In this tightly interwoven
tapestry of
           silks and cottons
softness upon stems
an intricately-*****
                     journey
manifesto of life
        I find myself in
patchwork landscapes
of ochre and
rust turning
           turquoise
earthern shades
of cumin and cardamom
cloves and coriander
piquant red of paprika
alighting the senses
My fingers reach out
to sift the powder
to crush
fragrant fronds
of fresh basil and oregano
upon the blueprint of tips
allow their scent
to permeate my skin
and infuse tissue
                of tongue and lips
and I seem to be
in this
           bustling marketplace
my blood afire like
dried ghost pepper
searing and brightening
all flavors
fenugreek and asafoetida
to soothe the ache
of emptiness
chervil and chive
to get juices flowing
I want to slit open
vanilla pods
get at the beans
revel in their essence
wear it all over me


In this realm of spice
and paradise
I am flying,
a magic carpet of dreams
unrolling before me
like an unfurled flag
of new existence
The sounds of hagglers,
fading in raw visons
of shiny apple colors
olives piled high
textures of smooth cherry
budded broccoli
of walnut wrinkles
aroma of guava

Music takes over
I am in a cloud of
oud and lute
syncopated tabla
bells and rumbling
taut skin drum beats
Or is that long low whir
simply my heart purring
to the cadence of
       freedom's call?

I only know
that in the whisk
of a second's split
I will savor the flight
and also the
                fall

I am nothingness
everything and anything
indifference and numbness too
I am a struggle
sometimes lovable and I care, I do
I am the pain
pure happiness and ecstasy
through and through

I remember a time
seemingly so very long ago
when I was filled with life
and had abundant love to give
I remember the nights
they seemed to never end
when I couldn't help but smile
didn't need to pretend then

Maybe I'm not meant to be

normally spectacular,

overachieving,

the epitome of perfection,

or a bundle of weak bones

held up by mere accomplishments

that add nothing to my worth.

Maybe I'm meant to be,

like you;

Sublime words always ready,

ready to be spilt on paper,

ready to be read by accident

but kept on purpose.

Maybe I'm meant to be,

like you;

A mystery or a person or both,

a mystery status of alive or dead

circulating the air,

everywhere and yet found nowhere,

Maybe I'm meant to be,

like you,

roam the world without

an adieu;

a supernova for everyone to admire

but unreachable.


**A/N:  Thankyou all for reading! What do you think of this one?

Some people say that self harm and cutting are fake
I can tell you they're not
These are my friends
This is my family
Carving line after line of fear and self-loathing into their limbs
So you may believe that they aren't real
But I will tell you differently
Because for each and every one of these people
The scars are all too real...