Are we looking for endings?
Or just a means to an end?
We're so used to the idea of stories not ending unless they end happily
that we must push,
bolt the door,
and plaster smiles on our faces till we convince ourselves we're finally okay.

What about unanswered questions we both have?
I turn to the pages of my diary to ask why you left.
To ask why you didn't try to stop me from leaving.
To ask if you ever cared or if you feel the same sense of relief that I feel now that you're gone.

What would be the last frame of this movie anyway?
Are we smiling as we walk our own ways?
Is one of us left crying at the table we shared drinks and curses at?
Are we going to be dragged kicking, screaming to our ends by our own egos?

Or will this end softly in silence?
Will a last kiss be appropriate?
Will a last time running my hands over a real, unpixelated body be enough?

There are more open doors now than ever before.

But, yours is the only one I want to close.

Shame fills my entire body.
I was a fool.
Such a fool.
Such a ******* fool.

I believed the lies that you fed me.
I swallowed them like I took you in,
Eyes, smile, words and so much more.

I can still feel your hands creep up behind my back.
I have started pushing them back down or cutting them out,
But your words **** their way in through the cracks as they always do.

My anger rises and ebbs as waves bring in your words on to my empty shore.

"I'm only trying to do the right thing."

The right thing is leaving someone behind to watch your castle build in the distance.
The right thing, for you, has been throwing people under the bus
By playing it casually cruel.

Your righteousness will  find you a spot in hell and I will be at the doors: your worst nightmare coming to life, and death.

"I miss you a lot these days."
"I like you. A lot."
"I would take you out if I could."
"I don't know if I can say that because I have never felt it. I don't know what love is."
"My feelings for you have changed since then."
"What do I do?"



"You're the only friend I have."
"I love you. I love you so much."

My body listens to my commands.
Back straight, stomach in, legs together.
I have trained it well enough to not sway to the whims of other hands.
The back of my neck has learnt to not tingle at a touch anymore.
The lips don’t quiver when someone says my name.
Boot camp ***** is under control, captain.
No one crosses the line that has been crossed before.
We don’t speak of it,
but the legs did open before they knew how to behave.
With a sneak attack from the side,
And right between my thighs, I found fingers exploring
me like someone walking into the restricted section of the library
with caution and excitement, but all disregard for the rules.
There were no rules then, rather.
My body froze in attention.
I was a pawn and I moved one inch at a time as asked.

My mind led the coup to reclaim the kingdom of my body.
Pleasure remained locked behind doors
And muffled in pillows.
Obedience was learned
when the body woke.
Stay woke, stay woke, stay woke.
I am my own marching band now.
I am my own army.
I fight every day
Defending
Disagreeing
Shoving
Hiding
Covering
Curling in
Curling up
Shouting out
Screaming in.

Fight on, little soldier.
Seek your own pleasure.
But keep your back straight,
your eyes bright,
your laughter in pitch
And your legs closed.

I live on the inside more than the outside.
But, I allow the outside to get in sometimes.
I let the outside slowly caress the inside and ****** it.
Come out for a walk with me, he’d say.
Words don’t matter here. You can be who you want.
The inside, she’s soft.
She resists the brightness, she craves the cave --
The land of mirrors we’re walking through that she’s so used to.
Where it’s just us and our words and the magic we weave with them.
Outside, we grab *******, we grab attention, we grab,
We don’t differentiate between the sinners and the saints
We take and we take and we take.
Just like the song, just like the song.
We’re not here to fight. But, the inside, she’s defiant.
I hold my insides and weep,
I weep for the the land grabbing
My body is not mine anymore.
I am a slave to the outside.
The inside pulls me back in and we bulldoze through the Land of Mirrors.
We’re not alone anymore.
We’re a lot of voices.
We’re a cacophony.
We’re a chorus.
We’re a choir, raising our arms to the heavens.
Take me out, dare me to fight
I will write;
I am inside and outside today.
Grab what you can, extra extra this just in!
We’re crawling out of ourselves and dancing on the streets
to reclaim what’s mine and ours and yours.

Who said you're good enough?
You're not beautiful
Well, maybe, if you just tried
To walk straight
With your hair straight
Always smiling
Stomach tucked in
With your thighs at a safe distance from each other
But not far enough for someone to make their way through
Why were your legs open?
Why was your button open?


Maybe this is why you don't have friends.
You have opinions.
Why are you seeking God anywhere else but
A temple
A mosque
A church?
God says you're beautiful only if He can see you.
Maybe that's why you're not beautiful.

No one is looking at you because you're beautiful.
They look at you because you're a freak,
A circus phenomenon
You're on display
But in all the wrong ways
With your sides hanging
And your back in everyone's faces.
How dare you impose?

Stop being yourself.
**** yourself.
Build yourself up.
But, don't forget to go through the instruction manual.

The pause between pleasure and pain is more than ecstasy
and just a notch below eye-opening heaven.
I am sure your heart beats just as mine does,
when our fingers and bodies pretend to touch.

The world is connected by wires and machines we didn't built,
but are grateful for.
The world separates us because the machines now rule us.
You say you cannot pass humans through wires and the various things that connect and separate us --
screens,
borders,
hands,
bodies,
love.

Love, I could tell you nothing is impossible.
You'd know I am right because we didn't think we could feel this way before.
But, it's impossible to say things you want to mean but are afraid to say.
My words hang in the air
and my cramped body cramps further inwards.
I straddle you
like I would the elephant in the room that I created,
but with more love.


"Listen, I know how hard that was to say."
It's an understatement, telling me that my words were as hard as you got when I told you what I wore,
when you ran your fingers through me,
feeling me,
not just dipping your feet in the water,
swimming together,
body-on-body.
It's an understatement of the difficulty.
But -- love, sunshine, a sigh in the dark--
I won't say I'm sorry we both feel that way.