One can either
pouts
or
sprouts.

More often—
sequentially both,
yet vital for one’s
self-growth.

🌱

Too nice,
too play-fair,
yet little did they choose
to know the bruise of her Achilles, heal—
from the hardened ballet soles,
the dandy polished Oxford shoes,
to the leather combat boots.

The bunions remained irreversible,
as she dreaded in changing rooms,
in the open river water Styx?

Not so chill—it’s plantar fasciitis.
Yet they say that she is a goody two-shoes.
Alas, she puts on her kitten heels;
extra studs, extra bling.
No red bottoms.
Chill.

👠

I used to send you
cute stuff over the mail,
buy apology flowers,
queue on Fridays—
on a whim.

I haven’t changed,
just evolved;
like your magician
you once loved.

I no longer visit
the post office,
just like your number
feels like a stranger,
or your voice—
I couldn’t recall.

Till death do us part,
except
I made us part.

Different postcodes.
Different years.
Six years.

No more
tears.

📬

They say
slow burns
are the worst
—yet the best
kind of feelings;
anti-climactic,
yet sporadic.

Blue tick.
Never here,
never there.

Just a cliffhanger,
dangling in hot
luncheon air.

Maybe those
are the best
kind of feelings?

- Ring ring -

Brown picket fence,
crossing borders—barter,
of custom(ary) dowry,
and nikah beyond wali.

Foreign weather,
foreign tongues,
foreign sparks.

Permit—ssable
by nature,
but not
legislature.

Pretty passport, privilege.
Permanent identity—
self-interest,
lineage.

🪪

There’s a fine line
between wants
and needs.

I don’t need you.

I just want you.

Could that be even worse?

✖️

When you‘re about to float
like a lost balloon—don’t!

You stay anchored,
grounded,
despite
being
wounded.

On land,
or in water,
so other’s
don’t drift—
even drowned,
even blood
dilutes.

🌊