Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aashi Sinha Sep 2020
I comment “yes daddy” on your videos
You comment “prettiest gurl” on my photos
We are just friends, but just maybe, just maybe we want something more.

a memory

the delhi monsoon, 2016
smashed inkpot like the sky
my head on the bus’s window
yours too
i said, “so what’s up?”

from there you would often turn around, have a look at me, shake your head, let out a shaky breath, give me that lazy smile and your eyes would be showing adoration, you would turn back and answer to my many questions

we talked about our classes, our future maybe not as a pair but as individuals

at some point, you and I started talking about politics, developing ideas out of the very little information that we had.

at some point, you and I started talking about art, dancing our fingers on the glass, creating figures and emotions.

at some point, we got to school

you stood behind me, the kids were just too slow, because the hormones had yet to be released, you were a little taller than me, your head dropped, and you whispered, "I want to be in the same class"

and both of us grinned, pushing all our feelings out, somewhere gloomy, twilight-like, dark and unseen.

you introduced me to your sister
you told me that you wanted to pursue sports
you said will talk to later

neither did you pursue sports nor did we talk again in person

I'm spinning in circles, wanting someone who might be mine, but I'm too scared to do that, trying to make myself believe that you really don't exist. I'm ******* selfish, yeah.

trapped here with the weight of memories and emotions that I don't want to revisit.

boy, boys are bad for you, I am telling you.
Dead Sep 2020
I want to drink a little too much with you.
Wander the streets laughing about nothing, staring in the store windows.
Looking for a glow of an open sign to find a new pack of cigarettes.
Staying up too late, telling too many truths.
Acting on all of our bad ideas,
With em the excuse in our heads that tomorrow it won’t matter.
Dead Sep 2020
Every night I up the dosage. Dull the nerves in hopes I won’t feel you.
But like clockwork, as I sink into my bed I can feel you.
Your scent is so familiar, like the mist of the sea to a grizzled fisher.
Just like a siren to a sailor, I can hear your chanting, your breathing.
No matter how many poems, nor countless dreams, you always find a way in.
Splitting the edges of my skull so you can seep through my bloodstream.
You never let my wounds heal.

You are my favourite scars.
Flame Sep 2020
Cry
They always say
“Never cry over a boy”
And we’ve all heard that and said “Yes!”
Or “never again”

But then there’s that boy
That comes out of nowhere
That we let ourselves like
That we let our guard down for
That we decide is worth everything
Because he said he was

But I promise you
He showed us different
And we ignored it
And we let him
Further and further
Into our heart
Until one day
Out of nowhere
He decided
He didn’t like it in there
So he shamelessly ripped his way out

Now with my heart torn
And my eyes covered with red flags
I admit
I am hurt and blind
And the person I see in the mirror
Isn’t the person I am

I need to cleanse
To see clearly
Once again

So I will cry,
I’ll cry as much as I want
Because although that advice
Sounds great
Sometimes you just have to cry,
Cry to get over the boy
Lily Sep 2020
art
Perfectly curled caramel hair
Cascades down her shoulders,
Bouncing in time with the music.
He can’t help but savor every
Fragment of her movement as he
Traces the camera around her frame,
Capturing the dance.
She’s an actress in every sense of the term,
Her eyes sad yet powerful,
Her body hurting yet beautiful.
The music ends and she stops, breathless,
Her hair that has fallen in front of her face
Flowing up and down as she catches her breath.
“Did you get it?”
She asks him,
And suddenly he’s back to himself,
Back from the world her dance took him to.
“Definitely,” he says, and when
Her dimples break her face open,
The camera is still rolling,
For he doesn’t want to miss a second of her beauty.
She isn’t just poetry.
She is art.
poetry girl pt. 5
That Girl Aug 2020
“Don’t take this the wrong way,”
I tell him.
I look off into the distance.
“Just stay away from me.”
I begged him.
Sadness laced my voice but it was also firm.
He knew I was dead serious.
I looked into his eyes.
Hurting.
Confusion.
More hurting.
I was glad I hurt him.
I felt no guilt.
After all, that’s how he’s made me feel for the past three months.
But when I told him to stay away my intent was not to hurt him.
I told him because I want to stop hurting.
The way he passes glances my way,
his kindness,
his mannerisms…
It all hurts me.
Hell,
even hearing his voice stings my soul.
I can’t do it anymore.
I don’t want to hurt anymore.
He needs to stop looking at me,
stop being kind to me,
stop being a gentlemen,
stop talking to me.
He has another girl to look at,
be kind to,
be a gentleman to,
to talk to.
And that girl is not me.
I walked away.
I didn’t look back.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Aug 2020
You would do anything if I were your good little boy. You would
spend any amount of money if I were your good little boy. Nothing  
spared to make me your good little boy. A toy, a treat, whatever I
wanted if I were your good little boy. When I was 4 1/2, Mom had
her affair and you opened the door of the bedroom and saw your wife
naked in the arms of another man and it blew you away off the earth,
out of the solar system, out of the galaxy, and you never came back.
That's when I became your good little boy. You got your separate
bedroom, read books about famous men and'how to become rich.
Nothing from your wife, not a huge, not a kiss. Nothing but silence
in the night. That's when I became your good little boy. That's when
I learned to march to the beat of your drum. Even then, I knew uncon-
sciously my life depended on it. I did not get any unconditional love
from you, Dad, only a few crumbs of conditional approval, and only if
i were your good little boy. You used me vicariously for the only gratifi-
cation you could get. I was your only son, and Mom remained so depres-
sed all she could do was watch TV alone in the living room til 1 at night,
then go to her separate bedroom and read paperback detective stories til
3 a.m. As i grew up, the happiness I experienced was at school where I
had friends, many friends, not at home. I loved the house I lived in, but
felt sorry for it;  I was projecting my own deep sadness on to it. I made
straight A's through school, but that just came naturally. One time--I
mean ONE time--Dad played catch with me in the front yard. The
apex of his wishes for me was to attend Andover. When I did, Dad,
of course, went with me. He met the Headmaster and saw what kind
of shoes he was wearing, shoes that you would never see in Topeka,
Kansas, so Dad went out and bought for me the same kind of shoes
the Headmaster had been wearing. How sick was that, I thought!
It wasn't until I dropped out of law school that I first defied my father.
That was when I stopped being his good little boy and began living
my own life. It was also when Dad disowned me emotionally for the
rest of his life.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

