Locally dorky

You see lumps of skin, I see brilliant curves.  You see bluish marks, I see strokes of perfection.  You see horrific scars, I see experiences painted on  You see bones and no flesh, I see hard work and no rest. You see fine lines that crinkle, I see a beautifully aged masterpiece.  You see a nest of bushy hair,  I see black glitter of warmth and care. You see me for my body, I see myself as the sculpture I am. You and me are both imperfect And perfect we needn’t be nonetheless. For all pieces of art are flawed, Yet we adore them all.  We love them for the truth they portray Without putting them on weighing scales   So, if we can keep a canvas framed, Why can’t we treat our bodies the same?

Two islands sit Divided by but a limbo stick, And all my kith and kin pass through,  Coming out on the other side, they succeed. There I am in the queue, “You’re the next in view”, they spew; So, there I am bending down Under the stick but never through .  And I am now stuck in limbo  Quite literally I vow ; The ones behind me pass by  Without giving me so much as a second dekko.  One fine day while still being stuck  I see another one by me but, A stranger he be and I know not  Whether to stay aloof or let him hold my trust.  The stranger smiles up Touches my hand thus. Says one won’t pass without the other,  I promise come out will none or the both of us . But the next morn I wake, To see the stranger has left unfazed. Pushed forward in the cycle he was, Left me behind, got himself through and safe. Yet there I was still hung While thousand strangers flung; Stuck till t...

Source: dccatllanta “Melanie, please stop calling me,” he said as he whined tiredly. She had called him about ten times in the last twenty minutes.  But, what could she do, she had loved him and she felt so small. She felt like a speck of dust that he had wiped off with a rose detergent and a new but torn cloth; because that is how he has made her feel. He had made her feel like a rose, only to realize later that she had also been a thorn in his path.He had made her feel fresh, but also like some torn cloth that could be replaced.  She had just been another girl to him and while she knew that, she still dreamt about watching the sun  drown in the reddish sky at twilight with him beside her.  All of it was in vain. He had never seen her the way she saw him. She was no one special. There were five others whom he talked to the way he used to talk to her. Five she had known of, there could be many more.  Her mind was racing, her breath wa...