they'll paint white walls over your thoughts
because they think simplicity looks better than polka dots.

they will strip you down to nothing
because bare is better than bare minimum.

they say your body is your canvas,
then why are they scribbling
on her canvas?

they’ll doodle words,
perhaps phrases of flatter
like "You're pretty"
teaching her that that's all that matters.

They'll hang up a **** model picture
because her body should look like this, you know?
Richer.

They'll say her body is a temple
“she's eating all that for lunch?”
they'll say her body is a temple
but her body
is the house
she grew up in
and yet you have the audacity to try and burn it down?

Oh
I forgot to mention
the white paint that they used to paint over her?
yeah ... slight misunderstanding
It's permanent.

what could they expect?
it's their fault actually,
it said everything on the label
but they were too busy you see.  
Too busy to see what it was really made out of, too busy to read what made it the way it was.
Because one glance is enough, right?

One glance is enough to ask her "what did you eat today?"
And as her stomach grumbled
and her blood ate her alive,
she would answer "oh plenty!"

And you would look happy with her answer because
she is treating her body like a house she doesn't even recognize.

And you would look happy with her answer because
she let her body become your canvas

And you would look happy with her answer because
Your white paint was worth your money after all.

the limit of proportionality
is the is the point beyond which Hooke's law is no longer true

where the material you are stretching
becomes permanently stretched
so that the material does not return to its
original shape

and i guess people are like that too

you can only stretch for so long
until you reach a point where you break

physically.
emotionally.
psychologically.

                                                               ­        Broken

-                              
                               sometimes I wish you didn't exist
  because you stab knives in My back
                  and bend me until I break.
                                 the feelingS i feel
                                 cannot be Substituted or
                                             allaYed, mitigated;
            the weapon and the wOund are both
               permanently etched Under my skin.

290 people killed in a mass bombing epidemic in Sri Lanka, 2019
255 people killed in a suicide bombing in Syria, 2019
148 people killed in a suicide bombing in Pakistan, 2018

and you're telling me that all you're going to do is send your 'thoughts' and tell your Instagram followers that you are 'praying'?
You sit healthily, happily in your perfectly built house,
find a photo of perhaps a
broken down building,
a crying family,
caption it with a prayer emoji and a heart
and then what?
Do you forget about it? do you carry on with your day?
Thank you for your thoughts and thank you for your prayers, they are signs of hope
but
People are DYING.

These are the kinds of things you see on the news and think, well ****. This is heartbreaking,
horrific,
but we just see it as something that happens.
We don't really know what is happening until it happens to us.
And it could.
What if it did? would you want thoughts and prayers? or would you want action?

Let this be our wakeup call, to do not only what is wanted of us, but also expected of us as humans.

Take action.
Make a difference.
See a change.

Flowers
have done nothing
wrong
Yet we mangle them
from their roots
And give them to people who don't love us
The way we want them to

this nation, fabricated upon their broken spines,
yet still, they gait on fragmented glass.
besought for their valedictory draught,
before the lynch with a knee,
"THUGS"
you, merely afraid,
"looting starts, shooting starts"
to resist the monster of your own making

Anyways,
Um
So i was thinking,
That you know,
Um
Oh yeah
What if
Tongues were fingers and fingers were tongues,
Would we taste what we touch
Would we touch what we taste
I don't know
Just thinking
Which i seem to do too much.

When I’m sad
When I’m sad I don’t want you to tell me to remember happier times
when I’m sad I don’t want you to tell me it gets better
When I’m sad I don’t want you to tell me ill be fine
When I’m sad I don’t want you to tell me to stop being blue
When I’m sad I want you to tell me that it is okay to be sad
That you’ve felt it too
I want you to let me
f
e
   e
      l
Until it gets better
Until I am reliving the happier times
Until I can say I’m fine with a smile
Until the blue leaves my body and fills the sky

Sometimes
I stop myself
from whispering the word
As if leaving my mouth
Habitually
Might wear it down

****

the last thing i want to feel is sadness
but
sadness is the last thing ive felt
and i wanted to write all my feelings down on paper
but somehow the paper stayed blank
and to be honest
i could not have described it any better

A gentle breeze rustled the last remaining leaves off the trees. Naked, twisted branches stretched across the blue lit sky; the sun propelled itself through the thick cirrus clouds. The lacy waves crashed the shore like a drumbeat that echoes my heart, the soft breeze blows the tension right out of my body, making me forget everything in this world except the present.

the world is playing tricks on me

for ecstasy
laid as erstwhile reminiscence,
new dawn brims of
rhapsodic agony, acute misery,
yet hope, a concept I am foolish to believe,
shines through bars of the plight
screaming 'remember'

for the pain I bear is too grim,
the heart no longer breaks,
it ruptures

for my heart has been starved of love,
my body has become starved of food

i hate math
but i have become einstein at calorie counting