shoes the Headmaster
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard hawks has been a poet, an essayist, a novelist, and a human-rights advocate his entire adult life.
Maria Mitea Aug 2020
I

Once upon a time, on a Monday morning sun,
There was a blue wind in the west Cucabaga Country,
Blowing on a forest road, where the White Horse Girl
And the Blue Wind Boy met holding space for unfurling
Mysteries, everything happening as it has to happen,

II

The White Horse Girl and the Blue Wind Boy lived
In the same neighborhood, he told her all about the winds
and how parallel roads meet on Elephant Hill,
The early morning wind remembered their faces, and
The mailbox waited for the time of delivery.

III

It was a cold day on a mud road, the birds still cheering,
The blue morning wind was the king of the forest,
Running on lovers' hearts like on white horses,
Each holding a song, afraid of turning it on
And listening to it loud, dancing and singing it loud,
So afraid. Instead,
The blue greedy wind took over their feelings.
Wearing winter gloves in September.
Blowing away shoulder stiffness,
Ready to fight with the invisible enemy,
It gave him airs of mystery in disguise.
He loved the early morning wind, and
The White Horse Girl loved him.

IV

Hair blown by the wind, ready to share his song, he arrived,
The weak heart sent him back to his home, and prayed: 'Please,
God, please, help him change his mind and not return.
Look how much madness it is in the air, and the leaves are falling,
This is not a nice day for a romantic walk, not even for a talk,
The strong wind has no mercy, it will break my heart.'
That was the first voice, while the second voice took the lead:
' Oh, God give him the strength not to change his mind,
Take everything and everyone out of his way,
Make his steps fast and light, like feathers flying into the sky,
Bring him back on the white horse. He is my Blue Wind Boy.
It can be windy, and it can rain hard.
There won't be another day.'

V
The dog barked. The back door opened
His spirit walked through The Blue Wind. He returned
With a heroic look on his face, light steps.
My friendly voice whispered: ' He is very brave.
He is your hero ' While the scolding one:
'There isn't any place left for thinking.
You are weak and lost if you let his eyes meet yours.
No one can save you. Don't rely on your dog. '

I felt warm waves moving through my legs,
Imploring 'lift up your gaze from the ground, '
When cold waves shrink my head pushing down
The fighting in my heart, I feel leaning into someone,
A wall or a tree. Forest trees kept looking at me,
  Moving their branches: 'come, darling, come, ...'
VI

It was cold, and wet, on that forest road
We walked side by side searching carefully
For words that haven't been invented.
The wind was the king playing with my skirt,
Holding it tight with both hands wrapped on my legs,
Urging to stay steel and not listen to what I feel;
Love in disguise lures my heart.
I wished that I had another two pairs of arms,
Holding the blouse when the dramatic wind
Pulled out the button. I kept him busy with talking,
About how beautiful it was living in the forest.

VII

Spirits were getting high only walking side by side,
Up, the elephant hill was waiting to swallow our desire.
I showed him a sacred space, where the sun touched my face
When I prayed every day. Up elephant hill,
Lovers were coming in secret at night and burned the fire of love.
He looked at the remnant ashes ' some lovers met here last night '
While I too looked at the aches and answered, ' anything could be possible.'

On the right side, wild ducks started to gossip,
In the little pond frogs quaking, letting us know
They were watching every step and listening to every sound,
' It is a windy day today, and it's cold.'
My voice softened while moving deeper inside,
Hiding behind a sober look. Oh, God,
Help me take down the elation.

