alternate universe/ 30 of 30!!!!/ 121

Every bone in my body is
aching for something more.
In an alternate universe,
I am wiser and happier,
I am wearing a white
tshirt and looking effortless,
the sunlight casting a
soft glow over my face,
but in a calm and collected
and you know, cool way.
In an alternate universe,
I am almost Beyonce.
Or maybe, I’m the
person who writes all her
songs- maybe I’m a
pseudonym, hiding behind
a mask, or a helmet,
or a wig, maybe I’m a
real world mystery-
in an alternate universe,
I am where I want to be.
Whether it’s in a different
city, or just a different body,
I am what I could not be
in this life. In a alternate
universe, I am the sound
of the sea in the smallest
of seashells. The song of
the nightingale. In an
alternate universe, I am
more. More than I am now,
more than I’ll ever be here,
in an alternate universe,
I am free, like a bird, or
a really rich girl, I am a
feather in the wind-
just drifting.
In an alternate universe,
my bones are just bones,
and the only ache I feel
is one of satisfaction after
a long, long day of
being who I really am.

27 of 30/ 118

I keep imagining your bed.
Keep imagining you on it.
I had almost forgotten what
the heat feels like, forgotten
the unflinching passion, and the
desire for more, more, more of you,
I keep imagining you.
One layer less every time.
I keep imagining what it would
be like to be next to you, keep imagining
what our bodies could do, what we
could do, if we weren’t so far away.
Because if we weren’t, if we weren’t,
just imagine the fire between us.

26 of 30/ 117

I am in love
with someone’s back,
after all
imagine falling for
who stays, imagine
a person who loves you
back, I
am in love with flaws.
Black and
blue, my arms are
with them- I am unable
to fit in
without cutting myself
into pieces.
I am in love with pain,
with the
feeling of flaying myself,
of skinning
myself alive, I am in love
with nothing
good. Nothing happy.
all I’ve loved is a fool,
is unworthy,
is just not good enough,
after all,
I’m in love with myself.
I’m still not sure why.

slipping away/ 23 of 30/ 114

I have forgotten what
love feels like. The
elusive quality slips
through my fingers
like running water,
and I, am never quite
able to catch it.
Instead, I sit
ankle deel in
its stream, and
I wonder, will it
ever stop floating
away from me?

dreamer/ 21 of 30/ 112

I am not a writer.
Nor a preacher.
I am not a marketer,
working for an ideology,
or a form of currency.
I was not made to
incite your emotions
or manipulate
your feelings.
I am a dreamer.
When I look at
the world, I imagine
it’s best and worst,
I see it with all its
thunder and pomp,
with all its nature
and kindness, when I
look at the earth,
I fall in love,
because there is
nothing more
beautiful than
being alive.

sleep/ 20 of 30/ 111

I want to sleep- the
exahustion gnaws
at me like a rat, and
I can’t think, can’t
breathe, can’t live
Likely this- I want to
sleep. I don’t know
when and I don’t know
how, but, but I still will,
one day. I want to sleep,
but it’s a farce.
A farce.

19 of 30/ 110

There is a knot in my stomach
and I don’t know how to untie it.
Once I tried, but I just made
it tighter- squeezing my entrails
even as I tried to break free.
There is a lump in my throat,
and it’s making it hard to swallow.
Every time I try, I just get stuck,
so instead I don’t eat, don’t drink,
don’t speak. There is an insecurity
hovering at the back of my head,
aand now my mind is a ghost town.
All I can feel is the lingering
sense of unease, the feeling
that today- today is not my day.
Neither is tomorrow. Or day after.
There is a knot in my stomach,
a lump in my throat, a spirit in
my mind, but there is also hope.
Hope in my heart, that one day,
one night, one week, everything
is going to be alright.

ghost/ 14 of 30/ 105

Do you remember the day you became a ghost?
When your elbows turned to dust, and your feet became wisps of air, when you slowly, steadily, faded away.
Do you remember that split second where the colours of the city faded away, when the bright lights, and noisy streets no longer held any appeal- your city, the one you had loved so much, became a ghost town.
And you were just another invisible inhabitant.
Do you remember the day you learned to stay quiet, a look from your father in a room full of strangers when you blurted out too much too soon, the slap that followed, the systemic silencing that it led to,
do you remember what you were like before?
Before becoming a ghost, you were, well, alive. Vibrant. Sharp. Before becoming a ghost, you spoke too much, and danced on every ray of sunlight that hit you. You used to gather up your courage and clutch it with beady eyed desperation, like you wouldn’t survive without it. And you were right.
When they took it away, when they broke you, broke you in the name of morality, in the name of sanctity and justice, your courage faded away and so did you, until you were just a ghost, just a wisp of what you were. What you could’ve been.
Do you remember the day you became a ghost?
It was the day you lost yourself.
The day I lost you.