Spend some time
With the night sky
Curled up beside you.
Let it drip secrets
In your ears
About how
Its darkness
Is its most
Breath-taking feature.
-Rupali Jeganathan | The Girl Lost In The Bookstore
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Tag: Scars
Rules of beauty.
“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.
Destruction.
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.
La douleur exquise.
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.
Small talk.
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.
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.
Moonless midnight of my mind.
Don’t just dip your toes
Into the moonless midnight
Of my mind
Plunge headfirst
With abandon
Make your home
Among the dark waters
Swim, until you find
All the secret caves.
Don’t be afraid, darling
For I know
You are no stranger
To the darkness.
Colour me happy with
All the shades
Of your name
And the day the sun
Finally begins to shine
Down on my waters
Will be marked in history
As the day two souls danced
To the whispers
Of a heart
That is broken no more.
-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore
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Sunday, every day Sunday.
The odour
Of your departure
Lingers in the air
Your broken promises
Float in front
Of my eyes-
I reach out
And curl my fist
Around a few of them
And desperately shove it
Inside my mouth
But they dissolve
To nothingness
On my tongue
And I’m left
With the taste
Of your sweet lies.
*
Strength comes knocking
Once in a while
But the heartbreak
That always seems to
Linger just behind
The door,
Pushes it away-
I can hear the thud
As my strength
Hits the front porch
Muttering curses
Under its breath
For ever having tried.
*
I spend my days
Drinking loneliness
Like whiskey,
Singing haunted songs
To the sky,
Eating poetry for lunch-
For me, now,
Sunday mornings
Will always smell
Like your absence.
-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore
This poem was selected and published by The Anonymous Writer on their website. You can read it by clicking here.
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Poetry drips out.
I have scars
Lining
Every inch
Of my skin
From battles
That can have
No winners
Only, survivors
And poetry
Drips
Out of
Each of these scars
Like blood
Bleeding me dry
Of all the pain
Finally
Healing me.
-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore
Also, I created an Instagram profile where I will be posting more of my stuff. Click here to follow me.
Literature Is My Porn 