Bottled Up Thoughts

  We are all peaceful cowards you, me, et al.; making homes out of words, living life in false fantasies and hypothetical affairs. We build palaces in the name of love, just to wander homelessly feeding apologies to our underloved hearts. We are all peaceful cowards you, me, et al.; masking faces behind forced filters, dumping feelings behind backspaces and archived drafts. We love people more than our own bodies, the mirrors throwback a reflection we don't recognize anymore. We are all peaceful cowards you, me, et al.; wearing no smiles of our own, hiding scars behind long sleeves and sunflowers. We fear unrolling our hearts into the open just to watch them shatter, harder each time. We are all peaceful cowards you, me, et al.; walking the roads never taken, piling petty rocks to build mountains of strength. We wait for the right time to arrive, shelving volumes of battlegrounds for another day. -J.

  Yellow is the warmth of the sun softly sliding  - through the windows of your room, Gently kissing your forehead  After a long night's sleep.  Yellow blends well with the butterflies  tickling your abdomen before the big day at work, beneath deep layers of sweaty palms  and breath-in, breath-outs. Yellow hides itself entirely within the bustling crowd at the stadium, - in your hometown cheering for your favourite team. Yellow is the shade spread  all over the kitchen walls that spot a mother feeding her children - a little more than what's left for her.  Yellow smells like caramel popcorn at the movies - medium-sized with butter on the sides, rightly settling your sugar cravings. Tucking a lone strand of hair behind my ear,  he asked 'what colour is yellow?' I held his palm and placed it over the daffodils  - we planted on the twenty-fifth birthday of the born-blind man I'm in love with, Briskly he smiled until his eyes gleamed.  ...

  The girl who loves you admires roses a little more than your morning face. The girl who loves you, shoots questions bluntly, about triggers, trips and trees; to your friend lists and favourite sweets.  She adores the way you spark a smile, soon after you see her.   The girl who loves you, adorns a puppy face, -all cutesy, to get you sing a song; or skip a sour pill or two when sick. This girl sing songs, writes poetry, and asks too many questions bluntly, when she misses you the most.   Her love for you, is daunting, yet comforting; like the added layer of chocolate chips on Vanilla ice-cream; Like the first sip of coffee on a lazy morning. You for her, feel like home, all warm and cozy. You for her, is someone worthy of all good things of the universe.                                    ...

 Two quarters past 5, We sit there, watch the sky lay a saffron lilac spread, As if setting the sun asleep After a long day. Slowly as things unfold, Like some layers of insecurities And of love; You felt like the courtyard Of some old fort, With such high walls None could ever break into. /Time lapse/ A quarter past 8, We walk by the footpath as our shadows follow, Like it's just you and me  in this whole world. One of the stars falls by And we watch it still. We talk of the silliest, of the adorable springs, And of the lush green plants. Of failing a subject or two, And of lives and death. /Time lapse/ It's three quarters past 9, Another star goes down. This time I see it, I make a wish To always stick by you, thru your thick and thins. Stick by you like the Ursa major  and it's seven stars, that we spot each day. To stay constant in your sky Blooming white daisies  and greeny plants, All year long. -J.

  A story it is, of love And only love. In the land of charm left unexplored by 'em all, lived two lovers; Sharing love somewhere between Chocolate chips And Nutella jars. The air smelled of bliss and beauty, As the moonlit skies watched them dance barefoot; to the songs- Of their beating hearts. Across the street Stood the love poems I have ever penned down: awwing at this tale, of love, And only love. For they, Were more than just two young girls silly in love, Rising high above the hushed whispers, And gender limits. Now Red, is the dearest tone no more. In seven striking shades of love, they soaked the otherwise greyish skies, Relishing pride like never before. Like how few of John Green's infinities, are bigger than the others; An endless story it remains forever: Of love, and only love.                               ...

You are a girl. Know how you will never be told  Of Cinderella who killed her step mother later when she was the Queen. Or how Ariel, the mermaid, almost killed the prince  soon after he married someone else. They're all afraid you'd know how a stranger  made love with the sleeping beauty,  all without her consent. You are a girl. You are never told the tales of the strong, of the women with imperfections. They won't tell how adorable your dreams And scars on your wrists are, And how they need not be hidden anymore. You are a girl. You are more than just geometry, or failed attempts at symmetry. You are more than your curved lines and edges and body angles. You are more than your body. You are to grow up to be the woman, With real flaws and issues of your own. Grow up, not to be a princess in wait of her prince charming, to get rescued. Grow up to be the Queen of your kingdom.       ...