You were a colon
and semicolons you detested
I tried putting a comma there
like grammar lady suggested.
but our life, it seems, is an underscore
or an inverted question mark blotted
because whenever I ask for space
or try putting us back within a parenthesis,
you usually slash me―or backslash me.
This is not, however, how I had imagined
us to be. I always wanted a life smooth as tilde
a prime time together, without fearing bad weather
I wanted us to fight against negations,
but like a dagger kills relations
or a bullet, we died inside too…
It is a broken bar now, and it hurts
at the highest degree of pain.
Can we still back into space though,
or is it about time we put a full stop?

When I wanted to draw flames
Poetry came to me.
Now that my life is burning,
I have lost my muse.

One day I realised,

I was only ever
afraid
of
myself.

It terrified me.

I want my arms and legs
To know what it's like
To turn into vine
To tangle with yours admist bedsheet and skin
Want my eyes
To know
How to open up
To something other than darkness
Forget getting lost in despair
Have them get lost in yours instead
Want my shoulders
To know how it feels
To twist into something
Other than knot
To melt into smooth
Into comfort
Want my hands
To know
What warmth feels like
When it doesn't burn
Want my body
To know
How to let down its guard
How to mold from armor into flesh
From metal into cells
Back into human
Want my body
To learn to its ability
To hold on
Without fear
Of letting go
And I
Want to be able
To hold on
Without the fear
Of being let go.

There is a difference between cramming the mind with information and educating oneself