Poetry

THE FAÇADE.

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Under the façade of sarcasm and insults
Hides an insecure girl who is trying to hide her most recent wounds.
They are fresh, gaping, bleeding.
She hopes nobody would smell the stench of hurt.
She hopes nobody sees through to the bone deep disappointment.

Under the façade of winged eyeliner and smoky eyes
Cowers an ugly girl who hates the curve of her hips and the thick of her thighs.
She hates it so much.
She hopes nobody ever discovers how deep that hate runs.
Her fuck-all attitude is all she has left.

Under the façade of the resting bitch face
Lives a mean cunt who used to burst into laughter at the dumbest of things.
Her laughter was the weirdest sound.
She hopes nobody hears it again.
She doesn’t want to be funnier than the joke anymore.

Under the façade of the rebel
Survives the most difficult shit they ever came across.
Why does she have to make everything so difficult?
Why is she so stubborn?
Why does she never listen?
She hopes nobody discovers she had listened a little too well once upon a time.
She doesn’t want anybody to hear her agreement when it isn’t given, ever again.

She wants to be heard loud and clear when she smacks that asshole with the big no of her rebellion.
She wants to laugh in the face of the rejection of “Boys will be Boys”.
She wants to embrace her curves when they won’t pose a risk of her wanting it.
She wants to accept her dose of pain when she believes her wounds will be scars one day;
When she believes they can heal.

She doesn’t yet.
And if she doesn’t ever, she will be the sarcastic bitch with the fuck-all attitude who can rebel like nobody’s business.
It’s more fun anyway.

-a-

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Poetry

Tasting Him.

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He brought with him the scent of the rain
The first shower of monsoon.
The decadent smell of earth permeated their nostrils.
They inhaled deeply as if it was their last breath and they were dying.

She couldn’t smell.
She wouldn’t smell.
Instead she chose to taste him.
Breathing him in was as detached as something could be.
She wanted to get so close to him she would feel his soul stir.

Eye contact.
Glances were exchanged, eye to eye.
Smiles were returned, mouth to mouth.
Messages back and forth, heart to heart.

She went up behind him and tasted his neck.
His skin tasted like the most delicious chocolate, a hint of wood, a pinch of bitter.
She could taste the passion wafting from the pores of his skin.
It tasted raw. It tasted real.

She found a drop of sweat ready to roll down the curve where his life beat met his shoulders.
Intermingled with his anger and aggression,
It tasted of his struggles and hard work.
It tasted of salt, grainy with a hint of satisfaction.
He was like the most delicious coffee she sipped  on a Sunday afternoon while re-reading her favorite book.

Licking along the rhythmically beating pulse, she discovered his dreams.
He had his own personal universe hidden inside him.
Nobody had discovered it. Nobody had dared.
The rhythm spoke of days past.
It had been steady. It was galloping now.
He wanted her to discover him. He wanted her to know.

She felt the secrets evaporate from the top of his skin.
They were all around her now.
They were all in the air just like his smell.
Nobody realized. Nobody cared.
All they wanted was to soak in the smell of him.
His essence, only she discovered.

She knew she had stumbled upon something special.
It was a gift only she received.
Others weren’t privy to his deep thoughts and beautiful heart.
She was. She knew.

Staring deep into the eyes again,
They discovered each other’s galaxies.
He was ready to taste her now.
He was ready to discover her.
She was ready to be discovered.
She had been starving before.
The satiation came at last.

-a-

Poetry

Two Broken Wings.

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Source: Google Images

She had a lonely past.
Loneliness, her friend of choice.
The past had taught her lessons few.

Drunk mother taught her to keep her mouth shut.
Opening it resulted in insults hurled incessantly.
It was better to stay hidden.
It was better to stay quiet.

Depressed father educated her to never get attached.
The spirit bottles her mother guzzled had made him a broken man.
He did nothing. He said nothing.
It was better to stay aloof.
It was better to stay away.

