I'm drying my face with a hand towel
The smell of you fills my nostrils
And I'm back in the basement again.
Not 21 drunk in her boyfriend's bathroom
But 7, alone in a musty basement.
7, alone in your room.
The smell takes me over
and I have to pretend I can function again.
Pretend the look on my face is only from exhaustion.
That wouldn't be a lie.
Your image in my mind makes me grow tired
and sleep isn't enough to cure this kind of immensity.
Inhaling through my nose
And exhaling from my mouth
I continue to breath you in.
Washing the impurities from my face
while I let you infect my body,
my mind and my entire being.
I must keep it together
Cannot break, you don't deserve this type of power.
My face is dry, so is my pride
I'm tired of wringing the despair out of my bones
and letting it soak-
only to grow roots beneath my feet
and vines on the backbone I have molded for myself
Out of tragedy and abuse and sheet metal
too hard to sink your empathy through.
But enough to let you sink your teeth into.
Break me from memory
rebuild me from the times
you have tried to smother my willpower.
You cannot do this to me anymore

I remove the towel from my face
Look at the person standing before me
Built from nothing but her own struggle.
Rising from the ashes like all the times before.
You are the only form of soldier
a uniform like your smile can wear today.
Give yourself a Purple Heart
you've fought this battle and deserve some honor.
Bruised you may be,
purple has always been your color.
Tragedy has always looked so **** good on you.

Our neighbourhood was Black;
Unknown and Mysterious.
The people -- Red,

And I --
was Blue.

How can a color so different...
Mix with the rest?

They've seen my heart..
they've seen it alright.

They said it was
Grey.
a color they treated to be  
Unknown.
a vision of my true intentions
Compromised.

But I knew, inside of me,
I knew
I knew that Black and White was a feeling--
a feeling they shoved down on me
an attempt to saturate me
a feeling that I could no longer stand.

I paint.
I paint with the colors the world has shoved down on me.
And I think--
Will the world ever see me?

But just when I've ran out--
I've been saturated;
Touched with the fire and energy of Red.
Like sunsets where the Orange meets the Blue,
I painted a Lilac sky.

And the neighbourhood I once knew was Black,
Is now my White.

I see you in your four walls
why aren't they caving in the way mine always do
why aren't you desperately forcing them up, making your arms black and blue
I see you in your warm halls
your favourite people too
you look comfortable
the people also do
your warm halls are painted an agonising shade of violet,
they look just like my bruises
the walls are electric with the faces of ecstasy
the love and compassion
the way people are meant to be
who are those people?
what do they do?
do you make them breakfast in bed? do they do the same for you?
your walls are a scrapbook
they are a symphony
of the good times

I want my walls to look like yours

~ T.T

It was almost spring here,
the purple light snuck in
cutting the overcast sky
and the venetian blinds.

The last snow lay out in the yard
slowly melting there
like something sad
but also something beautiful.

My kitten crawled up under my arm,
she lay her little head in my lap,
stretching out her paws
and yawning the way cats often do.

Soon it will be dark
but for now I live in the twilight
almost spring, almost night,
almost alive and almost dead.

~~
She rolls down the western edge
The bucolic Spiral path
Coincides with the horizon
Gray foot print
Slowly mingles with dark
As the Bats of evening find back to home

Gentle Breeze to dangle
Purple haze of Four O'clock
The Crossroads, Wait behind
Where to start, or what end is!
Poetry continuing as the falls of pain

Afternoon's Lyrics said good bye
Today's bright Star does not rise
What they chase during the run out!
Why come back again
Along with the known way!

Moonlit falls on the ways of Standing hill
Beyond the horizon
Dark fading, while
Lost love fusions with her colors
Across the Monsoon, Autumn, Winter
Finally the Spring is on the way
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen

I breathe in all shades of purple
and exhale in all shades of blue;
faded plums to cornflower petals—
a bruised kind of exchange
that makes you look up to the sky
and feel something for no reason.
A contusion I keep fresh for
whenever I let someone
close enough to press it.
And if the pain makes my skin
sing notes only my conscience can hear,
then I’ll write lyrics to match;
they'll say
*I’m alive.
I’m alive.
I’m alive.

Love is not pink.
It is is not the squeals of a little girl,
of a little baby whining in the cradle.
Not pearls round your neck
or a flower blooming in your soft, soft hair,

Love is not white.
Not the song of an angel,
of the innocent beauty of ethereal light.
Not the heavenly singing from above,
or a dance in tutus around a swan's passing,


Love is not black.
Not the harsh, gritty sadness,
of an age old fire's remnants.
Not the evil darkness lurking,
or a lie that breaks down the walls of the living,

Love is not purple.
Not the mystery of a simple mind,
of death's lullaby to sing you to sleep.
Not the murky depths of an old sea,
or a wicked distortion of concrete old rock.


Love is red.
Love is passion, fire,
it is a great, great inferno,
it crumbles your life to ash,
Love is the taste of cherry red lips,
of a dress which shimmies down your shape,
of everything just coming together like strings on a piece of fabric,


Love is red.

your soul is hidden
         in the folds of sanity
         beneath my fevered skin.

    it dances in languid motion
    among bruised walls
    & punctured veins,


endlessly waiting


              for an impossible cure.

I call myself a bell-flower,
as you cannot hear my tremulous chime
and I am decorated in purple and blue blossoms
on the only home that holds me tight
though I still want to crawl out of it
and grow up in someone else’s