…and my cries died in the wails of nature’s misery…

 

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I am bound by the cartilage of winter’s eerily molded teardrops that drop once in a while as if a reminder pinning on my eyelashes saying, careful- my family’s on the way to cheer you up this dull gray morning.

As if that doesn’t deprive me of the beautiful things that I could be but didn’t choose to.

The dawn does weep Christmas wishes and I hear laughter echoing through the plain walls of my house, from miles apart; and the unmistakable giggling of over enthusiastic children.

My heart couldn’t bear anymore the rhyming of two rhythmic soul’s catapulting in each other’s calligraphic aura through rosy hues.

I draw unbroken heart shapes in the breath of ‘nature’s’ long echoing sigh on my bleary window but was easily mastered by another wave of agonizing misery of her wailings.

I lost the last heart again.

And after umpteenth effort, I stretch my sleeves hard enough to cover my finger tips listening numbly to the ripping of my heart. This sweater covering my feeble body from the desecrated cold has seen its better days. So, I ignore her protest in wanting to cover my fingers.

Somehow I feel like a mannequin stuck inside a clock; unable to move without being slapped by the needles.

And you are a parchment paper in which I have written my suicide notes as a will to the roses that have stopped whispering my name in your hands… but you give me them anyways since you can’t bear the thought of the thorn piercing into your bones, tattooing my tragedy.

Dear silence, bid me farewell to the moon where shadows don’t backbite and bicker.

Let me paint melancholy in the desolate part of the night sky and die a bluish death… so that I can smile happily believing that I just stopped becoming a story as the ink died in my veins.

My first slam

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I am gonna tell a story.

When I was young
And didn’t know the world was cruel
I somehow survived being myself. Then and now, A blessing; I guess.
When they teased me for being the biggest in class
When I wore spectacle as thick as me with a chain into class for the first time
And when I ate too much than they could fill in their stomach
I was teased, mocked and laughed at.
But, I used to stay strong
And laugh with them for the joke that shook my body, my belly
I never cried when they teased me or belittled me
Because I was never in reality,, I was always in a dreamland.
I was something else
Maybe that was how I coped with things-
When I didn’t know what love was, what depression was, what sadness was
Maybe I was too ignorant
And that made me smile all the time and sleep with dreams full of bogus glitters.
Oh, but, yes, I cried
I cried thinking about my mother
She was always being scolded by my father
She was always crying when we were never watching
And I cried for my father
Because he was always stressed in his workplace
He was always unhappy in his life
But he provided us with riches and things
But never happiness
Seeing our loved ones unhappy won’t make us unhappy
It makes us miserable

When I grew up to have little projections in my chest
It was the size of a cricket ball
And it wasn’t anything like the insect bites on my friends
And that got me attention
Lots of it
I didn’t like the projection but I didn’t know that it was my breasts
And that will attract man like a moth to the flame
I didn’t know it then
I smile like I did always
And I was touched when I smiled
I didn’t know it was wrong
He was speaking to me very clearly, jokingly, about his life in his hometown
And I miserably tried to get out from his hands because I thought he was playing
But they were held too tight and… I was touched.
I didn’t know it then
That he was sick and I was a toy
I didn’t know what he was doing.
Now, I know… his frame of mind was to be cleaned with acid and
He should be taught from the beginning how to respect women.
I was young. Only sprouting wings.
And he blemished my clean slate with a memory I can’t wash off.

I was never a writer,
It somehow stumbled on to me while I was learning a boring subject for exam
Beautiful strips of golden caramel oozed in through the windows
And like possessed by a foreign soul, I took up a pen and paper
And wrote about the radiance
And I became a writer- when my heart started to learn about fear, fat, ugly and depression.

When I was fully grown to a small woman
I learned about my body
And still feel irritated and hate the tingles that stay on my breasts thinking about that touch
I should have kicked him, scolded him, told my mother
But I never did,
Cause they won’t understand.
My young brain had this notion that they wouldn’t understand
Not because I had any experience that made me trust them less
But I couldn’t bring myself to tell them
That I have been abused by a desperate man in the grocery store that my father always shook hands with
I hid that pain and betrayal and sadness in my poetry later on.
You see, I am not a writer.
Metaphors are for insecure people who want to hide behind words.
Yet, I have been called a metaphor queen
And I have been said I didn’t understand what metaphor was.
But, I used metaphor like I used water
To hide my tears once I learned words had that sort of power.
I never wrote… I hid

When I was finally a woman
With feathers yet to be born,
With stones yes to be turned
And life yet to be understood
I know what happiness, sadness, and emotions are
I know what each makes one feel
I wish for the bubbles on my hands that connect with happiness, to stay forever.
Because he only comes once in a while
And sadness smiles and stays by my side, always.
He loves me every night and I sketch the feelings on my pillows.

