To the one who is packing lunch
For kids on a sultry summer morning
To the one who just got her heartbroken,
God knows how many times.
The one who is struggling every day
To get up from the bed.
To the one who is searching online,
How to hide bruises on the face on the internet.
To the one trying to hide blemishes
With a concealer.
To the one who just finished a whole
Tub of chocolate ice cream.
To the one who smoked her last
cigarette of the day.
To the women whose partner is indifferent
And went to sleep early.
This is an ode to all the women
who took control of their pleasure
against all odds
This is an ode to all the
women who do themselves.
s.m
Notes On Grief: Part 1
Unlike the apple on my table, which will start rotting in the next few days. Grief remains raw like a fresh wound. The wound does not heal with time it becomes something else, something without a shape, size, or smell. It becomes everything and keeps changing its form with each passing day.Grief can bean empty chairmessy bedstained mirrorcigarette butsempty packets of chipsAmy Winehouse songsunread messagesMonsoon rainsBelow average poemsA splitting headacheand nothing.General Laws of physics don't apply to grief, time has no effect on it.Grief is a cage and which just gets bigger with time.We just get used to it, like an apple on a table.
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