Let me tell you something.

You said, ‘ You should write poetry, I think you’d be good at it.’

Did you know then?
What it means to be Black blood and Red ink?

Let me tell you something ;
Poetry is not rhyme scheme, it is harsh and cruel and truth.
It will always taste like blood.

Did you know then,
What slit veins on paper are?

Let me tell you something ;
We(poets) are all together and all alone and all bloodshot eyes and unshed tears and teeth and fire and broken, broken, broken.

My dear, if I’d never written those first words, I never would’ve known,
But it’s been a lifetime since you showed me this lifeline, and so

Let me tell you something;

It hurts to become.

Thoughts at Midnight

She said ‘ Does anyone ever consider that loneliness too meet be in search of a companion?’
Well, he’s been sharing my bed , filling up the empty place where my heart used to be.
No one ever tells you the price of kindness and grace.
On some nights, nothing about this skin feels like poetry.
Hold it in, be strong, let it out, be brave;
I’m tired of feeling ice in my  veins.
Do people forget how much a human can feel?
Are the voices in their heads quiet?
Mine are a cacophony I can feel in my ribs.
He said ‘Loss carves us into kinder, gentler creatures.’
Well, how much do you give before you dry out?
She said ‘ Why is it that you don’t believe believe that you are worth fighting for? ‘
Well, because I am black blood and red ink and I can’t remember the last time someone told me I was.
I don’t even know if I’d believe them anymore.
~~*~~
Note: this poem has quotes from other people’s work, I give them all due credit, I just added them because the thoughts won’t shut up tonight.

Of veins and heartbeats.

If you want to be happy,

Be.

If you wanna be with someone,

Be.

Too little in this world is real,

Can’t you see?

Too long you’ve taken to heal,

Go, be free.

Kohl-lined eyes, Lips painted red,

Stereotypical vanity,

On the edge of a dangerous affair,

A clear surface, A turbulent sea.

Fiery veins, pounding heartbeats,

In the search of Normality,

the winds have changed and so have we,

If you want to be happy, won’t you be?

Ernest Hemingway once said, ‘Poor Faulkner, does he really think that big emotions come from big words?’

Sometimes our little words are best we can find. They are true-er than true.

NaPoWriMo-Day 4– A poem on the opposite of love.

*Photo copyrighted, leave it be.

Without or Within?

The daily Prompt-March 16-<a href=" Places“>Places

“As long as you feel safe in your skin, you will always have a place to call home.”
But sometimes,especially when you’re growing and changing, a safe place isn’t under your skin.

Places have the power to evoke memories, even long after the people we shared them with are gone.
Sometimes you’ll find yourself walking down familiar roads in search of the person you used to be with them.
But change is good and memories always did have a habit of glowing brighter in retrospect.

Places give you an escape from life.
Whether it’s a out of the way, hole in the wall cafe or a the floor of the classics section in a bookstore.
It’s where dreams grow bolder and hearts grow stronger.

Blue waters and sunny skies always did have their charm,
but have you ever noticed how windows in a second-hand bookstore refract a rainbow onto the ceilings?

Forest trails and wispy clouds , you say? I can hear you sigh, wanting to get away…
But look, are those lovebirds nesting in the tree just there?

Everywhere around you are stories, just waiting to be noticed, waiting to be told.
I know because I once played peek-a-boo with a kitten hiding behind a pillar on the footpath.

Curiosity leads to the most amazing things,
Like the time I met a puppy, and she fell into a pond, looking for fishes.
She’s five years old now and curled up on my bed.

Our memories are linked inextricably to places.
What’s your favourite memory?