I’ll always love you. Always.
I’ll never forget you. Never.
My life is incomplete without you. Incomplete.
You ignite my passion. Ignite.
You understand me. Understand.
I can be myself with you. Myself.
The words we remember.
Long after the meaning has faded.
Sometimes the most important word is not the one which is highlighted.
But the one which gives meaning to every sentence.
Not you anymore.
I am hard of hearing.
I listen, but I am hard of hearing.
I see your lips moving, but I look ahead.
I see you mouthing cliches about my safety.
And I throw the chastity belt at your feet
I try and erase your faux lines of worry
In my personal cloud of smoke
You give me a glass of water
When I see life through a shot of single malt
I shave my legs and put on my shorts
Putting a few band aids
On the nicks and cuts of a razor
The sharp tone of your tongue
is a butter knife to my skin
I put on my sunglasses
To avert your gaze from my brashness
I put the ink of my life on my skin
I listen to loud music and sometimes drive fast
Men and cars both
I still don’t hear you.
Because I am hard of hearing
Every don’t that you throw my way
Today, tomorrow, and every single day.
Did you hear about the ones who love more
They sentence these people to a life of misery
No trials no justice
Just the judgment
They politely call them givers
Making sure it sounds like a sin
So they are in penance.
Forever in the altars of Gods
Asking to be loved back
Filling the bowls of communion wine with tears
Forever on their knees
Begging for mercy because their hearts never heal
And no one tells them that it’s OK to love more
It’s OK to cry
It’s OK to want someone more than anything else in the world.
It’s OK to sleep with their name as a lullaby chant
It doesn’t make you weak.
It makes you strong enough for the two of you.
So love more. Maybe you’ll live more.
As the demolition crew comes near
Hold your breath
Let the walls crumble one by one.
Let the rooftop come crashing down
Let it rain splinters around you
Sit on the grass cross legged.
In your best Sunday dress.
And watch every second of it.
Don’t mourn the stained glass window
Don’t mourn the pictures on the mantlepiece.
Don’t sigh at the remains of the living room sofa
Don’t remember the taste of the cakes of the erstwhile oven
The noises in your head will grow louder by now
And the goosebumps will make their way out on your skin
Sit still and don’t close your eyes.
No one needs to see the breaking down in parts of you.
No one needs to know that your skin feels alien now.
No one will notice that everything is gone but the door still stands.
So open that door when you’re alone.
Snuggle into the bed that remains
And then when the world sleeps peacefully
Thinking that nothing ever fazes you
Let the tears come. Let them flow.
Sing the ballads that your heart writes
Question everything and everyone.
Bite your lower lip till it bleeds
Remember to sleep
Remember to wake up
Remember to walk.
I’ve always seen feathers.
Floating in the air,
Bound to dreamcatchers,
Dangling off my own ears
And sometimes as a quill.
For all the times they touched my face
I never thought about the birds
never wondered about their flights of fancy
While shuttling away on one of my own.
Then, one day, in the same way that sunscreen taught me,
I encountered a bird with clipped wings
It seemed to be happily hopping about.
I held it, with delicate care, and
Asked a politically incorrect question,
Just as carelessly.
‘Don’t you wish to fly?
Don’t you wish to be in the sky?’
It cocked its head,
once to the left,
And once to the right,
It looked at me intently,
And then at the chains on my feet.
‘For exactly the reason you don’t run, I don’t fly.’
I walked away with a clang,
Slow, and cumbersome,
quite like how I felt,
I looked back
to watch it looking at the sky,
Gazing at the blues and grey reflect
In the puddle it splashed in,
(The title was the trigger. The muse was amused.)
I want to explain myself away in punctuation
Maybe dress myself up in sentence constructs
Perfume myself with the remnants of poetry
And dream about the words that make my fingerprints
I am nothing but the language I speak
No more than the syllables I hum
Hoping to freeze myself in eternity
Via an idiom.