i. On days When it is stormy On the inside of my skin, And I can hear The echoes of my heart Breaking Inside my ribcage, You gently pick up The pieces Of my broken dreams Where they have fallen On the floor From the … Continue reading Letters to my mother.
I search for words In the front pockets Of your unbuttoned denims Hanging just behind the door, And in the fragrance of the flowers That will decorate Your graveyard someday. * I search for words Underneath the dust That decorates the frame Of our photograph, … Continue reading Language of the seas.
“Let us break the rules Of beauty”, she whispered In my ear. Let us stop swathing our faces With anti-aging, And fairness creams That promise to make Our skin glow. Let us show the world That beauty hides In the wrinkles on your skin, And … Continue reading Rules of beauty.
Today, I mixed
A bit of
Your memories
With the watercolours
And painted
Poetry
On the walls-
No one knows
Why the walls
Glow
At night.
-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore
This makes no sense, but okay.
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The world sells destruction. And, I eat it for breakfast. My home. No, not a home. My house is too small to fit in all my anger and destruction. I see it leaking. Cutting the sunlight in two. I sold my soul to the devil … Continue reading Destruction.
Anacampserote- something that can bring back a lost love
In the place
Where our dreams
And realities collide,
In the spaces
Between each minute,
In the magic
That resides
Within your words-
That’s where
You’ll find me.
That’s where
I’ll be waiting.
-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore
I know this is shit, and I apologize.
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There seems to be A lot of heartbreak Lying around these days. * People collect it in tiny jars, And display it proudly on their shelves As if it is a thing of pride. Some wear it like the most Magnificent of pearls, Shiny and … Continue reading Music.
Nobody told me How hard this would be. Nobody told me That being methodical Won’t help me, Not this time. * That, charts and graphs On how long it takes To get over someone Would be as useful to me As a bicycle is to … Continue reading La douleur exquise.
I don’t want small talk. It gives me anxiety. Tell me about the time you slow danced to the beat of the wind howling in your ears. Tell me about the book you read that made you want to rip your heart out just so … Continue reading Small talk.
We cut open the minutes And pour poetry inside them Trying to immortalize the seconds. We hear a thousand stories In the silence Between the moonbeams. We see a million colours In the darkness that resides In the spaces between two stars. We listen to … Continue reading We.
Literature Is My Porn 