Walking like a cowboy,
         that was wetter than dry...

                                     Humiliation...

Honey brown eyes
Yet cold as ice
Whenever
They look into mine
They look straight into my soul
They are of those kind
Those brown eyes
Whenever meet mine
They looked lost and amazed
Filled with enormous emotions
But precise same vibe as wine
I'd get drunk drown and lost in them
Till I feel sick and fine
At the same time
So many truths
Your  lips defies
But brown of your eyes
Never lies.

" you're not mature enough to handle it"
so apparently, I'm old enough to handle a back-breaking amount of schoolwork, the stress of living up to your expectations and that of two dozen relatives, the standards of a dysfunctional society, but NOT one, single BOY.

2. " it distracts you from your studying"
well no, not really.
Do you know what really is distracting, though? having to keep your favourite people a secret. all day every day. The anxiety of being discovered gnaws at your very existence. Deleted chats, deleted phone logs, deleted feelings. suppressing your emotions long enough to brainwash myself into thinking I don't care about him anymore. and YOU think I'm acting differently these days?

3. " it's not part of our culture."
since when did love become a foreign commodity? we are but robots with our hearts switched off till the age of 20. And when a trail of incomplete relationships shadows us everywhere, we're left fending for ourselves. Just cos no one taught us to love others right.

I can’t explain the way you make me feel
It’s almost as if it’s all too real
Scared to look deep in those brown eyes
Afraid of all the possible lies
I know your scared too
I’m scared to fall In love with you
What if I already have?
Do you even feel half?
Half of what I feel?
I’m to scared for this to be real.

I said I’d love you as long as my hair was brown...

I dyed my hair today

upon his eyes, i read in the reflection his story
i see the memories, the fearful nights, the noisy mornings
and the nights worth of words appear on his skin as he shivers under my living touch
he isn't friends with the wicked, he's been taken hostage by it
he's not cold, not ruthless,
only perceived this way
by those whose heads live in the luscious clouds of the heavens
while his mind is rooted in the earth
and his eyes
they're empty, pleading, hoping, yet accepting
his pools of polluted oceans hold more trauma than others
and it takes one to know one


©L.F.