maybe I do hold her eyes but I can see what she can not. The graying dreams that my parents are dis alluded to. Their skeletons in the attic or the boxes of dresses in the basement, even though today I wear one. I will look at the destruction created behind us and not walk with them. Because in this holy light her eyes bask and only look chocolate at its best. And in this dim shadow mine shine like amber honey.

55

Our love was crafted from heavenly bodies. Tow trucks, skyscrapers, and chicken farms separated us. But destiny, fate, and god came together And gave these three damsels a gift. Wrapped in blonde bows, And dry throaty laughs. We are one of the greatest platonic affairs. All of us were given to Hades from our mothers; Their tears fell on the maps they gave us. As the gods weep, we laugh At how we found each other in the mess that surrounds us. All has aligned. Nothing is perfect. But nothing truly beautiful Was born from perfection. We are our sweaty foreheads, Large appetites, Thirst for a knowing, And a hunger for a longing. We are a connection Conceived from something holy and numinous.

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Mar 15, 2021

Mar 15, 2021 at 11:11 PM UTC

THE THREE PERSEPHONES

Our love was crafted from heavenly bodies. Tow trucks, skyscrapers, and chicken farms separated us. But destiny, fate, and god came together And gave these three damsels a gift. Wrapped in blonde bows, And dry throaty laughs. We are one of the greatest platonic affairs. All of us were given to Hades from our mothers; Their tears fell on the maps they gave us. As the gods weep, we laugh At how we found each other in the mess that surrounds us. All has aligned. Nothing is perfect. But nothing truly beautiful Was born from perfection. We are our sweaty foreheads, Large appetites, Thirst for a knowing, And a hunger for a longing. We are a connection Conceived from something holy and numinous.

21

What she really wanted was To know where he layed What type of gown Her prince charming chose to sleep in, Was where he lived a house or a home? Was he surrounded by the warmth of the sun and the giving gift of tenured trees? Or was he besaught by the warmth and given the the gift of soundless snow? Was he stomach stuffed on warm thanksgiving dinners? Did his laugh spread around his home, infecting his kindred Was he the prince of his palace Finding himself a safe place to triumph but also fall weak? Was he too tired or stubborn for mama’s kisses because of football practice? Or was it the growing age of a boy, ripening for his new love? Did he hang a banner of his college above his bed? And change it out for a cap and gown? Did he sleep with disaster? Or did he pride in the comfort of geniuosity? Did he lay his head on his pillow at night And wonder these things about me too?

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May 12, 2020

May 12, 2020 at 12:08 AM UTC

goodnight n go

What she really wanted was To know where he layed What type of gown Her prince charming chose to sleep in, Was where he lived a house or a home? Was he surrounded by the warmth of the sun and the giving gift of tenured trees? Or was he besaught by the warmth and given the the gift of soundless snow? Was he stomach stuffed on warm thanksgiving dinners? Did his laugh spread around his home, infecting his kindred Was he the prince of his palace Finding himself a safe place to triumph but also fall weak? Was he too tired or stubborn for mama’s kisses because of football practice? Or was it the growing age of a boy, ripening for his new love? Did he hang a banner of his college above his bed? And change it out for a cap and gown? Did he sleep with disaster? Or did he pride in the comfort of geniuosity? Did he lay his head on his pillow at night And wonder these things about me too?

19

Even Aphrodite is an object to you? A goddess that lays ahead of us all curated In marble out of the hands of hundreds of men Worshipped by the thousands of women and children Why do you perceive beauty in a frail eye or a possession of your own And yet the “private parts” of hers were carved out of holy marble for the male gaze to seek and consume Because no beauty and lust came without the loss of innocence Never mind the power she held You still stripped her down And looked Grinned And made a mockery of women.

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May 5, 2020

May 5, 2020 at 10:57 PM UTC

Aphrodite of Knidos

Even Aphrodite is an object to you? A goddess that lays ahead of us all curated In marble out of the hands of hundreds of men Worshipped by the thousands of women and children Why do you perceive beauty in a frail eye or a possession of your own And yet the “private parts” of hers were carved out of holy marble for the male gaze to seek and consume Because no beauty and lust came without the loss of innocence Never mind the power she held You still stripped her down And looked Grinned And made a mockery of women.

17

Before the sweat is the thought Limbs crying in the hot aching sun My skin’s pleading with me Droplets form in my hairline Trickling Intermingling with the stubby brow hair Some of them hitting my legs, Not letting them disrupt their rhythmic motion Left right left right faster faster right left right fast- My lungs feel deepened. The air Feels like I can finally breathe. The world around me spins And my legs ache but I can finally breathe so I’ll keep running right? Before the cough is the thought Should I even inhale this air How will it deepen the breath I take, and what if I Get addicted? The sunburst that happens at the edge of my fingertips, The proper pressed pale paper laughing back at me Taking away future breaths but easing the current ones My lungs feel depened. The air Feels like I can finally breathe. The world around me relaxes And my lungs are filled with smoke but I can finally breathe so I’ll keep smoking right?

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May 4, 2020

May 4, 2020 at 10:43 PM UTC

breathing is hard sometimes

Before the sweat is the thought Limbs crying in the hot aching sun My skin’s pleading with me Droplets form in my hairline Trickling Intermingling with the stubby brow hair Some of them hitting my legs, Not letting them disrupt their rhythmic motion Left right left right faster faster right left right fast- My lungs feel deepened. The air Feels like I can finally breathe. The world around me spins And my legs ache but I can finally breathe so I’ll keep running right? Before the cough is the thought Should I even inhale this air How will it deepen the breath I take, and what if I Get addicted? The sunburst that happens at the edge of my fingertips, The proper pressed pale paper laughing back at me Taking away future breaths but easing the current ones My lungs feel depened. The air Feels like I can finally breathe. The world around me relaxes And my lungs are filled with smoke but I can finally breathe so I’ll keep smoking right?

23