When You See Me Again

When you see me again,

Let us talk about the things we enjoyed.

Like the movie we watched in

which the man never found true love,

But where the woman cried a lot

Over her loneliness,

And you told she resembles me,

her pale features were like mine,

Adding beauty to my smile.

And this being the only thing

That we enjoyed,

I may not know what to talk about next.

Just as you left in the middle of our picnic last month,

I kept staring at the untouched sandwich that I made for you,

And when I made peace with your plans,

You kept changing my playlist,

telling me I should be mature.

You brought things that my cat found amusing,

And told me to get rid of her,

But instead, I burnt your things,

Amusing her again.

You hated my makeup and told me I

Looked lovely without it,

So I darkened my Lip shade,

Cropped and colored my hair.

You told me to eat more because

I'm too skinny for your features,

So the next day,

I told you to stop eating to look like me.

And yesterday, when you told me,

I can't write and my poems

and books are stupid,

You started to look like a stranger

with your pompous talks

And ugly features.

Since only a movie is something that ties us together,

I have already forgotten it.

I'm wishing you luck,

not to trip and fall again on your own

Narcissism,

To end up like the man in the movie.

A. C

Comments

Shuli’s Love

Shuli washed her hair twice that day. One for her love to cleanse all impurities of reality and one for herself. She took a nap twice that day. One for love that took her melatonin, And another to forget. Shuli laughed twice that day. One on behalf of her tainted Love, And another on her botched brain cells. She cried a quarter that day. Half a quarter filled with anger, and the other half with shame. She danced twice that day, One for lost time on love, And another for her love for dance. Shuli wrote twice that day, One for her heart and Other for her brain. She gave two hugs that day, One for her wet pillow And another for herself. Shuli played hostess twice that day, One for her pain and the last for her sanity.

Little Poem

My procrastination ends here, While the urge to write chokes my throat, My hands get paralysed as in a trance, I find excuses to write a little poem, I make up a lonely man, a distressed woman, a lovers’ quarrel, an unrequited love, But they are reluctant to play the part, Maybe i should give them a raise, Or throw a party at midnight, Maybe a few drinks might work, Only if they don’t puke. I can expect a little vandalism, Some damage to the property and a mini scandal, Possibly out of rage. But at the end when I bring my weapons, Sometimes they get scared and back off, Some may never come back, Others find it funny and mock at me, And opportunists, seeing my desperation, Attacks me with manipulation. And all these while, my three panic attacks talk to me in a different language, I try to write a little poem With a racing heart and flowing eyes, I write my little poem, tortured and broken, I end my little poem, Like a mighty warrior, Who had a pyrrhic victory.

Madeline’s Mirror

Madeline’s mirror told her she’s fat, It appalled at her shapeless dress, Covering a chunk of flesh. She looked at her broad shoulders And big breasts, which reminded her of a pile of clothes that no longer fits her. But Madeline smiled and applied her eyeliner effortlessly. Her mirror sneered at her chafing thighs kissing each other when she moves. Madeline’s mirror found her plush lips contradicting the pair of flesh on either side of it. It spotted the two chins fighting for space like contestants in the combat zone. Madeline admired her freckleless skin, and applied her favourite lipstick. The mirror reflected her flabby arms complementing her saggy belly. Madeline moved closer to her mirror, which still in oblivion, started to produce sympathetic smiles at her legs. It mirrored how her legs carry all the weight, hiding under her flowy dress. Appreciating her silky hair and perfectly manicured...

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