Prose
She
Everything about her was a lie. She wore a mask to hide the pain, to hide the urge to scream and tell the world that she just wanted to fit in. Why? she ask, why God, you make me so different and unique. She thinks that it is a flaw but she doesn't know that it is the greatest gift of her that I know. Her crooked smile, her big doe eyes, her dark brown freckles, her 'heavy' thighs. God, she is gorgeous And I am blessed that she is mine and my love, I say to her, I hope one day you see yourself through my eyes....
By Prasidhi Agarwal2 years ago in Poets
The narrative. Content Warning.
I feel a melody carry me through the good memories, each one staring back at me as I face the final moment. Part of me goes fighting, grabbing anything worth holding onto. But a tear falls down my cheek and it all wastes away. Part of me is terrified of what comes next, if there is anything at all. I say goodbye in my heart— I can't move my hands. Another tear falls.
By Aathavi Thanges2 years ago in Poets
a dime a dozen
i won’t try to scare you with the promise that you’ll never find another girl like me, when we both know what’s most terrifying is just how common i can be. you’ll never want to see my eyes again, but you’ll spot them everywhere, like dirty windows, as light and clear as smudged glass. you’ll see a hundred brunettes a day with hair tumbling down their sagging backs, with lazy buns and bangs to help hide the faces they can’t stand, faces you’ll start hating too. they’ll cry enough to combat the worst of droughts because they’ll have issues that ignite like gasoline and i can’t wait for you to learn that i was never as obscure as you swore i seemed. they’ll ask about the things you hate and things you love and things you like somewhere in between and they’ll beg you to place them in one of those categories. they’ll question if they exist and if they do, they’ll wonder if they should; you’ll hold the bodies they loathe while they compare themselves to something they think you’d rather have, because we’re well aware of how typical our mouths must taste and how mundane it must sound when we confess how we’ve never loved someone like you before.
By melancholy galaxies2 years ago in Poets
