I am an Angel

I am a dog wide eyed

     panting at the window
I am an Angel cast down
    
I am a bird with a seed in my beak

        pecking at the rough bark

I am an Angel with only 2 eyes now

     I am a fish in search of water
        all shoulders moving fins through the shallows
I am an Angel with un-grown wings

     I am a pig shivering 

           flies from my bristly back

I am the sky and all those who fly in it

I am the earth and when I shake

     I am the magma moving

           pushing up

I am the sea and when I swim

     Whole continents are washed away.


I am an Angel and cannot help but be

the better part of last-minute
and i spend it staring at your lips;
the poems spill out of your mouth
and stain my hand-me-down rug;
as if our brokenness is compatible,
my masochism needs company
and you are eager to disappoint.
the tongues and whispers of secrets
in a cyclical nature; i have been here before.
the familiarity the fear the focus:
the fallacy of finding love in an empty heart.

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.

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.

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.

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

Papa used to tell me about the gentle one. They whose its word could be grasp and its action could be inspire, a gentleman it is. To aware of what they do and did, speak and spoken, take and taken.

For what I sip, and what I sink, the antithesis blowed up like the truth that been spilled and becoming a cloudy paradox of his spoken lullaby. To finally stepping on the ground and aware of a little man I held, but certainly let go.

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.

“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.