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...

Last December was a gloriously beautiful time I had just begun to notice your gorgeous smile Felt my heart slip at the sound of that soulful voice Found myself thinking you so fine. Last December there were walks on a cold winter night You told me your stories, I shared some of mine There was fog in the air and a wee bit of tension I was love-struck, did I mention? Last December I lost myself staring into your eyes Hours filled with love poems and day dreamer sighs There were romantic movies and cheesy songs too Last December I fell in love with you. Last December you were the only man I could see I was almost convinced you were made for me You became my muse, I was making art Last December you also broke my heart. It's December again, the fog fills the air But I'm so glad that I'm not there I sit in a different city so far away from you It's December again and I'm in love with someone new. Oh, December is a glorious time I have just begun to notice his beautiful ...

Everything broken begs to be healed Even as it tries to fly away Spreading the wounds wide and open Flapping the wings hard Occasionally even trying to run Everything broken wants to be healed To find itself between the clasp of warm hands A sabbatical in a new place The only job to eat and drink and sleep As the prickling medicine runs over the hurt It will still try to break out Banging it's head against the walls And many failed escapes. Everything broken needs to be healed Even in the naivety of not knowing How torn it is and where It's obliviousness to the wound Is but a sign of how much it hurts To have been pushed into an unconscious Too much to bear. Everything broken has to be healed Even when flying and dancing Chirping away with the friends As it sleeps in the night Wanders during the day There is a pain in the heart that never goes away. Everything broken will be healed It may say it doesn't want to It may shake the floor in protest It may poop all over, tir...

An act so natural For the little white furry being It could be mistaken for a yawn A nap, the sound of purring A violation so brutal Forging innocence in the guise Of her non-humanness A shameless creature Not seeking forgiveness She doesn't ask for approval Social sanction,a private room To stick her tongue down To the love button Licking not Just once or twice Looking Neither here or there Her legs stretched wide open One pointing to the dentist's office One to the exit door And her tongue Never stops moving. An act so natural It could be casually scribbled across Her time table An act barred from Even the realm of my mind.

Aakriti/Shape there is a shadow of a woman that I see sometimes walking in me step by step, all the way, everywhere she is the one who needs company 24/7, she doesn’t speak she likes to listen, she hides when they throw light on her she has the power to become invisible, she loves her home beneath the ground, she likes how she is so neat and defined in her shape, like warm walls to keep safe, and on the right day you can see the whole world moving outside of her she, like a figure that stands the same way every day staring at the same space, in a canvas mistaken for a cage. there is a reflection of a woman that I see sometimes staring back when I try to look at my face, she just blows me a flying kiss every morning and tells me I look pretty, she changes all the time, but she never lies; she is 25 one day with a cat in her arms and a bookshelf right behind, the next day she’s a grandmother with red hair and lots of tattoos; she challenges me from...