Bottled Up Thoughts

  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.                                    ...

  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.                               ...

I bleed in red, And so, the women you worship once did. Many thanks to the commercials fond of color swapping red for blue, or for water white, or just something new: Like they dislike the red I bleed. But for a thirteen-year-old he and she might just believe it all to be true. Ashamed of that which is real, she is made to hide it - Within dense layers of coal-black plastic. The world has left me drained, relating my impatience to hormonal shifts; Loud voices teaching me to keep it a secret, and that it was all dirty. Like a sunflower,  I will bloom on the gift of Motherhood; this red leaves behind. Like a sunflower,  I will bloom  amidst these closed minds all around; Affirming in bold: RED IS NOT THE COLOUR OF A SIN. I bleed in red, And so, the women you worship once did. Period.                                           ...

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.       ...