A Damn Mess

I was licking my wounds
but you stopped me.
You wanted to do it
so I let you.
You licked and sucked till
my wounds became scars.
Then, you cut me again
at the exact same spots.

So, here I am, a damn mess,
studying our synastry chart
for the 50th time,
fiddling with tarot cards,
tiredlessly hoping you’d come back.
I want your tongue and yours alone,
and I know that even if you return,
you would lick me up
so you can cut me again.

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Love and Imperfection

We strive to touch the stars;
we reach for them.
We crave to hold them in our palms
but we often forget that
stars have sharp ends.

When we get pinched,
we doubt that what we have is a star.
“This can’t be it;
this can’t be all I’ve dreamed of.”

So, we release it;
we let it go.
We begin to confuse ourselves.

We tell ourselves that a moon
can make a better star
because it doesn’t look like
it has sharp ends,
but the moon usually ends up being
either too big for us to carry
when it is full,
or sharper than the star
when it has proper blades-
when it is a half-moon or a crescent.

When we get hurt again,
when reality sets in once more,
we move to the sun.
We say-
“the sun looks more stable;
it’s far better than the rest”,
but we usually get burned instead.

We return to the star
in a worse condition
than we would have been
if we had been patient,
if we had stayed with it,
but it may or may not
let us hold it in our palms again.
It may or may not take us back.

So has it been with many things;
so has it been with love.

Wounded Healer III

Goddess of Forests

I’m shedding everyone’s tears
but I can’t shed my own.
I’ve got it all under control in public;
I’m a mess when I’m alone.
Pain has injected itself into me;
I can feel it bite through each bone.
I’m decaying on the inside,
but this body is not mine to disown.

My heart and soul are drowning,
and I can’t stretch my hands
to reach them through my throat.
They’ve absorbed too much;
they’re heavy,
but I can’t save them.
I can’t drain the tears and blood;
I can’t heal them.

So, I’ll shed my tears through my mouth.
I’ll cry with my hands and feet,
with my words,
and with my songs,
and with my dance,
till I feel my heartbeat.
I’ll shed my tears as sweat;
they can’t pass through my eyes just yet.

Spaces and Phases: Something

“She’s nothing without me.”

You made her “nothing”.
She wasn’t “nothing” before you met her;
you only chose to not see her as something.

At that time,
she found it hard to believe
that she was something herself,
that she still is.
She was very sure sometimes,
and she wasn’t, at other times;
she was so vulnerable.

It was up to you to make her believe
that she was something,
that she had always been something,
but since you wanted to have total control,
you were so afraid that she could realize
she is something with or without you,
and she would leave you someday,
you convinced her that she is something,
but only with you.

You locked her in your arms,
then you locked her in her brain cell.
You didn’t let her become
what she already was- something-
and something more.

You didn’t make her something;
you made her some thing.

She Suffers: The Woman Proposed

Yesterday, you braced yourself.
With all the courage that you had,
you told them how you really felt,
and what all your affection meant.

Today, they told you that they loved you;
they’ve shown you life and it’s brand new.
They’ve come to make your dark sky blue;
there’s nothing, for them, that you wouldn’t do.

Tomorrow, you’re going to have a fight;
the things they’ll say are going to hurt you.
If you threaten to leave if they don’t change,
they’ll react in a way that you’ll find strange.
The words they’ll say will be quite true,
“I didn’t come to you first,
I didn’t want you.”

In-form-ation II

Everybody wants to advise you;
everybody wants to contribute their two cents,
even when they need it more than you do.
Everybody wants to dissect you into two;
“I’m not a fish, honey;
you musn’t be a fish too.”
Everybody wants to teach you what they know,
whether or not it’s the truth.

Panty Poetry: Hurt

You suddenly become perfectly good at
reading between the lines
whenever I want you
between my legs.
It hurts
me.

Love is an Expression

Your
love
doesn’t
really
exist
until
you
express
it.

Life is a Chance

Sky

Adore the sky while you can,
gaze at the moon and stars,
for they’ll be gone by the morning.

Life is a chance;
take it.

Possessed

Man Painting

He fell in love with her;
she possessed him.
He said things he would never say
and wrote things he would never write.
He saw things he would never see
and did things he would never do.
He shivered,
he cried,
he sang for her,
and when the trance was over,
he was really weak.
He didn’t know what just happened;
“what the hell came over me?”