I think I’ve mastered the art,
Of taming my wild heart,
Now my heart doesn’t flutter,
Thinking about you,
And my mind doesn’t revolve in circles,
Making up stories about me & you,
Ah! It feels so good to be free,
From this day-dreaming spree,
Where you’re on my head,
Every second of my day.
Phew!
I thinking I’ve finally, successfully
Un-crushed on…
Uh-oh!!
This is fatality!
I’m writing poetry
About
YOU!
Get the f*** out of my head!!!
To the flamboyant boy from my school,
I realize now, you’ve always been cool,
From the way that you dressed up,
To your expressions, always over the top.
I remember how we shunned you,
All the hush-hush behind you,
‘Cause somebody told you’re gay,
And you kinda behaved that way.
But now I’m questioning everything,
That I’ve learned in my childhood days,
For they were flat out rude and demeaning,
A better me, I want to embrace.
I wish I stood up for you back then,
Questioned everything again and again,
Why is, “You are so gay,” an insult,
While “You are so manly,” a compliment?
Why weren’t we taught anything in schools?
Lifelong education, and graduating fools.
I’m sorry that I opened my eyes a lot later,
But I’m glad, it’s better late than never.
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A business woman fierce and bold,
Her eyes as shrewd as an eagle,
On her affairs, she’s a tight hold,
Don’t mess with her, or you’ll shrivel.
That rad woman is no other,
Than my super duper cool mother,
She’s awesome, my role model,
Raised me bold and strong, didn’t coddle.
Inspired by: Whittled Words – Rispetto Poem by Brad Osborne
Featured image by: Anuj Yadav from Pexels
We weren’t best friends, not even close,
Maybe that’s why we didn’t stay in touch,
Occasional conversations once in a while,
Months and months went by without a word,
So, I write to you words I never said,
Oh, how I took you for granted,
Knew you’d always be there,
Just a call or a text away.
I remember our jokes & your weird laugh,
The way you played with colors & shapes,
Ah, how you strived to be better every day,
My partner in almost all my works,
You were the creative to my copy.
And I hate it more than I can express,
There won’t be working together ever again,
That I need to talk about you in the past tense,
How is it fair that I need to go on,
While your journey comes to an end?
How is it fair to any of us,
To go on without you in our lives?
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My phone rings and I’m rattled,
To pick or not, I battle,
For I fear the news,
Shall give me bruise,
I don’t want to hear,
How I lost someone dear,
Every ring gives me terror,
Bad news they deliver,
Almost one person each day,
Is taken far far away,
Friends, family, relatives,
All wiped away by diseases,
With no pause in between,
Deaths after deaths I see,
Yet somehow we’re expected,
Very easily demanded,
To be just as productive,
Just as creative.
Photo by MART PRODUCTION from Pexels
I don’t have a junk box,
Just a junk field in my heart,
Where I store the memories,
The good, the bad, & the ugly,
Chambers are decorated with grudges,
Carved by pins, knives, and bullets,
Some fresh, some rusted,
All gifted in the name of love,
You can’t ignore the thick stench,
Of bad blood and dead hopes,
The cacophonic murmurs,
Voices that just don’t stop,
Finally a strong iron wall,
To keep all that contained within.
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Magical, beautiful, calm, & pure,
Strong legs & horn that cure,
That’s how unicorns are meant to be,
But I’m kinda different and very very lazy.
It’s an innate behavior they say,
For unicorns to keep poisons at bay,
But this century is a lot harder,
Than those seen by my ancestors.
Oceans, rivers, lakes, and ponds,
All are polluted beyond bounds,
How can one single Unicorn,
Make all that mess gone?
Then, there are diseases to cure,
But where do I start? I’m not sure.
So, I go around pooping rainbows,
While scientists run my show.
Then, there are nasty paleontologists,
And super cunning archeologists,
Digging up my mother’s grave,
I’ve got secrets to save.
And the list goes on and on,
With never-ending chores,
Phew! I’m taking a long nice nap,
Before the world ends, give me a tap.
For NaPoWriMo Day 9. An unsual to-do list.
That wretched doctor who took my life,
I curse him from beneath the grave,
Oh, how he said cancer is to blame,
After operating me for tumor, what a shame!
Oh, how my daughter cried,
As she saw me rapidly fade,
And my sons gave up their dreams,
Too soon, they had responsibilities to take,
Then, there’s this magical little girl,
Whom I never got to meet,
She has my eyes, my nose,
And a small part of my soul,
She stares into my photo and says,
As if I can hear her pray,
“Everything would have been different,
If… if only, you were alive.”
Damn! Her wishes keep me awake,
Pondering, wondering, screaming,
‘What if I had a few more years to live?’
There’s no resting in peace.
NaPoWriMo Day 8. Monolouge of a dead person.
Featured image by: Irina Iriser from Pexels
I don’t know.
Don’t know anymore,
My purpose,
Destiny,
Do I even have any?
Don’t know anymore.
My frail attempt at creating a shadorma stanza.
Featured image by: Maria Orlova from Pexels
Forgive, forget, and move on,
I don’t know, how you do it.
‘Cause 4 years and 5 months later,
I still can’t look myself in the mirror.
After what I did to you,
I don’t know me anymore.
Who am I? I have no clue,
And my heart is still sore.
But you forgave me in an instant,
Didn’t even ask for an explanation.
And years later, I still ponder…
“Did you care?” I wonder.
‘Cause if our places were reversed,
We would no longer stay friends,
That would have been the end.
For this poem, I took a line, ‘If our positions had been reversed, would I have forgiven her?’ from The Queen of Hearts by Kimmery Martin.
Featured image by: Victoria Borodinova from Pexels
