I don't wanna touch my lips anywhere on a man's skin.I am rather interested in occupying a neat space in a man's brain.
    
  @ SPRIHA KANT

devour the garden and the
sunshine and the rain, too,
with open-armed and tight-
jawed glory. my mirror is
cracked more each time i
look into it; my mirror is
slithering, silver liquid pouring
down my throat, thorny bird
of paradise curled across my
shoulders. your shoes don’t
fit me right. your scene isn’t
mine and i don’t have a scene
anymore and sometimes i regret
it. is the self-assured smugness
worth its weight in gold? am i
better now that i’ve stripped
myself of bracelets and ink and
leather? or i have i sacrificed the
essential for the sake of your
comfort, for you and your dignity,
for the neighbors and their
mouths? my mouth is inverted and
my smile is crooked and my teeth
aren’t quite together, but i’m tired
of straightening myself out for you.

Saw it unfold before my very eyes

But it happened too quickly for me to wrap my life back up into the neat little box it was packed in

Hey, past me from so close yet seeming long ago...

A knot from my sweater's bow I regret tying despite how unkempt the ribbons look hanging by my sides because now it's digging into my back

The hair I can't decide if I want out where it's pretty and makes me look less like a generic nerd yet gets in my face and food and life

The jeans I insist upon wearing without a belt even though their slipping down my **** may actually outweigh the pain of loosening the belt

The tennis shoes I'm too attached to give up that emit a constant squeak, squeak, squeaking through the hallways whether it's caused by residual rain from outside or not

The glasses, fond of slipping down my nose at frequent intervals, covered in smudges I rarely notice till they get out of hand

The phone whose screen happened to crack at the most inopportune moment and takes forever to read my finger print

The jacket that should be a highlighter blue but rather presents itself as a canvas of the week's tomato stains

The face covered in acne-
The stomach with fat instead of muscle-
The arms lacking muscle-
The legs with too much hair-

I've always acknowledged that perfection is not possible, yet I have to at least try to strive

I think, as I sit at my desk, fingers typing fragmented sentences, attempting to convey thoughts speeding too fast to grasp

Yet, just a simple poem of reflection brings to light these numerous deficiencies, many of which I COULD fix were it not the invisible fiend upon whom I stamp the label-laziness

These deficiencies, many of which aren't even noticed by those around me, some of whom are better some are worse

But it's not as simple as that, I've known I can't just be "one of the people", I need to find something, some identity, some way out of my seemingly impossible to escape label of "just above average"

In academics, in extracurricular activities, EVERYTHING, I seem to be at a stagnant

I've done bad, I've done "just above average", but never above. What is the point if you get plenty of losses and plenty of "fine" but no victories?

It's something about me though, somehow I believe, subconsciously, I'm impeding myself. I'm holding myself back.




...



Why?

Coordination, was prased at the state.

Each sentences and all structures all instances all messureaments.

And every solution found done.

Bring a Calculator, a problem and it will solution a idea.

So the farmers ask of the great computer of being.

Was it a person, or artificial, intelligent's who would know the answer but him of his self.

Each and every day prombles where found an then fix by his thoughts.

So go beyond, your self of being and conduct your own version of awareness.

For as your dream is made by you.

Days and night are of the same view.

So is time, real yes and no.

Time is the lid too all out comes.

For, what is time that of duration the skim of motion too become done.

Steps of a hill would sure bring more than just appeal.

For real if you burn a match it soon will ash.

So why else think of other points of position of its placement

Coordination, was prased at the state.

Each sentences and all structures all instances all messureaments.

And every solution found done.

Bring a Calculator, a problem and it will solution a idea.

So the farmers ask of the great computer of being.

Was it a person, or artificial, intelligent's who would know the answer but him of his self.

Each and every day prombles where found an then fix by his thoughts.

So go beyond, your self of being and conduct your own version of awareness.

For as your dream is made by you.

Days and night are of the same view.

So is time, real yes and no.

Time is the lid too all out comes.

For, what is time that of duration the skim of motion too become done.

Steps of a hill would sure bring more than just appeal.

For real if you burn a match it soon will ash.

So why else think of other points of position of its placement

I like whites - clean and crisp. White shirts and white sheets. White mugs and warm milk and white winter rains. But if you were coffee, I'd spill you over every white and love every stain.

I like organized - neat and nice. Made bed and matching blankets. Tidy shelves and closet. But if in my room you're the clutter, I don't think I'd ever fix it.

I like stories and poems, novels that get me hooked. I like plots with twisted endings, and my heart being took. But if you were a word in a chapter, I'd rather read you forever - over and over - than finish the book.