Within.

Stars and diamond,

Gold and silver; Bangles and earrings.

Oh, you beautiful beings.

In this dark I see,

Torched sonnets, words in scripted on walls and ceilings.

Beautiful phrases, good grammar.

Does this get better?

I want to read, every bit of this place. Enclosed yet open, heaven in a tunnel.

Shall I die here?

A husky voice!

Ah, treasured secrets but narrow visions.

This is love, this is lust.

I lust those lips, from which these words emerge.

Those eyes, who do you seek?

So much glamour. How words resonate in you!

Not every script is made for thy land.

Lie down with me, on the sand.

Fill every bit of this paper. With art, with music, with words!

Words that will awaken you, the ones that shall touch you.

Oh, his hand.

Sculpted with the colour of Adam, reflecting masculinity.

Not fair and fragile like hers.

Not painted, not jewelled. Just perfected.

He would hold the fountain pen, while she would hide in her den.

Her magic, his words.

The ones that read her curves.

Just above her belt, between the t-shirt; that little corner of her waist that peeped.

He had lusted her, but he loved words.

Now he loved her and lusted words.

His mysteries were now a maze.

Her beauty now his craze.

 

 

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You might not know your name, but you know your story.

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It’s back! The energy, the magic. It’s not perfect but it’s there. I can feel my hands finally escaping their fears and itching to write again. It feels wonderful!

This feeling, when your phone is how it should be, switched off. You are how you should be.

Calm. Yet, bubbling with energy! Sleepless.

Like every cell of my body is jumping, smiling, craving. Craving to be heard. Not in a painful way but in a very joyful, crazy way.Crazy! Yes, that’s who we all are. Now I am again!My blood rushes and pumps itself as I write these words. I’m here. I’m home.In my room where the walls are white, the furniture shapes and molds to the choice of my colours. White, blue. Peace and serenity fill the air.I feel calmness in my breathe, in my body.  It feels good.Not to be struggling to breath, with the fear that someone might harm you, touch you.Physically, emotionally.It feel good to be this way to just simply listen to yourself. Calmly and patiently.There is no good that can be killed by the bad. It’ll come back. If it’ true it always does( A lot like love)

I’m back to tell myself,My worth.That despite circumstances, comments and perceptions;I’m beautiful and you- reading this are too.

You might not know your name; but  only you know your story, so embrace yourself, cry, fall and break but pick yourself up smile, laugh and join the pieces back again!

xox

We’re all stories In The End.

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Am I your first page?

Am I reaching out to you?

Are you reading me? Will you turn the page?

Will you hold me close to you?

Will you cradle me in your lap?

Or

Will you leave me?

Read me like I’m not yours?

Will you ?

Will you leave the world to be with me?

Do the words inscribed on me,

Bring you closer to me?

Will you read me?

Will you gasp your breathe to turn to the next chapter?

Will you continue?

I’m reaching out to you.

My pages are torn,

Mistreated by the others,

I’m pale, yellow.

Some say,

That’s what attracts the ‘writers’

Are you one of those?

Will you pick me up?

From the library of all others,

Will my story be yours?

Will you treasure me?

I promise to be there,

Silently,

I promise to sit in your shelf,

Creep into your mind,

To turn back to me,

When you’re alone.

I’ll teach you, silently.

You love me, silently.

After all,

We’re all stories in the end.

Can I be your last page?