When I was in class 2, I wrote ‘I love you’ And sent it to a girl. She called it dirty. She said ‘eww’. And into the bin, it flew. In boarding school, Some of my girl friends Slept in the same bed For far too long. And the warden Striped them with her … Continue reading Talk Dirty To Me
I love the confidence with which they speak: Can girls really work at night? Work on deadlines so tight? Do I really know programming? I don’t look like I study Science. My nails clicked and clacked on the desk As I shrunk in size inside - Remembering I am female, Remembering I’m seen as less. … Continue reading Why Humans Speak
Where were you? In class 7. Yes, you met one of your best friends. One you still love, And play hide and seek with on Skype. She thought you were weird. But she loved you anyway. Where were you? Not too young, But definitely not old. You were mature. You always said that. “I’m … Continue reading A Letter to My 12-year-old Self
Him I love her. But she doesn’t. Okay, fuck it. I don’t love her. I…I…feel for her. Something intense. It’s not love. I don’t stay up nights thinking of ways to make her love me. I am just fascinated by her…endlessly. She is made of awesome. And that is why I want her. I want … Continue reading A Stereotypical Love Story
I devour the raw human body. I cradle its imperfections in my arms With tender strength and heartache. I make it art. But humans hide Beneath fashion and face-paint, Exercise and scalpel doctors Who cut their face and make it art Of a consumable kind. I get it. I do it all the time. I … Continue reading Scalpels
She had a love-hate relationship with her tears. Which really just symbolised her difficult relationship with emotions - well, any emotion that betrayed vulnerability. She did not fully comprehend tears. What purpose did it serve? Why, at their most emotional, do people leak from their eyes? It was laughable, perhaps ironically. She was proud of … Continue reading Tearless
I like your skin - Like a piece of sin I cannot devour; Like another piece of meat I must forego. Your neck Is far more savoury Than that of any other beast. I like how it is darker - In the shadows, Like my thoughts must be - Guarded. By waves of your ocean-blue … Continue reading Sun-kissed
I like it here. Let's sit awhile. The grass, leaves, sky... Raindrops staining my pages, My book: Ariel And Plath. The eroded redness of my fingernails, Of my palms. The orange of my hair and Autumn. The black of my coat and mood: Too dark for photographs. The drops drench my ink, My poem. My … Continue reading Bute Park
Dey: Of all those I have met anew and again, You are the treasure of this summer. There may be others who know me better. There may be others I call home. But no one fills me quite with wonder like you. It may be your unrestrained imagination That runs free of rules or taboo. … Continue reading A Successful Experiment
When something pisses me off, I write. So, I write, what is wrong with asking questions? Irony. People who are made fun of for asking questions, make fun of others for asking questions, who again make fun of others for asking questions. Well, this is not ironic at all. In fact, it is intentional. When … Continue reading What Is Wrong With Asking Questions?
Delirious 