Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul



My mouth is an open wound for the flies

Honey, let me tell you what your eyes refuse to see

When I smile at the man who dares touch my skin,
All my insides turn upside down
My ribcage strain to hold out anger
My chest is empty of breaths and full of violence
A curse has latched itself into my bones ─
It peels. It burns.

Beyond my Cheshire smile is a war
Between words I want to say and the world that won’t let me
My heathen tongue is shut by the thing that you call “joke”
So I bite down a wrathful scream
Swallow a coil of sorrow,
Bury it deep in a mass grave of apologies

For being a woman who can’t fight.

Honey, you see ─ or perhaps you don’t
There is no safe place my kind
Against the devil and you, the accessory to the crime
Who thinks a touch,
A tap,
A graze,
A pinch
Is just being “playful”

I am not a toy.

I am bones and flesh held hostage
By prejudice and wealthy monsters
Who use my lack for their gain ─
Leave your pretense on my doorstep
For I have long died
My smile ─ no, my mouth
Is now an open wound for the flies

Open your eyes.

I know that I said I won’t let current news and affairs affect me. That I would take care of my mental health first. But there are just those days when people’s stupidity triggers the anger in you. This is one of those moments.

What if you didn’t cheat?

What if you didn’t cheat?

I’m sorry, but I can’t find a metaphor for you to get around this thought so I just have to ask it straight to your face.

What if you didn’t cheat?

You would be playing the guitar under the moonlit sky as I sing Daniel Caesar’s Best Part for the seventh time. Your fingers would hurt from strumming and probably your eardrums too from listening. But you would just laugh it out. You always do.

Like when I stepped on your toes while trying to reach a book from the top shelf. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. I had no idea who the bearded guy was but I heard reading his book would make one look smarter. So I bought it. And you laughed.

But this is not a night for laughing. This is a night for asking how could a man who loves coffee forgets his mate? How could an ‘I love you’ sound like another woman’s name. How could emptiness sit between two people, with each passing second leaving a stab in the back straight to the heart?

There goes your metaphor.

It’s funny how I can liken cheating to so many things. A scenery gone wrong. Failing an open book test. Salt in a sugar jar. A crime with no punishment.

If only one of them would make the pain a little bearable.

What if you didn’t cheat? I probably wouldn’t have to worry on who I’d be: the girl who walks away or the girl who stays?


An Ode to 6th street


You are the memory lane
Of long walks and
Dancing in the rain.
Your pavement is warmth
With our footsteps
Two pairs of prints
Side by side.
The trees chant of a romantic song
Swaying with the wind
Playing a wondrous music.
The lamppost at the end of your road
Is my northern star
Taking me home.
Casting its light over our love nest
A wooden bench
Where my love waits
In his crescent smile.
Two souls stuck in a black hole
Time frozen still
Lost in the void.
6th street you are my oasis
Keeping my love alive
For I may have lost
The warmth of his touch
But your are a memento
Of what we once had.

Sickness took its toll during the weekend and my mind is both a mess and a chaos. Odes and metaphors are lovely pairs but it took me quite some time to make one that involves the idea of  a ‘map’. I hope this one does justice.

So here goes my attempt to blend Ode and metaphor for our Writing 201 Day 5 assignment. 🙂

Prompt: Map
Form: Ode
Device: Metaphor

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