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Ananya Jul 11
Paternal mountains holding
knees as I a brook
laugh and gurgle
without stopping.

Crown sliding
off tousled hair
I cry at broken
dolls that make me sad

and get presents
smelling faintly of
sticky, warm Azaleas.
I groan.

I moan as I tear small ivory chunks with sickening thuds,
l grasp the pulsating pulp.
With lower lashes, I offer

to the ravenous fire that consumes in its unquenchable desire that destroys and laughs, that baits me to bark.

Ah! Look at the night
dressed up like a *****.
No is three letters, yes is two.

Every man a tattoo artist branding his initials for free.
Tell me, does purple look striking against melanin attire?

I get paper cuts
from words slicing off penetrating tongues
and I scream, muffled inside a dream.

Groping at flecks of sandy sunshine, waiting to be
Exhumed.
One of my personal favorites :)
Ananya Jul 11
The absolutely radical,
Mind boggling idea of being accepted.
-A fantasy served with insecurity
On the side, stained
With the lipstick you only wear
On third dates, the idea of
what love "should feel like"
Bubbling below the skin
Until you get blisters and boils,
sick and heady but starry eyed.
Ignoring the naysayers,
Oh so what if sleeping beauty
Gets roofied here.
The potential to get shattered,
Identity mutilated beyond recognition
Is, after all, a small price to pay
If you finally get to.. Belong.
men, they spend hours, days, weeks
seeking, searching, running
to the Promised Land.

their bones, cracking from strain
their bodies, weakening
as their humours run dry.

all in the hope of finding roses,
delicate in petal, soft to the touch
this is where they will lay their heads.

but what if Mother Nature were to rear
her wiry head?
leaving weeds, un-ripped from their homes.

i suppose the weaker men would get lost,
unaccustomed to rich thorn,
glorious thickets, never ending forests

our great Mother, she laughs
as they trip and fall,
tears falling, rendering our grass fertile

they’ve made their bed now, she supposes
now they must lie in it.

— The End —