My emotions don't drip.
They are instead, a waterfall.

Every,
single,
time.

Cascading down onto me.
The weight of it all,
is so heavy.


Yet the next day,
I arise
and
do it all over
again.

I feel everything in extremes.
That is simply who I am.
It is both a pleasure and a curse.

when you discard those drafts,
erase those stories,
delete those poems,
art is lost.
thoughts expressed are lost.

your words hold worlds.
your words hold worth.
stop holding yourself back.

to encourage writers and artists struggling similarly.

i do not wish to

soak
      bathe
swim
immerse
            linger

in

your scent.


for it is a reminder that you are not mine.

when you are done,
you leave me behind.

your scent,
in the place I sleep.


your scent,
                                               suffocating me.

a reminder that we,
play for no keeps,
just our scents,
smothered in sheets.

  3d astro eyes
bess

There is no such thing as a child of an alcoholic. There are children, and then there are alcoholics. One will never harmonize with the other.

Because alcoholics are never parents. They are shells, empty casings of love mixed with a burning taste of whiskey.

They are echoes of slurred, “Goodnight, I love you.” and “See you in the morning.” Each word filled with love, but blinded by the haze of liquor, so strong it fills your eyes with tears.

But most importantly, a child of an alcoholic will never be a child. No matter their age, they have gained the experience of those five times their age. They have watched life end with each tip of the bottle, but begin again when the sun breaks through their window.

I read stories about children who spend their days without a care in the world. And as a child, I wanted nothing more than that for myself. I wanted the carelessness, not the impossible burden of responsibility and secrecy that I held, hand in hand with resentment and hatred for the people who raised me.

There is no such thing as a child of an alcoholic. It’s not that we don’t exist— we do. But a child will never be a child when their parents can never be a parent.

  4d astro eyes
Chi

I often wonder how it feels like to fall in love with someone who could love you back, but chose not to.

They could fall in love with the way your eyes sparkle.
They could fall in love with the way you smile and laugh at their jokes.
They could fall in love with you, but chose not to.

They could fall in love with the way you dance at their favourite song.
With the way you sing with them.
Or maybe with the way you write all the things you love about them.
They could fall in love with you, but chose not to.

Instead, they chose to fall in love with someone.
Someone who doesn’t know them
Someone who doesn’t love them
Doesnt know their favourite song

Then you wonder why
Why did they chose not to fall in love with you
When you know everything about them
When they know that you will always be there for them
When you love them

But sometimes, love isn’t enough.
Just because you love someone, they will love you back.
Even if you’re loveable person, they will still choose not to love you back
Because maybe, maybe they really wasn’t for you

There’re rainbows around your pupils,
And there’s one around the moon.
I don’t know where your black hair ends
On this ebony day, in the wet monsoon.
As the roar of the wind merges
With the roar of the fire
And the roar of the lions in Gir forest,
We live on the earth &
We can’t be contained.
But in the dark, we’re all the same
And we’re all at peace, for the first time.
Lips find lips,
Like the left-hand finds the right hand.
It’s times like this
Feeling the pulse ticking in our lips,
That time gains all meaning.
It’s when our eyes start to work
And we watch what’s on our minds
For the first time ever.
Time doesn’t ever stop. We stop.
But we all have to stop together,
To change the course of direction;
To reprimand.
If only we had the freedom of wildlife,
To be taken in by different lands,
To be guarded by law and by man,
To be looked upon by cameraed hands.
To this high level of intensity
Make us feel like we’re dreaming.
The eyes don’t wake us up,
The mind’s stomach does;
The hunger to enjoy living
A life that never was.
Oct 7, 8, 10, 2017

"The worst tragedy for a poet is to be admired
through being misunderstood." - Jean Cocteau.
So what is to be -understood about this poem?
It's a response of my requited love for an Indian.
This poem has nothing to do with Indians or India,
But because she was Indian I wrote this as if it took place in India.
It was unrequited because she didn't like me.
The guy she did like was no different than I was.
If you're getting anything other than what I am saying here,
you're misunderstanding it.
This needs to be said because poetry can be easily misunderstood.
This is a Dear John letter to myself, to let go of something that's
been bothering me about me and her.
That being said,
What made reading this poem worthwhile for you, personally??

I was consumed by liquor,
prompting my gates to open.

Out rushed the courage,
to share with you my emotions.

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