I am not a writer.
I don’t know how to write.
How to plot a story and tell them effectively
Because when I started to write this,
I had a different story line in my eyes
But when I began, my heart poured words and I am ashamed that I can’t even bring out what I really want to say
But, my heart said all of this, so it’s true and I let it be
But I am ashamed
I know I will be read and re-read by many
Some will say, I said too much, it’s too long, you have grammar mistakes and you suck
Plain and simple; you suck
And I know I suck.
Should I nametag it myself?
I have been sucking my life for eternity
Because even when God created me beautifully in his eyes
My rolled out thighs and protruding stomach made it clear in the eyes of people, that I am anything but beautiful
And the people made it their personal agenda to make me feel
I am fat
I am ugly
I am big

I have no messages to share
I have no wisdom to pour
I have no ideas to dare
And I have no chances left to explore

But, somehow I did
I wrote in midst of all those sword slashes
And I wrote with ink from my blood
But that was not enough for people to understand
That I have already been through too many thorns
And I am already being shredded
I am something else… other than what I show
But, people won’t understand

When I finally learned to understand and learn to realize
I was too fat, too naïve, too shy and too misunderstood
Way too fat to shed some pounds
Way too thick to make some rounds
Way too naïve to make understand
And way too stupid to befriend with

And I was stressed by life’s personalized concerts
I was shredded in emotional downpour
And I was caramelized in life’s personalized hurricanes
I came to know about the riches of life
And only then did I learn that all this time, my smile was a fake mask that I wore
A fake mask that I wore to cover my frown lines
A fakeness that my own heart made for me so that one day when I sit and realize that life is not as I believe, I shouldn’t be broken.

I don’t know how to write what my veins convey
I don’t know how to write what my eyes are flashing to me
Yet, I am writing like a machine
And I don’t know how to stop
I have too much to tell
Too much to yell
But I am already swelled
And this is all leveled
The platform is torn
And I have no audience
I cry to my soul
Yet, my life is a hollow shell
I fell bloated, inflamed and shamed
I want to release my demons
But I am stuck with their marvelous tingles
I am stuck inside my own body
Shackled with words that won’t come out
I am stitched with my own chords
And I am being beaten up by my own fears
I crawl myself into a ball and listen to the rainfall wondering if I could ever call and be answered by someone
I want to be nurtured, to be cradled, and to be understood
By someone who can understand my heart.
My mother soothes me, my brother makes me laugh, and I am being loved
But never understood for what I really am
I smile and hide and laugh and cry
I am never understood
And I think, I will stop pouring words now,
Since what I want to say is not coming out
And I don’t want to cry when I stop writing this

I just wanted to tell you a story
But I ended up with just clipped scenes from my story
And since, I am not a writer
And I don’t know how to write
I will end this here
With a big yellowish smiley period

City Silhouette

 

dusty pendulums

craft unhinged rhythm,

scattering seams of tarnished jokes

and level headed gossips

through thick glasses,

resting on top of his

shining egg;

boiling with perfection

in the heat of morning news

and crisp bacon

 

broken bottles narrate a forlorn tale

as kids with mountain on their head

and pant skidding below the waist line

bubble up with anticipation

screaming profanities

to the street lamp, flickering.

 

a dog slowly meander

through the many rivulets of garbage

lining the sidewalk

where a man with ragged clothes

and heavy breath

leisurely rests with smoke

spiraling out like white serpents

with vengeance

 

traffic lights chase speeding cars

puffing dark poison

through pipes of exhaustion,

as they run impetuously

through the many degrees of life.

 

the blanket is pulled on and off

as the sky switches day and night

rapidly.

 

the wind pulls leaves out

and hem of their clothes

as they sway in harmony

and hoarse breaths

 

a coffee rests

on top of the red benches facing the scattering

crowds;

the smoke swirls

mimicking ballerinas

as they narrate the tale

of this sleepless town

 

pen whisks images

on papers as the morning lark

sings indolently

to the hot Monday morning.

Weighted clouds

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glistening through creaks
is new dawn, enticingly waking up
from slumbers and yawn,
cutting up lemon, juicing the sun.
stretching limbs into ashes and embers
of yesterday’s night, still burning
a slow flame, scattering flavored aroma…

I’m still unsure, as the sun rise up;
contemplating my smile,
eagerly marinating me.
I cup my arms to his laughter
drinking in the splendor, But,
I’m still unsure
Of why am I alive!
even after the broken pieces,
shattered to one last atom…

I still eulogies about my past
like its glittery as the stars,
when, its dull like the ash clouds
ready to break up and pour.

