It’s a good thing tears dry up or else Women would have made shrines Out of men who left. Solid, Salt Shrines of memories Like haunted graveyards of treacheries. And the lone woman standing amidst the loss Bearing the burden of that cross. … Continue reading An Ode to Tears…
On days that my hair is perfect I feel like a queen riding atop a stallion Blazing the fields with my beauty. The world turns to soft focus With colours of the sun beaming through and through… But on most days, my hair is … Continue reading The Curse of Medusa…
He begged me to open those doors
I resisted, he insisted.
I was all alone and I knew
that if I opened those doors
It would be devastation
All over again.
Would it be that bad?
Don’t you hear the pleading in his voice?
He said, he loved me.
Wasn’t that a safe word?
How was I to know?
He asked me
to take off my clothes
And trust him. Feel his breath
And lie next to him.
Maybe just this one time
Maybe one last time…
But how was I to know?
They said don’t go out at night
There are monsters there.
But what about the days at home
Didn’t they know there were monsters there too?
That part, I knew.
I did as I was told.
Every single time.
Over days, months and years.
Something inside me said No.
But he won each time.
With his soft hands caressing
my parts. Numbing me to a silence
that was screaming within.
Should I tell someone or
will this be our little secret?
I succumbed to his desire
Lay there motionless as he said,
Good girls don’t kiss and tell.
How was I to know?
I was all of six…
The wind is pounding at the windows Of my 17th floor apartment Whooshing by, stopping to check and then moving on again. Fooling me by its in-between silences Its beguiling pauses that make me want to open my windows to see if … Continue reading THE STORM
Why don’t you accept the frizz? It comes with your inner wild. Blame it on your genes. Tame it if you will. But the day you own it, run with it I promise, the wind in your hair will make you fly. Colour those … Continue reading Why don’t you accept the frizz?
Chocolate cysts are funny things. With a name that sweet You should only have fond(ue) memories. But like knives dipped in honey They wrench your guts with treacheries. Drip. Drip. Drip. As the blood seeps through the walls each month I give rent to my … Continue reading Of deliciously dark chocolate cysts
There is something about that goodbye That you never got to say When you were in such a rush That day. Of course you couldn’t have known That she was in a greater hurry to leave. You had no reason not to believe. … Continue reading The Last Goodbye…