The Anatomy of a Friday Shower

It’s been a long day
No a long week
Or a long year
Or several years
Who’s keeping track
the decrepit apartment
the damp air, the derelict walls
embrace me like a lover
a shower is long overdue
but just a little bit longer
I linger, on the bed
wading through the routine
technology has replaced the
loving embrace of dear ones
laughter, fear, excitement
My feelings get automated
with the touch of a button
how long have I been lying here?
it seems like an eternity
and with heavy steps I escort my
tired body into the shower
warm to cold then warm again
lather, and wash rinse and repeat
with each rinse I wash away fear
and fatigue, and the marks of society
I am a clean canvas, I am tabula rasa

Between a nightmare and a daydream

In my sanctuary 

I sit surrounded by songs of love 

Visions I have built-in my head 

There is nothing here that reminds me of you

Yet I build memories from nothing 

Too scared to let go

You haunt me in my sleep

Stuck Between a nightmare and a daydream

I sit in my sanctuary

Enveloped in your memories   

Too scared to let go

Her makings

She is made of love made fresh in the morning
Bits of songs from summer afternoons
Wisps of lavender flavoured smoke
Mingled with the smell of cheap perfume
And the burnt out stubs of cigerettes
She is made of unresolved arguments
And promises of love
Of confused feelings,
She is made of scars and scratches
Puckered skin and eyes exhausted of tears
She is made of imperfections and insufficiency
Of wants and of needs,
She is made of daydreams and nightmares,
Can’t diferentiate one from the other,
She is flesh and blood,
And sometimes more,
Delusions of being special,
She ceases to be so just by existing,
She longs for freedom from this mundane existence,
She wants to feel the rainbow in her blood,
Channel the power of the universe,
Dive into infinity.

Residue

Residue inside my coffee cup
Is made of froth and cream,
the sweet stuff,
the granules of sugar at the bottom,
We drink the rest, the bitter and the bland,
After the last drop is down,
What is left behind are the promises and the dreams,
The kisses and the cream,
The undissolved fantasies,
The ‘good’ stuff, or so we think,
I try to scoop it up with a spoon,
But the taste disappoints,
It’s the bitter with the sweet that I crave,
The reality of a life where we chase dreams,
Never quite catching up,
But running hand in hand,
The sweet longing, the bitter love,
With every sip we get addicted,
Letting it overpower our senses,
Opening our eyes and our heart,
And we resign, to the taste,
To the sweet and the bitter and the bland.

Growing Love

You say we are through. But are we?
We fight we make love we fight again.
But love is not lost.
Because we are yet to find love.
The love that’s within ourselves.
We had both lost faith in life and in people.
Will to live was hard to find.
We moved around amongst familiar faces finding only loneliness.
Too many choices, fears and insecurities.
Words that were spoken with hearts that were heavy with doubt.
We spoke too soon.
Words tumbled out in a hurry.
Feelings and thoughts and wishes fighting each other.
We run from love and from feelings.
Craving hugs and kisses like drugs.
Fear of rejection swallows us whole.
So we bind our heart to save it from blows. Everything ends we believe.
But belief in ends brings no joy.
Produces No love.
Only insecurities and doubt.
Why can’t we believe in beginnings then?
The beginning of the end of fear.
Opening our heart to find the love that’s there.
I want to share it, but there’s only so much to spare,
I give some to myself and I give some to you,
Maybe we will make love again so that it grows,
Til one day there will be enough to make us whole.

You.

A bitter aftertaste is what you always leave behind,
Your evil smile always betrays your intentions,
Everytime you love me just to cut me open,
Again and again till it leaves a scar so deep
That it will soon be impossible to heal,
It will run from my heart to my soul,
Killing me slowly from the inside,
My eyes blank like a corpse,
My smile like the painted mouth on a doll,
My hands unable to render a loving touch,
My fingers stiff and frozen, my arms limp by my side,
I am a puppet trying to cut away from your strings of lies,
Getting more and more entangled with every tug,
Your loveless eyes follow me around,
As I struggle to free myself,
You stand there laughing at my agony,
And then you leave, never looking back,
Leaving me in the darkness tied up in your strings of lies.

Pieces of Love.

Like the crashing waves try to find comfort in unknown shores,
I try to find familiarity in unfamiliar places,
Strangers look like home sometimes,
Bits and pieces of love found in people,
Familiar things that make me think,
My mind is in a frenzy,
I am addicted to this feeling that makes me feel whole,
Who do I love? Is it the people or is it the moments?
A melody? A memory? A look? A smile?
It’s a fleeting thing isn’t it?
I want this to last a lifetime,
I try to grasp on to it like water droplets on the palm of my hand,
But maybe this is it,
A lifetime of bits and pieces,
Of happiness found in unlikely places,
That makes you whole.

Rainy Days

On days like this I think of your eyes
Like the overcast skies,
They too conceal unfathomable mysteries;
On days like this I think of your smile,
The way your lips curl into bashful assertion,
Always with a touch of melancholy;
On days like this I think of your hands,
Your fingers intertwined with mine,
Like the knotted bows of rain swept trees;
On days like this I think of your laugh,
Booming and crashing over my ears like the thundering skies,
On days like this I think of your smell,
Earthy and fresh like the essence of childhood;
On days like this, when the sky pours down and the earth gets soaked,
I think of you.

The Definition of Crazy

‘I am crazy!’ She says with a lift of her eyebrows;
Oh she must be a party girl,
Great in the sack;
Dances like no is watching,
Oh she likes being watched;
Look at those curves,
It must be Yoga or Pilates or
whatever they are doing these days;
That lipstick makes her mouth pop;
Oh she knows it does,
Cigerette after cigerette, the butts stained dark like her lips,
Impenetrable eyes, cryptic smile,
Blowing out smoke with a fierce nonchalance,
She is Confident, candid and probably a cunt.

When she says she is crazy,
She means that she roams around supermarkets,
Trying to fill the emptiness with chia seeds and green tea,
Goes to therapy looking for an answer,
To questions that keep changing with her mood,
Cigerettes keep her calm; or so she thinks,
Lying awake at night, thinking of ways to escape,
Consumed by the emptiness beside her,
Long tearful phone calls to mother,
Missed meals, missed people, missed life,
Believes love is real, she felt it that day,
Unread messages, unanswered calls,
But she still hopes, she still feels,
Because she is crazy.

Instagram Lives

Highlighted faces,
High heeled souls,
Holiday in Mykonos,
Sponsored promises of happiness;
A click will get you there,
A better smile, a better home, a better love;
‘I love you baby’ gets twenty thousand likes,
‘This is #couplegoals’ comments Bella_0123;
Smart phones, smart words,
Smart lives, death;
‘RIP’ with a heart emoji, comments Kingston_0069.

I like flats, I like the old words,
I like bare faced vulnerability,
Uneventful Sunday mornings,
Scheduled shows on solitary TV sets,
The comfort of anticipation,
Winter sunlight and monsoon clouds,
The bitter sweetness of longing,
Playtime in the cradle of nature,
Dirty hands, dirty faces, untainted minds; unspoken love, presented on a plate at breakfast,
Keeping the nightmares away while you sleep;
Life lived outside a box of dreams.