a little romance with life

falling in love with the wrong person come, walk into my book, a gorgeous fantasy there are chirpy chirpy birds, and bright bright sunrises the wind whispers poems in my ears, the trees are green green, and the flowers smell loud like perfumes it’s beautiful, isn’t it? come, look at the gorgeous man, his eyes, his smile here love is when he’s too shy to look at you or talk to you in front of his friends or be seen with you in public or be caught on the phone with you when he’s pooping alone at home here love is when he’s so nervous to talk to you about anything other than himself it’s not selfish, it’s love, he sticks to familiar topics to a life he knows, he doesn’t want to be caught a fool if hap stance you utter a word he doesn’t understand he’s a hero, a real one, the kind you can’t find in the real world but you have to *understand* him, his hurt, his pain everything that makes him like needles right now he does not bleed you to hurt h...

On Masturbation Dress up tonight in your sexiest outfit, or just stay in those pajamas, or even better- wear nothing at all; light some candles, or keep all the tube-lights on – stare at your gorgeous skin- open your legs wide and run your palm along the forbidden territories of the body; feel the mold of your breasts, your nipples awaken from the alarm of the pinch, and your mouth sigh at this casual intimacy; slip your hands into your underwear, or just take the damn thing off, rub the length of your finger along your clitoris, feel the thousands of nerve endings send electricity to your brain; move your fingertips in circular motions - both fast and slow, close your eyes and blank out the world, whisper and moan and shout any name you want (or not); feel the speed increase, the thighs tighten, the increasing pulse, the sound of bursting heartbeats, and keep your fingers moving till your body breaks into you, the head spilling with ecstasy for five sec...

When Meera died, they dissected her body looking for her soul Scratched layer after layer of her dead blue skin Shaved off her hair, took out the eyes Carefully carved out what was left her smile The left hand, the right hand, the right leg, the left leg Sliced and given to each family member to look into carefully Doctors were called to empty her torso, her soul must’nt get lost in the mush Of the small and large intestine, the slight smokey lungs The heart was the most important place, stories called it the soul home The brain was handled by a neurosurgeon for everything in there creates What is called the soul; the grandmother walked in and said It must have hidden in her clothes! Out rained her closet, all the colors so bright Duppattas in the air, patialas, and shirts Sumitra di almost found a sweater that smelled like her They found her 18th birthday red top, and earrings gifted by a person she truly loved The tailor-made pair of loose, long pants, and the beloved lehenga worn t...