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 Apr 2019 Jaede Bayala
Meera
He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come
That's how true poetry comes into existence
i always have
the urge to run.

but what is it like
to be a tree?

to be confident enough
to root yourself
and grow with
wild abandonment,
being unapologetically
you?

i'm still running,
but i wish i knew.
the angel on my shoulder
picked up smoking,
the devil on the other
took up yoga—

they don't know
how much they have
in common.
 Sep 2017 Jaede Bayala
lionness
red
 Sep 2017 Jaede Bayala
lionness
red
you walk
the earth
so gracefully
it is almost
as if you are
an extension
of it.

every move
you make is
so rythmic.
every step,
every breath,
every heartbeat.

you know
how to entice
the mind and
the body,
like an art
you have down
to a science,
like a means
of survival.

you slip on
heels and stand
tall, shoulders back,
chin up, like a soldier,

you wear
winged eyeliner
like war paint.

you exist
in complete
fearlessness.

you know
yourself as
an unstoppable
force.

you know
that you own
the world when
you dance.
 Sep 2017 Jaede Bayala
Hannah
Can we talk about
the white paneled walls
revealing the shadows
of demons and ghosts
roaming about in the halls?

— The End —