Dirt
         You've turned into dirt.

Twisted away in fragile positions,
You've turned into dirt.
          How does it feel to be this vulnerable?

To be plucked from your home, and bought with dirt to be sold off to the husband who forgot his wife's birthday?

To be called 'beautiful', only to be left rotting away?
To sit beside a bed of 'beautiful' red roses, who think they'll be safe forever. To know they'll turn into you, you who has moulded into dirt.

These eyes fall on you now,
   they feel guilt,
      they feel remorse,
(they feel happy?)
          they feel like a murderer.

They run to drench you with water.

                           The poor white tulips,
                                              and the poor pink roses
                     will you be fixed from this phase of dirt?

I cannot dress up my truths
in designer clothes
that'll grab your attention
and invite a closer look

I cannot apply even a little concealer
or blush to its cheeks
or add colour to its lips
I will not conceal any of it
not its blemishes and scars
not the pimples and acne
the most revealing bits

truth's a tomboy anyway

You always complained to me
How I never held your hand tight enough.

My mother once told me,
That like the warm sand
On the summer beach,
The harder you hold onto something,
The faster it slips from your fist.

And maybe that’s why
When your hand
was in mine
I would never close my fingers.

You always complained to me
How I never held your hand tight enough.

My mother once told me,
That like the warm sand
On the summer beach,
The harder you hold onto something,
The faster it slips from your fist.

And maybe that’s why
When your hand
was in mine
I would never close my fingers.

Hi there!

I've decided to go on a break from posting poems. However, I won't stop writing poetry. I'm working on a project of making a collection of my poems by the end of the year, and this break will help me do so. Thank you for all the support you all have continued to show me, i am ever so grateful. I'll be back soon (hopefully).

Till then,
thank you,
and goodbye.

What do you want to read ?
When my heart is heavy with sorrow
i pour my blood
and convert it into ink.
Then, you shower love on me.
You tell me my writing is like wine,
elegant,
beautiful.

Yet when i feel nothing
but happiness
and i pour my heart
onto your feet
you brush it away.
You don't connect to me
and now you don't shower love.
"Your writing is like wine,
elegant,
beautiful,
poisonous."

You don't accept happy
because you don't connect to it.
You flow like the rest
in an ocean filled with grief.
You use me like a mat
and i serve you
waiting for that one day
you clean your sins away.

Yes.

It has hit me
like a bullet in my chest
that my only friends
were the demons in my head
and
the loneliness in my bed.

I am wilting
and
there is no escape.
You promised you'd help me
bloom
but you've left me to drown in gloom.

You don't really wanna know if there is something wrong with me.
You're only asking because
you can see
my carefully contrived mask melt away.

You want to pull each of my strings
and play harmony with them
do you realize
this is my heart you're throwing away?

You ask only
to bring music to your ears again.

I hope this is not cheesy

for how do i remind
your beauty that hides within.
for how do i describe
and how do i begin.

Your eyes drink my skin
like the first cup of coffee.
it is true
there are daggers in your smile.

Your voice reminds me of a harmonic beat
beautiful
and its mere thought lulls me to sleep.

The universe melts into your eyes,
as the moon asks
to borrow your light.

You are the air in my lungs
and the words i speak.

Falling for you was not falling at all. It was like walking into a house and suddenly realizing you're home.

"I don't know how many times I have survived myself, without telling anyone else."

I lied awake in endless painful thoughts
my urge to cut
my urge to purge
my urge to run away from them and hide inside a world of darkness.

I lied awake in death-awakening questions
Why must i exist through the pain kitted inside my bones?
Why do i write?
Why do i write.

'Him?'
and yet no.
People like you and I fight a battle no one can ever fathom because it's a battle no one can see. And we don't let them.

I write for myself
I write to remind myself that i am a warrior.
that in this battle there were nights I use to lose. But some how still came out alive.
You fight yourself and beat yourself up for so long that eventually you become a master of surviving a war.

It is not you.
It is me.
I write for myself.

There will be people in life that you meet
And they will love you like
You are the exact amount of
Change in their wallet
Needed to buy the last
Convenience store
Lottery tickets.

