Do you think of me,
like I think of you?
Not in passing,
but with deliberation,
like coffee,
and groceries
and to-do lists.

But in pursuit
like happiness,
and ambition,
and balloons.

But with longing,
like music,
and books
and food.

But to no end
like time,
and life
and a foul mood.

Do you think of me,
like I think of you?

I look at the mirror
to only find her staring back,
she who's mastered the art of smiling
and to hide those stray tear tracks.

Silence is her weapon of choice,
it's edgy tip enough to raise dread,
in face of her frosty ire, one would
prefer the bursts of temper instead.

Like the duck that paddles in calm,
she too rests surrounded by muck
and underneath, her fury churns,
ready to blast it all to dust,

She's picked up every insult,
stored it in a corner to recollect
and designs her story of vindication
ripping apart every shred of regret.

Her hands are coated in blood
of the desires that she choked to death
she has emerged strong from battles
and slayed monsters who rest under her bed.

The dirt underneath her nails
should tell you the moral of her story,
she is not deterred by pain,
she is not enamored by false glory.

I see her staring back at me,
and raise her chin in pride,
her scars wave the sign of victory,
I only need to follow in stride.

It has been some time
since I started loving myself,
I am now ready for someone
else to do it as well.

Staring into the dark,
many questions I have asked
and I am still awaiting replies.

Tired of holding
my knees by my arms,
while I tell myself not to cry.

I am the modern day woman,
with her head in the sky
and her heart has gone stone cold.

I am living on dreams,
which are little white lies
I tell to give myself hope.

It has been some time
since I started loving myself,
I am now ready for someone
else to do it as well.

My rocky past has left scars
and every time I look in the mirror
they tell me I’ve taken things too far

The armor was to have a *****
a confession to be made in time, I think
but now it has turned inside out.

The dregs of strength, I have left
tt all reside within my head,
in collusion with endless doubts.

It has been some time
since I started loving myself,
I am now ready for someone
else to do it as well.

Don’t be fooled
by my high heels, small skirts
and those bright smiles.

I’m the same one
to smokes up my pride and
name mistakes on speed dial

May be I am cursed
of things like endurance and such,
and happiness will come edgewise.

It has been some time
since I started loving myself,
I am now ready for someone
else to do it as well.

I cannot find that phrase again,
a phrase I had seen on a page,
of one of my favorite books.

That phrase made me feel warm and light,
lifted something within me, something I cannot describe,
words cannot truly represent
what that phrase did to me,
it just evoked many strange emotions.

I have strewn around every book I own,
ruffled through every page,
rummaged through every nook and corner,
hoping to spot a familiar color,
assuming I will find it in a familiar place.

I worry I may never find that book,
and those words, I will never again read,
but I truly worry, fear even, is that I'll not remember
how it made me feel.

The shadows change their length,
the sky changes color,
while my days continue to blend
and I can't tell one from another.

Days pass and nights end,
while I seem stuck between the two,
there is a pattern to my waking hours
and the few minutes of borrowed sleep.

I keep making the same mistakes,
sometimes feel like waking up is one too,
or may be it is in thinking things will be different,
when the sounds are muted, and the feelings few.

Being in limbo makes you feeling light,
like a fluff of down carried in the breeze,
but I don't feel light, I feel heavy,
like an anchor rooted to the bottom of the sea.

I have questions, oh so many,
but it is not answers that I am truly after,
I want to be un-stuck and propelled forward,
right out of this one, into the next chapter.

When I stand on rooftops
I tend to scan my options;
hard concrete, soft bushes,
or the corner site of construction.

On the highway in a cab
I calculate the force of momentum,
passing trucks that could easily crush
any object that rolled out in random.

On the shore of a noisy sea,
while others frolic I look to the line
that always beckons so sweetly,
it's the end what I think to find.

Passing trains and sharp knives,
the blunted razor in my shower,
bags of plastic in my house
the thoughts come at any hour.

It never really does go away,
the desire to shut my eyes and forget,
but like a game of cards, I place my hand
to hear my like pulse beat, " Not yet."

I have learnt so much from books,
I'm always attached to one.
But as I read them I realise,
they've learnt so much from the world.

They've evolved with the world,
in their language and punctuations,
used our ways to narrate,
stretched themselves from drama
to horror, business  and science fiction.
They've changed their shape and form
to keep her in their lure;
short, graphic and sometimes still in volumes
they've left us asking for more.

I have learnt so much from books
I'm always attached to one
but as I read them I realise
our lessons are not done.
We are yet to pick up,
the grace of ending chapters,
the art of reading between the lines
and tolerate them cliffhangers.
We are yet to find our balance
between our chosen characters
delve deeper into the complexity
of simplistic and unsaid words.

Beyond all this I've learnt
to keep bookmarks in those pages,
those moments that made my story
different from all others,

I have learnt so much from books,
I'm always attached to one,
It is the one that I am currently writing,
And I need to get to the final chapter

I need to get to the part where I write
She lived happily ever after.