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Out of the shadows it glows
like a little piece of ethereal

rock on a seashore. It glitters
and flickers till it blinds me –

a snowman in spring warmth.

From the hollow of my fated
demise, I see this otherworldly

torch touch and topple my gloom,
lift and lighten my load as I take a

dramatic turn to divinity. The One
whom I’ve rejected all winter now

bears my fate in His loving hands.
If I didn’t know God’s love existed,

I breathe that air now.

Daddy taught me to love the way
he loves the bottle—
a terrifying, grotesque sort of love
that only Ligeia could know in such
eloquence. Daddy taught me to watch
the way they run. All-consuming, he calls
it, our love, obsessive and compulsive,
the same way he cherishes his bottle.

In the shadows of a broken home,
Where love once bloomed, now withers,
Echoes linger, haunting walls,
Silent screams, unheard whispers.

She wears bruises like a secret,
Her spirit, a fragile porcelain vase,
He wields anger like a blade,
Their love story, a twisted maze.

The clock ticks in sync with her heartbeat,
Each second a battle, a desperate plea,
Behind closed doors, she hides her tears,
A prisoner of love, yearning to be free.

His rage ignites like wildfire,
A tempest of fists, words that scar,
She tiptoes through minefields of despair,
Her dreams crushed, like fallen stars.

The children watch, wide-eyed witnesses,
Their innocence shattered, hearts aflame,
They learn that love can be a cage,
Where pain masquerades as passion’s name.

But hope flickers, a fragile ember,
She gathers strength, finds her voice,
In whispered defiance, she seeks refuge,
Breaking chains, making a choice.

For every bruise, a silent vow:
To rise, to heal, to reclaim her light,
To rewrite the script of her existence,
And banish darkness into the night.

If you look close enough,
at the palm of my left hand,
you’ll find a piece of pencil led,
sitting right below the surface.

I don’t remember exactly when it got there,
and I’ve been trying to figure out
exactly when it’ll fade.

Sometimes when I look at it,
I find myself mistaking it for you.

No one told me that losing you,
would surface in every corner of me,
that I’d find pieces of you in my own skin.

You are paper cuts in between
each and every one of my fingers,
I can still feel you
stinging me,
every time I reach for someone else’s hand.

You RSVP’d to all my milestones,
so now there’s an empty seat
in the front row of my life.
I find myself staring at it hoping,
you might just be running late.

Do you remember when we switched smiles?
You said you only needed yours
when you were with me.

Now I have your wisdom teeth and cavities
and smile lines made from laughing with,
someone else.

Lately, I’ve been finding your dreams
camouflaging as sunspots all over my skin.

I’ve tried to carve them out,
but ended up with scratches,
that look awfully like your handwriting.

They say your birthmarks
show where you were killed in your past life,
so I etched the sound of your laughter
into my palms,
hoping you’ll recognize it
the next time we meet.

If we ran towards each other
and collided in the middle,
would our scars line up like puzzle pieces,
until we are just one person,
when we hit the ground?

One day my kids will ask me,
How’d you get that scar?
and I,
I won’t remember anymore.

You are tan lines and seasonal freckles.
You are not as permanent,
as I once thought you were.

You will fade.

Meow
Will you take my hand?
Lead the way.
At your discretion.
Is where I remain.
May I walk beside you?
Help and provide strength.
Love and support you?
I’ll show you.
I mean what I say.
– Meowgical

Our souls are rather starmates
Scattered when the universe designed
Pressed beyond years, space, and time
Still, through this life,
And previous ones combined
They ventured back together
Your cosmic being and mine
Carrying imprints from prior collisions
Fitted and aligned
That’s why our love is boundless
Our fates are forever intertwined

love you. Three simple words that can either enrich or destroy a person. In a matter of seconds your life can change. It’s said by many but feared by others. I love you. Many overthink these three little words. But why? It expresses a vast number of emotions, some good, some bad. I love you. The words every person longs to hear. Whether it’s said in desperation or adoration. Three words. I love you.

I like my body when it is sleeping
Next to yours, like once you banging
Your head into the wall, so asleep ,
So I turn over, scrape electric fuzz love sheets,
n you look at me, wide open fast
Asleep eyes n kissed my lips.

I lay here with a loud heart,
Pattered by this and that and you.
My side dented by your spine of your body
and your bones and a humming firmness
Deciding if this was a conscious trick

Or

You loving enough to kiss this through your sleep,
because nothing false and possible is
Love (what does that mean?)
Nothing false and possible is I really like
You.

i have so much love in me
and still i can’t love anyone if it’s not you
i can’t give my love to anyone else
when it’s all named after you
the love inside me is dying to spurt on you
but you don’t seem to know
the love in me is desperate,
begging on its knees
calling for you to take it
without having back even an ounce
the love just wants you to feel loved
can’t you just come back for a while
and take all the love it has stored inside?
its killing me slowly
it despises me fully
loathes my existence
cause the love in me blames me
for your absence
the love is all mine
but it doesnt love me not even a small bite
can you just come back for a while
and take all the love it has stored inside?
free me while you’re at it
cause i don’t want the love inside me
die with me miserably.

Is gone.

She was probably on her way out, even, the many times you chose to ignore the raging fire behind her thinly-veiled mist. Who could’ve thought?

Who could’ve thought that of what you thought was likely a storm that would pass with the night, clear up by the crack of the dawn, would leave no trace of her by morning?

‘Let bygones be bygones,’ some say. But hard though it is to not reminisce about your times together; hard – to just give in to it like that. You sift through the memories and latch on to the bad ones; admittedly, there weren’t many of the other kind.

‘Aargh!’ you scream in frustration, ‘God!’

She was not so very unlike this immature lover who after one ill-fated fight, barges into the attic, then struts her suitcase half-open through the hallway and across a crowded room to hastily throw in all her things – postcards, sea-shells, clothes neatly folded and never used. Then crouches on the sofa, sniffling all night while you slept, convinced it would all be fine the next morn.

She chose to leave you in the hands of a reckless Summer, just – “and hear me out”, you plead – because this one time, you mumbled something somewhere about warmth and the Sun, and were caught grumbling about her cold and the many layers. She thought it was only befitting to leave you in the confines of someone you remembered only fondly. Here you are again, in the grip of this familiar comfort of – who as it happens to be right now – is smiling and shining and thawing your stone heart. But soon – soon enough – this comfort will begin to scorch the soles of your feet as you scamper around to find the whereabouts of the former.

The barren, arid crust of your heart cannot quench its soul with the rising ocean at bay. Perhaps, she was insecure. Perchance, she thought she possessed not the many charms of the Spring or the faint colours of Autumn, or suspected you were crushing on the Rains. She no longer thinks of you, did not even leave a note, let alone return your calls, but you keep trying. When you finally get a hold of her, she whimpers through the static on her end. You reason. You argue. You try to negotiate.

“But you don’t even like me!?” she sobs quietly.

“It’s – it’s not that,” you sigh, “just – just not the way you are, alright?”

The line drops dead before you can relent. Perhaps, she’s finally learnt of your devious record as a lover – that you are no better, just bitter kettle calling the pot black. That you’re just seething to stay afloat in a sea of her tears.