But please,
Remember that you will meet someone
Whose hands have been
Sculptured by driftwood
For whose life the sea has fought for
And yet
They made it to land
To kiss your lips and remind you
That you are not the ticket
You are the prize.

To all the women I've  ever called pretty,
before strong or intelligent,
I am sorry.

I am sorry I made it sound as though
something as simple as what you're born with
is the only thing you could be proud of
when you have crushed the sky.

I will, from now, call you resilient, or extraordinary.
Not because you are not pretty,
but because you are so much more than that.

"Your body is ruined" he says,
"because it has been touched by another man's hands"
before his.
Ask him how many woman's bodies have
his hands ruined,
and,
what is wrong,
in his mind,
with a man's hands that only know
how to ruin a woman's body,
rather than
love it.

It's time for us to reclaim our bodies.

When it rains,
I don't go out to feel it trickling down my skin,
to feel myself being washed away,
my thoughts sinking with the weight.
Instead I grab a raincoat
draping myself around it.
I fear
my clothes clamped against my skin,
your eyes would crawl underneath and
make me feel
less skin,
more bone

your mother told you fairytales
but she didn't tell you this:

when the suns sets and the wolves run
you will find that sometimes
the princess and the witch are one
and red riding hood will eat the wolf

there is a fire in your blood
a forest building in your veins
don't try to lose the moonlight
you were meant for this

between dawn and dusk
you were made for miracles
and you can run all you want
but in the light of the day
the wolves will always call you back

You never held my hand too tight,
and i always wondered if it were
to not hurt me.

silly me,
why hold onto someone tight,
when you know you're going to let them
go.

You came up behind my back
and wrapped your hands
around my eyes
"Guess who?" you asked

And how silly of you
to think I would not
know you by the music
of your heartbeat
against my back.

Flowers
have done nothing wrong,

yet we rip them
from their roots

and give them to people
who don't love us.

Watching a giant cockroach was I,
pushing across a ball of dust
he seemed satisfied to trace,
a path between the table and door,
but soon he turned and jogged in crooked rings,
and flipping over to scratch his back-
as if a victim of a mild
panic attack.
After a while of climbing open shelf's,
he looked uncertain where to go.
I don't know what he was thinking,
but I knew I recognized myself so.

I never saw a man who looked
with such a wistful eye
upon that little tent of blue
which prisoners called the sky,
and at every drifting cloud that went
with sails of sliver by.

I walked, with other souls in pain,
within another ring,
and was wondering if the man had done
a great or a little thing,
when a voice behind me said,
"The man's got to swing"

For he did not wear scarlet
nor did he speak of it,
for blood and wine were red
and so was the color on his bed.

He looked upon the garish day
with such a wistful eye;
the man had killed the thing he loved,
and so he had to die.

It was funny how you said
that the thought of me
was draped around your head,
and turned to your friend the
next second to say,
"Wont she be amazing in bed?"

If you go outside at night,
after the world goes to sleep,
you can hear the planet sigh,
under the secrets it cant keep.
And the wind sings with different tunes,
to all the one you hear by day,
as though its choking on the words,
that we're all afraid to say.
And I wonder at the problems,
we've tried to melt inside its core,
Whether its packed so close to bursting,
that it can't hold any more.
For how long we see its weakness,
When we've not known something so strong,
and if it weeps and we can't hear it,
does that mean there's nothing wrong?

The first time I saw you
was breathtaking
You are beautiful and amazing
At the same time.
(How is that even possible?)

Little by little,
I noticed the blue in your smile.
I wanted to explore your deep thoughts
no matter how treacherous it is.

The more we talked,
My feelings went deeper
and later on I realized,
you have always been my ocean—

*You have drowned my demons
and washed my troubles away.

When you said,
"You're the strongest person I've ever known"
I didn't understand.

When you said,
"You can go through a lot and still smile"
I didn't understand

And when you said,
"You can feel pain and agony and still stand up"
I didn't understand.

So you held my heart
and twisted it.

