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

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-

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

BLACK.

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BLACK, THICK AND OPAQUE.

Through the looking-glass, they saw darkness.
All they saw was black, thick and opaque.
Her eyes were a different story.
What she saw was the beauty that is dark.
What she saw was her imagination running wild.
What she saw were the possibilities. Bright and new.
And, all she felt was a comfort that was bone deep.
She felt the ring of familiarity.
She knew the darkness.
It embraced her from the inside out.
It was a part of her.
It was her.

-a-

Poetry

The end.

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Death. The end.

Death is a harsh reality.
Some understand death, embrace it, others fear it.
It’s an inevitable stage in life, no one can escape.
So all we can do is cherish the life we have remaining.
Embrace those surrounding us, our loved ones and try to live without regrets.
Change to become who we want to be when we meet death.
I want to meet death head-on.
I don’t want it to take me in my sleep.
I want to see it coming.
I want to know what is happening.
Death is the end.
I want mine to be a good end.
I want it to be a perfect end.
Without regrets.
Without sadness.
With love.
And, satisfaction.
And, understanding.
But mostly love.

-a-

Poetry

I’d call you home.

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The moment I saw you nearing,
I felt a strange calm settle over me.
My heart slowed the pumping.
My mind backtracked on the whirring.
The dark corners of my guilt-soaked soul
Took a deep breath and let go some.
You were my personal brand of redemption.
All the screaming, all the crying-
It took a backseat in my head.
I knew the second I saw you nearing,
You will be my salvation.
You felt like home.
You are home.
Home.

-a-