Never really mastered the art of intrigue,
I sometimes wish I had that skill,
Of treading light,
Of being the diva
Surrounded by a mist of aura,
Controlled in laughter,
Calculatedly revealing,
Measuredly unraveling
Her inner self.
I stomp in love,
I bare it all in love,
I laugh with abandon,
I shout with animation,
I cry in immoderation,
I never really learnt to leave
Anything for the imagination,
And it's the greatest gamble,
The toughest game,
To tear your heart out and
hold it in your palm,
And show it to them,
Look, this is how I beat,
Not many can deal
with someone this real.

count the ways you are sad on your finger tips
if you stop at ten and need more, close your hand in a fist and count on your knuckles
later you can count on your toes and maybe, one by one, on every other part too
count on your scars, why don't you try that?
count on your purple bruises
count on your two eye bags, swollen lip; count on your sometimes-throbbing-sometimes-weakening heart
then cry on your tears

I am sure they would do.

your fingertips were so cold
as they pressed into me
but I shut my mouth and let
you pull me apart
piece by ******* piece
just so you felt big
in your tiny little mind
but it wasn't
my place to question you
or your little things
and now that
you're gone I'm the happy one.

"...Love is more like war than a rose.
They are both deceptively beautiful,
But love spills more than just
One drop of blood when it gets mishandled.
And unlike a flower, love is resilient.
It takes more than a few ****** battles
Fought deep in muddy trenches
To break the bond between two soldiers.
Against all odds, love finds ways to survive
Even the most disparaging circumstances..."