My 16 Word February Poem

I'm afraid
my lilies will not
be able to ward off
the smell of graveyard mud.

— % &

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I'm scared of writing now.
On rare days, I write something
which doesn't even make sense to me.
I really don't feel it's worth the
highlights. They think it's good.
Some people follow me.
The big writers of YourQuote like it.
I feel overwhelmed, on the verge
of crying. But then when I try to read
whatever stuff I've written without calling
it shit, I start to wonder instead.
Silly questions. Why did the girl step
in the mud? Which of the guys who hurt
Me in past I've used as a metaphor here?
Why is he the lotus? Why do I hate my
write-ups so much? Is hating my write-ups
in a way or the other related to him?
When a glass is broken, no two pieces
are exactly broken in the same way.
Some are broken in squares, filled with
dead pansies and aging malt.
Some are broken in triangles, filled with
Frosty handshakes and crispy ashes.
Everyone has a different bruise waiting
to be kissed even if the lips were the same.

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She confessed.
He rejected.


CAPTION//

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On deaths, love and metaphors

"Love and me were never together, why?"
"It's upto God, it wasn't meant to be or maybe you both were meant to be not together."

"I love writing metaphors on death and love. Deadly love or lovely death?"
"Neither. Metaphors are just lies. "

"Words fail me whenever I try to write about you? I find my poems shit in which I declared you dead. Why I'm finding all my write-ups shit? Am I also a shit because writing is a part of me?"
"Words fail you because you are not willing to move on. You have almost moved on but a little cleft in your heart is failing to move on. Your poetries are not shit, words are just failing to the maturity of your heart."

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I'm afraid of being his red rose. I would prefer a withering wildflower to a fresh red rose. Because it's better being trampled down by the shoes of a stranger than to be tainted with the slivers, fragments and remnants of the very glass tumbler he sipped his coffee from.

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On the other shore, I await
you; muses so I could fill
up my blank shapes of
words with you, home.

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On some days I'm like that
Wild fly (not a housefly) which trespasses
My room through the trees.
It hovers tirelessly, incessantly
Trying to rest itself at a cranny.
Sometimes it sits on the white incandescent.
Maybe trying to radiate some positivity from it
Because it's so scintillating and cleanse it's
Smeared body and heal it's vanquished wings.
And when a beast of prey counters on it
It becomes a fine gleaming pulverulent texture.

In my case, when a beast of prey tries to smother me
I just bleed into my poems with gurgles of delusions.

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Pull the hair tie.
Release my hair.
Untangle the stubborn curls.
Stuff a white cloth in my mouth.
Brush my locks softly.
Your hands shiver.
My hair is parted in the middle.
Pour lemongrass oil onto it.
With your shaky fingers, braid them.
Make a waterfall braid.
My hair smells pristine.
Dust off that speck of dandruff
which can soon reign over my tresses
if not removed right in time.
The red Navratna oil decorates my forehead.
Instead of soothing my headache, it burns.
Wipe it off with the white cloth.
A hadean grin on your face appears.
Intertwine your fingers between my locks.
Soothe my stubborn ringlets of hair.
Apply lavender oil.

They have died. Both of us know it. Acclaim your work, oh boy.

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I had my physics exam today. You're like my
invigilator who was very irritating,
incessantly telling us to
show the desk with the answer sheets as well
as our faces in the video zoom screen.


You also want me to be your more than a friend.
You said you'll try, try to be what I really have no
Idea about. And you also say that you don't want a
Romantic relationship and let's be just friends.
At the same time you send me maybe serious texts
With laughing emojis. Are those cat laughing emojis
A camouflage to hide the naked truth? Did you really
Mean those words? He doesn't wants you to overthink,
My bitch said. But lol you're already making me
Overthink with your translucent texts.
You can't ask for two things at the same time, bro.
Wish one thing at a time. You can't devour hot chocolate
On a cheese pizza, right? You don't eat honeydews and
Apples together? You can't breathe and swim underwater
Unless you're a iridescent slippery li'l fish.

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You are like the periphery of my
poetry notebook. Yesterday the paper
cut my middle finger. It bled profusely.
Just like the way my white shirt was soaked
with crimson blood exuding from my nerves.
I had never imagined in my wildest thoughts that,
you, a mere sheet of paper would bruise my
middle finger so badly. I wrapped it with a brown
band-aid. It hurts, you know. No of course I didn't go
to the doctor, it's a small cut, Shirley, no need to go
to the doctor, they said. It's so tiny, babe, you've to
get used to it, they waved it off as a casual thing.

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