My movie.

there was a movie

with the label of cranberry fruit cake

melting my luscious desire

and awarding me an Oscar

 

I smiled my most beautiful smile

pouting out, making it look like open strawberry

and many fell for the delight

 

it was a peak time when 

I knew how to swivel with the camera

and roll with the credits

mentioning after shots and loving every moments

smiling naked in the blanket of fame

 

sweet treats

and sugary sweets

loved the limelight

and I hung around spotlight

never letting go of the spot

 

in the heavenly world of flashes

and fake smiles

I pancaked my face with desire and fake smiles

making me look like a goddess

and I know, that is my cue

to undulating rolls of business pleasure

 

In this movie, I did act as me

with the stare of my birth-mom

who never knew what bliss is

it was a family tradition

to be born with no money and live with only water

the one that flow through your walls

collected in pots and pan

only fresh when it rains

 

this was when I was lovingly living

inside my mom’s womb 

and when they plucked me away

from the safe heaven

I knew not what safety and purity was

but from then on

I never had to close my only book

which made me look amazing

and set a price for the eyes

which see me pleasing…

 

and then,

did I act upon the stage

in front of the camera

pouting my lips which yearns to tell a tale

of falling rain and eating lies

 

once, I acted upon a stage

where they shot a movie

with the label of cranberry fruit cake

melting my luscious desire

and awarding me an Oscar

I enjoyed writing this, a life of a girl who entered fame being ____________Did you understand?   

 

This is a poem explaining about a girl who was forced into being prostitutes….

and roll with the credits

mentioning after shots and loving every moments

smiling naked in the blanket of fame

 

from a young age, who was forced to, from the safe place with her mother…

 

inside my mom’s womb 

and when they plucked me away

from the safe heaven

 

womb I mentioned for the safe place with mother, young finds security within mother. And then she was rose to fame being an actress (bad one)

 

there was a movie

with the label of cranberry fruit cake

melting my luscious desire

and awarding me an Oscar

 

Oscar was just a mention of Praise and fame and then labeling which is mentioning….

 

I love writing this

Nature lover.

In between thin shards of glass, I walk carefully on its edge, Not wanting to cut my toes, fearing my muse will flow out. Life taught me very good things, about the sky which is azure and blue at times but fails to comprehend the emotion of moon and quickly fades to yellow and hues. Blurry, soft cotton swabs whiter throughout the sky, painting the already pique azure, a little more pathetic, but the more you look at it the more you feel relaxed.
Life also taught me about the azure, the one that flows through my nails and fingers, and I feel the tickling nibbles of tiny mouths, making me see wonderful visions and I smile and then laugh. The water is a pure blue, sheer pleasure, mighty bearer, smooth kisses. The rivulets passes along liquidizing melon sun and the water clings to my legs, painting my legs a sweet mango yellow. Cooling my mind, making me feel relaxed.
Beautiful, sturdy trees stretches and exaggerate its beauty through olive, emerald, and pedriot legacies and then they paints a masterpiece in between the lines of glistening buds that rejuvenate and solidify emotions, pulled to the roots and finalize this closure. making me sane and fine and peace. Hues boasts about fine poetry and paints masterpiece, of crimson, yellow, salmon, orange and brown. fallen or not, they whiter diamond dust of beauty.
never shall I get tired of this, the fragrance of rainbows, frolicking and swaying in the whistling breeze and chirruping birds that brings together a chord of sonata, a serenade, a chime too sweet. close your eyes and envisage, you could feel the beauty tantalizing, whispering, kissing. Tiny buds giggling and joyfully turn their head towards the sun, like kids do when they do something proud. smiling and gleefully enjoying.Peace
Nature has its palette full of hues and I a brush, painting on the blank canvas, hurting my  mind and I paint, a picture…..Too sweet and rhythmic, I never look for flaws and don’t care for the fine piece of mitigating comments, sarcasm or care… I feel I own this palette and the hues is mine, from my mother nature, Attitude design my brains by the nature and this nature set the bars high…..Never complaining and only applauding.

Storm blooming pain.

Beyond the cold shores of dawn
rests a seed, deep inside my hurt
slow breathing enunciate
a soft tendril, like my heart
I can hear the thunder rumbling
like the kids with a cartwheel
perspiration jogging down their body
mingling with the laughter
One explosion illuminate my obscure world
and the tendril rise with a leaf
the leaf of freedom or hurdle
the stem shall decide
In between cold stares of rain drops
and harsh strike of lightning
my mind dwindle
like a drop on leaf