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 Dec 2018 waffle
Stu Harley
lord
i
fall to my knees
with
faith
that
i
believe
in
yet
every star
that
i
see
some red
some blue and some green
yes lord
my
faith heals me again
 Dec 2018 waffle
Elinor
To the two boys who think I owe them something.
My heart doesn't belong to either of you,
and your spindly fingers clenching it
don't look enough like ribbon
to fool me into thinking that
my love is a gift to you.
To the two of you,
so willing to give me
your monthly allowances of text messages
yet not your loyalty.
For thinking that an "honest" apology
fixes me having to question why
just me was never good enough
for either of you.
You were both greedy,
you always wanted more.
Now run free and fill your stomach with all the flavours that will burn your taste buds and scorch your tongue.
To both of you for being willing enough to open my box with a key that I never gave you,
rifle through my thoughts and feelings,
and not even open your ears to them,
leaving the lid off
and the contents strewn across your floor.
For offering to help me pick them back up again,
but only because my "small, little arms" are not strong enough to carry my own weight that I've carried for
fifteen years on my own.
Here's to both of you for putting me down about being small.
That is NOT my fault.
I have a mighty big cathedral for a heart and a generous brain
and that's all within 5"2.
It doesn't make you any bigger than me
(metaphorically).
Your few feet advantage doesn't give you
the power above me,
even if you can see the roots of my hair in more detail
than you would ever care to observe
the fault lines of my cracked smile.
Boys are being taught that
to love me
is to fix me,
that I am some kind of messy enigma,
a project, a goal.
I'm just a girl with a family, a girl with a head, with a spiders web of veins and a lifetime of lessons that I'm opening my arms and my heart to.
You mistake yourself for a lesson,
when I'm fully qualified to teach myself.

You diagnose yourselves
as "depressed".
Mental illness is not an accessory,
nor a quirk to make you seem more vulnerable to me.
Don't brandish it in the air,
it is not a weapon against me.
It doesn't make you adorable,
or some kind of cuddly bear boy.
Everything that's
"killing you"
is just as toxic to me.
You set my skin into blue flames
because I won't give myself to you.
No,
no,
no.
I'm tangled in my rejection,
and it thickens.
I can't be with you out of pity.
My guilt, raging deep within my bowels,
marching violently through my organs,
exploding into a supernova of
thinking that love and guilt are almost the same thing.
"I'll do anything",
I don't want anything from you.
"I'll write you a poem because I know how much you love that."
I also love being respected but neither of you ever gave me that.
My craft is not a tool of trickery,
and your words not a trance.
"I'm not like him".
But you still act like my skin is a carpet to your home,
and you walk across it with muddy boots.

You think you're a blanket to keep me warm,
but you ended up suffocating me.
To the boys who think I owe you them something,
go home.
all my poems have been long lately,
but I have a lot to say,
so I'm not sorry.
 Dec 2018 waffle
Àŧùl
You ask me a query,
You ask, "Where Are You, Honey?"

I have an answer for you,
I say, "I'm inside your heart, honey."

You let it extend, your doubt,
You implore, "But why is it so hazy?"

I fire a ******* in response,
I say, "It's hazy because you're lazy!"

You smile but get perplexed by now,
You ask, "Will you stay if moving on I fail to?"

I am mature and couth,
I say, "I find no reason good enough to not to."

You wonder to yourself,
You ask, "Where from I got you?"

I remind you that I came back,
I say, "I consider it my responsibility to imbue your life with the brightness,
The light lacking in your life,
And to provide you with warmth,
So that you are free from your shivers,
And so that you can be my wife,
I want to fill that void in your day,
Maybe I was sent back only for you,
On your mother's recommendation,
And so wise was her receptivity,
I know that I am a man of my words,
Surely I will make it large for us,
And you are such a hardworking lady,
Our children will have it healthy,
And they will surely have it wealthy,
The wealth won't just be material,
But they will be taught fine civility."


You now ask me your final query,
You ask, "Who will be their tutor?"

I smile and simply end this discussion,
I say, "Obviously, me and you."

Even you are satisfied by now,
You smile & say, "I love you, honey."

I hear what I have been longing to,
I say with a broad smile, "I love you too, honey."
∆∆∆∆∆∆∆
My HP Poem #1664
©Atul Kaushal

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