You threw away
all I loved,
broke them into pieces,
and never managed to pick them up.

You broke silence
with blood.
blood
that I now convert to
ink.

like you said,
I smiled through it all.
I didn't want to disappoint you.

My paper is empty,
disappointing me.

Word of ink,
all invisible.
I'm scared to write it down.
Scared that if I do,
I'll feel again.

Feel the pain I
abandoned.

Your name,
tingles at
the tip of my tongue.

I try to roll it down,
but it stays there,
like the spice after the
chilli.

You stay,
reminding me of
us.
Reminding me
of our mistake
of turning you and I
into
US

When you promised
forever,
did you mean
until
you found someone
better?

You have created
a demon.
A mind with a
thread of pollution
of thoughts
lining it.
A person built
of salty water.
   A demon with a muscle
                          but not a beat.

There is a bubble in my head
A place where nobody goes
Inside my head there a haven
My place of which nobody knows

I go there in my darkest hours
When I feel I have lost all power
There I feel safe in silence in
My place of which nobody knows

I can’t show what’s inside
For I feel the need to hide
I like my space in
My place of which nobody knows

When others taunt and jest
I never protest
But I am screaming in
My place of which nobody knows

He locked her in the room
Locked her childhood with it too
Locked her laughter and silliness
All together just with his ‘manliness’

Tell me, oh tell me,
What so did the little girl do?
That you have to dig out her purity
and exchange it with insecurity?

I made you my religion
The definition of me
I saw you in my reflection
but you ran off with him.
those days I’d sit in front of
your picture
and pray for your arms around
me.
I’d wrap myself around a cup of coffee
my imagination of your being.

My heart
drums in my chest
so hard it
                 aches
The feeling you get
on the first real day of autumn,
the air crisp,
leaves falling at the edges,
wind smelling vaguely of smoke.
the end and the beginning
of something
All At Once.

There is a room in my brain
with boxes like Russian dolls
each a memory of your lies
your flaws
your name is hidden
in the smallest boxes of them all.

I keep you in there,
to keep me sane out here
but it’s memories of me cannot lock up
the betrayal of a mind which lingers on
my
head
on
your
shoulder
My
fingers
intertwined
around
yours
Our laughter. Our love.
It still bothers me
How I got over the idea of you
But not the idea of us

I learnt
Every cell in your body
Is replaced
After
S E V E N years

It relieved me
it satisfied me
to know
In S E V E N years
My body
will be
Washed
from your
T O U C H.

Death
sounds pleasing and
yet
terrifying.
I wouldn't want to die
not just yet
yet
DEATH
sounds so
devine.

Imagine
sleeping forever underneath
lush beds,
silence
over sound
Imagine
mermaids all around

If you could
be anything or
anyone
in the world-
Why wouldn't you be
you?

If you were
to undress
the light
in my eyes
you would
find your
soul-
swimming through
chimes
into
my
bones.

A black and white society is okay
at least colour won't matter
at least people won't scatter
But won't someone still be 'fatter'?

Isn't there a problem in everything?
Colour, size, religion?
Why society- can't you stay shut?
Leaving people only one way -
cut, cut, cut.

IF God created us,
why such a fuss?
There'll be no problem,
if only you stay shut

I cannot tell you about the pain
I cannot tell you about the pleasure
I cannot tell you how
my heart pumps furiously,
tearing through my ribs,
breaking my bones,
trying to join yours
and become a whole.
I cannot tell you of my eyes
which fill up
not with water- but blood,
dripping down slow
its gonna flood.
I cannot tell you of my hands
which tremble at the sight of yours
as my left clamps against my right
stopping it to reach to yours.
I cannot tell you about the pain
I cannot tell you about the pleasure
at the look of your hand twirled around hers,
at your fingers dancing around hers.

When it rains,
I don't go out to feel it trickling down my skin,
to feel myself being washed away,
my thoughts sinking with the weight.
Instead I grab a raincoat
draping myself around it.
I fear
my clothes clamped against my skin,
your eyes would crawl underneath and
make me feel
less skin,
more bone