Promiscuous sister was the next in line.
She taught her to never trust the divine.
She slept around in hopes of finding the one.
There was no one.
There was never one.

She used to dream of flying around,
Enjoy the sights and the cheerful sounds.
She was now a bird with a broken wing.
She couldn’t fly, she didn’t dream.
Then came he.

Filling her with hope and positivity,
He told her she was magnificent and free.
She believed him and started to try,
She was going to be the bird
With a broken wing who could fly.

She thought she got rid of the past that engulfed her.
She didn’t think she needed to stick with the lessons anymore.
She believed he was the one who would help her fly and dream again.

He was the last straw, he wasn’t supposed to be.
He promised to teach her to fly with one wing.
Instead, he broke the other wing.
She was now a bird with two broken wings,
that couldn’t fly.
She wouldn’t fly.

-a-

Uncategorized

Life of HER.

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Source: Facebook

Braiding the memories of her life past in her hair she started walking on the path she saw in her dreams. It was happy memories for when she wanted to feel the love coursing through her bones. And, it was the sad memories for when she just needed to feel.
She filled her water bottle with water laced with the salt in her tears. It was from happy tears for when she needed to reminisce and laugh. And, it was tears she had shed when her heart broke for when she just needed to remember that she didn’t need nobody to hold her up. She was a strong girl. She was the strongest on her own.
She stopped and turned back to the light breeze that had followed her from the place she called her past. It whistled merrily with smell of her soul and the voice of the smiles in the days past. And, it whispered of the whimpered begging she did when she thought she needed them to live and the waterfalls of emotions she had let go of in the sea already burgeoning with the feelings of others. She smiled and urged the breeze to return to where it had come from. She thanked it for the presents that it had brought. She would need the tinkling of the whispers for when she needed to remember she was a wild one who had been restrained for far too long. Never again.
Looking ahead at the bends in the road fashioned with the essence of her soul, she exhaled. She let go of all the ties she had thought she needed to survive but actually didn’t. And, she let go of all the digressions and hurt she had carried in spaces between her bones and blood. They were weighing her down. She didn’t need them anymore.
She looked up at the sky sparkling with pieces of her life she wanted to hold on to but didn’t need to hold on to. They would travel with her till she decided that she was enough on her own. They would sparkle, arranged in constellations of memories past. And, when she was ready to move ahead without them, they would fall like beautiful stars, turning into stardust, a shower of happiness and tears –everything that made her her.

P.S. Another one, I guess. Sigh

-a-

Poetry

Magnificent.

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The smell of her soul intertwined with shades of her gorgeous being engulfed everyone around.
She was the most amazing combination of the sight of happiness and the sound of smile.
She was an unreal reality that you couldn’t fully embrace but couldn’t let go of either.
She was the dream that everyone tried to hold on to after being woken up suddenly but just couldn’t remember.
She was the bright sound and the melodious light. She was a being that shouldn’t have existed in the first place.
She was the being that was awake in everyone’s dream.
She was magnificent, mind and soul.
She was magnificence come to life.

P.S. I am writing too many “she was this, she was that” kinda posts, aren’t I? Sigh

-a-

Poetry

She.

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She was a breathtaking being
With poetry wrapped in the silk of her hair
And the deep thoughts glistening in the sweat on her skin.
She was a beauty that was ethereal.
She was magnificent in her existence,
Bleeding emotions all over the plain white of her dress
Woven with threads of mystique.

-a-

Poetry

Her Unfeeling Heart.

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Tingling in her palms was the first sign.
Slight, nervous giggle that escaped her lips, the second.
She missed all the signs. At first.
Her heart started beating at the speed of the bullet train.
That’s when she realised that she was feeling again.
There was anticipation. And, nervousness.
There was expectation. And, excitement.
There was activity in the left part of her chest.
It had been stoic for far too long.
She was amazed. She hadn’t felt anything in such a long time.
She was feeling again.
She wanted to feel everything.
She was feeling everything.
There was nothing amiss but one thing.
Her unfeeling heart.

-a-