VIII

I never was surrendered by so much readiness.
The singing of the birds was sharper than the blue wind,
The leaves danced and cheered in the air,
Everyone was ready for the spectacle to begin,
It was intimidating; leaves had eyes,
Flowers started talking with each other,
My feelings were greedy like squirrels eating now
And storing for later, for the winter, and any bad weather;
My heart was hungry like a wolf, wishful devouring the prey.

I could feel he was looking at me,
I could hear his long face saying,
'I dream of playing with your hair.'
The wind was getting mad, and fearless.
Like a forest fighter, he was ready to protect the garden
And destroy the misbehaving eyes caressing my hair.
He pulled those gloves in.

IX

Shortly the rain came putting on us a calm shy breeze,
I was prepared for a rainy day, he was ready for the winter snow,
I feel a boothole, on the left side,
'Boothole' was the word I learned from him,
I was happy when he asked, ' is your foot wet.' So naive,
With every careful step, we take time, holding on to every breath
Soon the sun smiled again at the end of the road,
No trees standing on our way, me and him,
With no words waiting on the lips,
With sudden humility soft grass flattened on the ground,
When the earth was running high, and hearts flew into the clouds,
He implored: 'Look into my eyes
The thunderlight started.

X

A warm rain walked us back to the house.

Faster steps took us down the hill. When passing by the little pond,
Daffodils opened their eyes, and the ducks quacked in disappointment:
'What a waste of time.'
We entered the bright forest meadow.
'Come, I'll show you where ducks live, swim, make love,
And quack all day long' The little pond was waiting for us.
Naive delight. Like a thief, he wrapped his arms around me,
Stealing a kiss.
I run away. He comes. Tears come. It was cold.
The blue wind grows furious and strong.
He pulled out his gloves.  We hold hands. Tears come
In our eyes. Tears fall on his burned hand. Hands touch.
Our hands kissed in the rain.
Our hands kissed in the rain, and the rain kissed back our hands.

(Suddenly I think: 'He can't burn twice. I don't want to burn.
I don't want to burn.')  
'I am cold. Let's go inside the house. I'll make a tea.'
I felt for mundane noise and no more mystery.

XI

We walked quietly, and soon entered the house that was waiting
for the two lost kids returning from 'where the white horses come from
and where the blue winds begin.' The home was friendly and warm,
embracing the blue morning wind, the song, and the kiss of the two lost kids …

'You have a beautifully clean house. Yes, It seems beautiful'
Answering fast while holding tight on stainless steel ***.
He leaned on the kitchen wood, crossing his arms.
Ready for an adult conversation. I busy myself as if I can't find the sugar.
I think. What if I poured too much water.  I found the honey.
It felt as if boiling two cups of water took forever.

We sat at the table. Two cups of tea and the white tablecloth looking at me.
Looking at him.Taking turns listening to words coming slow.
Carefully not disturbing the shinning floor, me crossing my feet
Under my seat, sitting together, and talking to each other he said:
'That's where the blue winds begin,
It would take years and years to ride them on the blue waters'
She listened and said: ' I See! The white horses also come from far away.
So far away, farther than the blue waters and the blue sky.'

XII

Everything happened as it had to happen,
The early morning wind believed and remembered,
Where the White Horse Girl and the Blue Wind Boy met
and lived as neighbours, he told her all about the early morning wind,
and the night sky wind, and the wind of the dusk between,
the wind that asked him questions and told him to wait.

The house walls interrupted the conversation: 'It is late,
He has to go home' He looked into my eyes and asked:
'Runaway with me.' 'It is late, you have to go'
Our heavy bodies stand up slowly from the table
And the cups implored me to go. I opened the back door.
The strong wind was taking him. The door closed fast.
I burst into tears of despair. I cried and hugged my knees.
I know this morning has no return.

XIII

I received so many messages the day before
The night before, and the morning before,
Even more, signs of delusion appearing at every corner:
The spirits were hiding in the forest,
Sunshine dance and every smiling flower,
Witnessing our first meeting on the blue loonies lake,
Where loons perpetuate their offspring every new spring.
'We were not the only one darling,
Was this nature's complot or spirits desire
For loons to meet and dance in the blue wind fire
And sing their song of calling love on the blue waters,
Sun shining so bright fooling us into delude,
Despair running on white horses? '

XIV

I run outside. I saw his back and heavy walk.
'I want to go with him where the blue winds begin,
and where the white horses come from.' The mailbox moves
And gives me the letter, I read: ' To My sweetheart,
You have to wait now for the night sky blue wind, and the blue wind in the dusk, when it is neither night nor day. They will understand.
Keep your heart for us while I am gone.

With love the Blue Wind Boy

XV

It's been a while since the White Horse Girl has been waiting for the Night Sky Blue Wind and The Blue Wind in the Dusk to come, …
It came last night.
...

(Va Continue)
Next page