Fuck Me


My name is wait it doesn’t matter.

You’ve known me far longer.

The frantic jacking off to the swimsuit issue.

The extra time spent with the faucet.

I was there.




I am the heat,

The desire that clouds your eyes

And blinds your senses.

I am the moan. I am the scream.

The nibbling, the nipping

The biting the tugging

The need, that ever-incessant need.




I am the want that just rises and rises

to no end in sight.

It crashes at you. It melts you.

It builds you up and then it throws you off the peak.



Limber and spate, feebly grinding your hips to the memory of that fuck.

That is me.

It’s been too long my friend.

I’ve missed you.



The tree wakes up. A centuries long embrace is done. She peels the bark of her caramel body. She shakes the flowers of her fire gold hair. Her eyes stare wide-eyed at the bustling world swarming around her tree. Oceans swam in them. If you ever dare to meet eyes with her, you would fall to your knees crying your heart out. There is no name that can catch her. She has lived before time and names became a world of their own. We’ve loved her before we entered this world we made our own. She is the heart that aches to be shattered with every breath; the moon that pulls the tides of our souls. She is one of the oldest, one of the last that remain of the original world. One that was to be ours and yet we shunned it for a shell. A shell that took more than it ever gave. A shell that hid them from us. The forgotten gods of the old lands.

The Words

The words are gunning for me.

Two years of neglected stories have come to collect their dues.

They pull the rug off my feet and take turns drowning me in the inkiest blues.

They stayed silent all this while but now the dam has given away.

Angry and stubborn, each word comes out as a punch and a stomp.

They hound me with the what-ifs and the could-haves,

pestering me to admit that I was wrong.

They reached into my chest and gouge my heart out,

How could you have forgotten us? They cried to me.


After the venting comes the tears.

They pour out of me,

each another stab to my disappointed heart,

dripping puddles all over my torn carpet.

I cry along with them.

Crawling on my knees in regret and gratitude.

They may be terribly hurt

but They still haven’t given up on me.


In company they always run out and tether to the contrary

but alone, they were my friends and accomplices

together plotting down the wistful, little stories in my head.



The Perfect Birthday

Tomorrow is her birthday. In her head it feels like a typhoon the weather department had been warning her of for a year. She spent the last two days boarding up her windows and stocking supplies. She spent quality time with the people who cared for her, politely ushering them to leave her alone at the end of it. It is almost time now. She can do nothing more but wait.

In her head the crossroad looked like any other crossroad. Four identical roads meeting at a deserted stretch, lit by a single, quavering street lamp. The silence was so thick she felt it breathing down her neck. The lamp starts convulsing. Flicker. Flicker. Dead.

As far as she can remember, her birthdays were always bittersweet. She adored them but they terrified her too. Every year she tried her birthday on the scale. Never has there been a perfect birthday.  She was always disappointed with the amount of love. It was never enough for her. They were too forced. Cloyingly so.

The boarded-up memories begin to shake. The storm is not too far away. She tries to distract herself with her chores. Folding clothes is always a good option. Thunder loudly jeers at her. His vicious scorn makes her house cower. The hour was soon approaching.

She has to choose. The skies begin to lighten, lines of bruised purple ink. One lone songbird breaks through the stifling silence, with a lonely song of victory. She brushes away her tears. She falls to her knees.

So much has been lost and not enough found. Her guttural sobs wrack through her.

The clock strikes twelve. Sunshine floods her heart. The storm never comes. The crossroads fade to a sliver of a path through the woods. The oldest trees tower over her ushering her forward with a happy rustle. The shorter ones daintily shake their flowers.

She stares awestruck. It is a perfect birthday.



Looking inside

What would me five years ago say to me now?

I imagine she would be disappointed.


She was brave and fierce. She was honest.

Now me is cautious and veiled.

The world is rarely let in. They see her only at her nicest.

The rest she keeps under lock and key.


Five years ago, she was loud and wild. She ran at her fears screaming her lungs out.

She moved excited and curious. Now me moves slow and wary.

She does all she can to delay time.

Fingers white and cramped with everything she holds on to.

Terrified she burrows deeper into her shell.


Me five years ago wouldn’t have expected this timid future.

She had been a dragon and now she is all but a meek, little mouse.

Family Curses

My grandmother’s curse fell on the child,

the day she was baptised.

‘You won’t give her my name,

but her nature you shall see

will be no less than another me.’


Early on, she took after her grandmother.

Same likes. Same quirks.

As she grew into her own,

her temper did the same.


Clear as day, it became to us.

We could only watch helpless,

as she turned into a mirror

of the woman who had cursed her

on the day she was baptised.