depression · Free Verse · Free verse Poetry · Love · love poem · love quote · Poem · Poetry · prose · sadness

A Heart Turned Black

wp-1480257216208.jpgI wrote over the lines on my heart
Where your name was heavily scribbled,
Replacing each letter with ink
That turned my hand black.
I erased memories and feelings,
Burying them deep underneath,
Hidden away,
So they never threaten to resurface again.

I repeatedly scrawled over
All that was you
And filled in all the empty spaces.
Like a patched up quilt,
I colored each gaping hole
Where missing pieces once resided;
Pieces that didn’t belong to you
But you took anyway.

When I was done
I stepped back
And took a moment
To admire my masterpiece .
I noticed my hand
Which was now all black
Much like my heart
And with no trace of you.

Free verse Poetry · Love · love poem · love quote · Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Walls And How They Fall

The walls you’ve built
Will come tumbling down one day
And you’ll feel helpless
Like a child
Reaching for things
With too small arms
And failing.
You’ll wonder
How it got to this
How those walls you intricately built
Could come crashing down so easily.
But here’s the thing,
It wasn’t easy
It wasn’t easy to bring them down
Like it wasn’t easy to put them up.
And I pray for once
That you’d let them stay down,
And I promise
It won’t be too bad
When you’ll see
That someone can finally look in
At who you really are,
And love you for it.

alone · Free Verse · Free verse Poetry · love poem · Poetry · sadness · Uncategorized

Falling Alone

We were supposed to go down
together
so we’d have each other
to break the fall.
You’d catch me,
and I’d you.

But instead
only I tumbled
and fell
while you walked off to another
leaving me behind
to pick up the pieces
of the mess you created
with me
but didn’t stay
for the aftermath of it.

And that left me
drowning
in debris
I had to clean up
alone.

Love · prose · quote · ramblings · self love · Uncategorized · Writing

Appreciate Yourself

You don’t have to be soft and fragile and sweet, you can be hard and edgy and bitter. I know your eye lashes aren’t long enough and your eyes don’t exactly hhsparkle. Your skin flakes and your lips get chapped; you’re all kinds of flaws bundled into a package. You laugh loud and sit awkwardly and put flowers in your hair to make yourself feel pretty. You ask yourself questions you can’t answer, you lie to yourself too. You break hearts including your own again and again. You cry ugly then wipe your own tears.
So what if your eyes don’t hold stars and your smile is kinda wonky? So what if you don’t talk a lot and have a few friends? So what if you’re a hopeless romantic and he doesn’t want you? You’re bitten nails and messy hair and an unhealthy addiction to chocolate. There’s no other way to be you. You’re fucking art, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

 

Originally posted on instagram: https://www.instagram.com/p/BMrVcqwDWm-/

abuse · female objectification · feminism · Free Verse · Free verse Poetry · harassment · Poetry · Uncategorized · women rights

Beloved Land, You Have Failed Her

1414740760video-eve-teasing

I feel unsafe on the land on which I walk,
though each grain of sand beneath my feet
is a testament to my existence.
This is the land that raised me,
shaped me into being,
the blood of my ancestors
still running cold underneath,
the land where I was born
the land to which I shall return,

The land that vowed to love me;
yet that very land
is unable to protect me today;
a woman.

I try to avert gazes
that look hungrily ahead,
mirth in their eyes
as looks are exchanged,
my DNA itself aware of what
meaning each look holds.
I am nothing but another item
to be gained, or to be used
for purposes of ridicule,
for their own enjoyment.
I am nothing but a mere object,
personified as a human.

A checklist in my mind
crosses each line off one by one:
is this covered, is that covered,
am I covered,
so I fall victim to the lesser of gazes
compared to the woman
who dares to show
a snippet of her skin.

“I shall not be objectified”
“I shall not be objectified”
I tell myself repeatedly,
to instill in me even a shred of self-dignity.
But even with all of my skin
compellingly hidden away
and my clothes
no way making evident, that I
may in fact be a woman,
my face betrays me
as I fall victim to crude glances
expectantly.
“You have already been objectified”
my voice tells me,
“the moment your chromosomes decided to be female.”

My beloved land,
the day a woman
had to cower down
before a man
for his own pleasure
was the day
you failed her,
you failed me,
you failed us all.