Questions unanswered ,

Blanks unfilled,

I had many

But somehow,

Society could fill them all.



Who destroyed me ? Why did they?

I never knew

The moments of unfathomable pain, i knew

When they smacked me,

Shredded me,

Devoured me.

But somehow ,

The society knew it all.



Judgemental I call them,

Skeptic the society prevailed.

For them, imbecile

My blanks pertained.

Obvious Consequences

Of  hints I gave , they said.

Consequences of attire

And behavioral patterns, they said.

Whoa, Is our society for real?



Only one blank unfilled

For the society remained.

Section 228A was their complaint.

Such narrow-minded hounds, I exclaimed.



Justice tried to fill my blanks.

Could he ? I asked again

Shamefully , he took his eyes off.

Could my blanks ever be filled?

I asked again

Is the sky falling
just because she's
soaked to the skin,
half-naked,
and with pixie smile
knows so little
of the affect
her bloom has,
here in the open fields?

Her evanescent day,
caught between
the suppressive cloud
of a mother's
mindful shaming,
and what it should
rightfully be,
an ingénue
let play in the rain.

I never blame myself:
I accept
what has happened
in the past
as Destiny,
over which I have no control.
I focus
on improving my self
in the present-moment
to achieve
the wisdom and virtue
to improve my situation
to increase my joy and happiness.

.


My ears still find their way
near mouths
who are likely to label me
as Beautiful,

Somehow
their opinion
makes it
more real;
believable,
I doubt my own sincerity
Am I not bound to be
partial
to myself?

Am I?
When half the time
I'm not myself
at all.

.

there is something about me
that needs love.
i need love.
i have never admitted that to myself
but i need it.

no one wants to stay around for long,
maybe I’m too abrasive.
i’m not for everyone;
an acquired taste.

my family thinks it’s hard to love me.
the love of my life wants nothing to do with me.

i like keeping people on a string.
pulling them behind me like a pet.

i never believed my father when he called me a user
but i guess it is true.

i use people.
i use my body,
to get the love from other people
that i cannot find in myself

the only way I could ever love myself is if I can look with rose colored glasses
but my vision is clear; lenses untinted and I can see all that I bare.

i can't remember when mirrors became a thing to fear;
something to avoid.

i can't remember when food became the enemy;
something to hate.

i can't remember when makeup became a mask;
something to be required.

i can't remember when my body became a bad thing;
or something to be ashamed of.