Poetry

The unnecessary Debris.

When he had walked inside,

He had bled.

The broken pieces of my heart

Had been scattered everywhere.

He had cleaned the wounds,

His and mine.

And then, he had settled in

With a curtain on the broken window

And the cardboard boxes strewn around.

Some to be unpacked.

Others, empty,

With a promise to dispose off

The unnecessary debris.

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Poetry

Let go.

As I held his hand

Tightly in mine,

And I felt him flinch,

I realised,

I was holding on

A little too tight.

I had to let go.

Poetry

Bringing her words to life.

Alienating her heart

From the rest of her

Being hadn’t been

The easiest thing.

She was her heart.

Her poems were a

Part of her soul

And without the

Touch of the

Messed up muscle

All they reeked of

Was defeat.

She needed her heart

To bring her words

To life.

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THE NEW COLOR.

imageLetting go. Letting go.
Letting go.

Fashioned with the essence of her feelings, a new color she had made. Dipping the tip of the brush that was her self-respect, she had made him portraits of her heart. They showed the deepest darkness that resided in the crevices of the blood pumping, overhyped version of the organ.

Dripping the thick red drops of her life blood, she had made paintings that were now the ashes accumulating around the fire she had started with gasoline laced with hatred he oozed and poison he hurled at her. The beauty that she had brought to life with the heart blood that with every pump screamed of her adoration for him was nothing more than ashes of her heart now.

Staring at the flames dancing, as if rejoicing in her slow demise, her need to get back up and paint the world an opaque so dark that nobody would see anything but her brave, young heart, roared. She wasn’t a lowly shell of a being who would let go of the beauty that was her just because she knew how this world works now. She was a fire that wouldn’t die just as easily.

And, so to keep it going, she threw the past as wood, sprinkled with the very color she had fashioned with the essence of her feelings. The roaring amber was a sight to behold. With hair flying in the wind of courage and eyes sparkling with the gold of the fire, she became a new person. She became a person she could be proud of. She became a person who created entire galaxies of memories to fill up the deep, dark pit where her heart once beat, echoing his name. Now, it echoed her own.

-a-

Poetry

One Last Time.

Crying with

Her head

Tucked

Between

The knees

3 months

After he

Violently

Left,

She realised she

Was crying for

The parts

Of her

She had lost

In the process

Of loving him.

She realised she

Was crying for

The last

Time.

-a-