GORGEOUS GORGEOUS GIRLS

 Gorgeous gorgeous girls cry themselves to sleep every night and regrets

Gorgeous gorgeous girls smile at strangers with crooked teeth

Gorgeous gorgeous girls let a boy live rent free in their thoughts with pain Gorgeous gorgeous girls have no hearts but a muscle contracting in pain

Gorgeous gorgeous girls let spiders crawl in their lungs talking about anatomy of loss 

Gorgeous gorgeous girls 

Gorgeous gorgeous girls download Taylor Swift songs and listen to  the playlist all night

Gorgeous gorgeous girls have slippery lips of strawberry lip gloss shining in street lights.

Gorgeous gorgeous girls love tangerine skies with pink hues in sides, they keep in their purses 

Gorgeous gorgeous girls make fun of bewildered past and unpredictable future for who knows whether there will be a tomorrow ?

Gorgeous gorgeous girls crush pearl earrings to decorate birthday cards for best friend 

Gorgeous gorgeous girls let kitties kiss their ankles and puppies sing full songs

Gorgeous gorgeous girls run on meadows in search of air to breathe sweating and panting 

Gorgeous gorgeous girls don't wash muddy snickers with acnes of green grass 

Gorgeous gorgeous girls don't talk of family and sleeps in deep caves of self loathe 

Gorgeous gorgeous girls pedal in yellow cycles, their rainbows with fifteen colours 

Gorgeous gorgeous girls by heart thesaurus and add new synonyms to love 

Gorgeous gorgeous girls fit cracks of mirrors in their palms and tell themselves what they need is therapy 

Gorgeous gorgeous girls ask dandelions and shooting stars to perform magic they never believed .

Gorgeous gorgeous girls know everybody is born out of a woman's fear and pain, not just the body. 

Gorgeous gorgeous girls are triggered by romantic Bollywood movies and clutch their hands until they feel numb.

Gorgeous gorgeous girls run their fingers in the cursives of their diary that doesn't make sense.

Gorgeous gorgeous girls have their legs tied to helium balloons, so that they can fly. 

Gorgeous gorgeous girls cry and die every minute but fix their crowns themselves. 

Gorgeous gorgeous girls don't wait for others to write poetry for them, for they themselves are poems.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

 I am yearning for death.  Forever longing for it...achingly..When people around me crave to live, do everything to have a life, I could never understand it. I could never understand the meaning of their desire. I always wanted to die… slowly, painlessly, and alone. Over time, my death instinct  became an inexorable habitual thought. The yearning to merge into an infinite darkness is there, always. The swelling torment I can't put into words. There was nothing, until him, that could dilute my urge to die. I used to think I can hold on a little, until he disappeared. I was obsessed to wither completely.  Look at me now. I think I have died, when he left. What a metaphor, the old cliché, you may think. I can declare this without embarrassment, but I can't express it. It is really so heavy to be afforded by my vocabulary, thoughts, and consciousness... Many moons ago, I listened passively to Nee Mattume by T.M. Krishna. And yesterday night, like a little miracle, it ca...
Read more

THE BOOK OF SETHI

PROLOGUE: THE FIRST TIME GRIEF SANG I don’t remember the first time I heard Ali Sethi. I remember what I lost when I did. Something inside me— the part that kept sorrow folded beneath my tongue— opened its eyes. It wasn’t music. It was recognition. A voice that didn’t arrive like thunder, but like memory—slow, precise, mercifully cruel. It sang in the key of ache I inherited but never named. This is not about songs. It’s about the ruins they left glowing. It begins, always, with silence. And then: Ali. 1 TO THE VOICE THAT ARRIVED BEFORE STORM Some nights, I don’t know if it’s rain, or your voice pressing its forehead against my window. Ali, you don’t sing— you stitch. Each word, a needle pulling centuries through my skin. I keep your ragas in my wrists— they flutter when grief walks in, asking for tea and permission to stay. Who gave you the right to know what longing sounds like before I could name it? Who taught your throat to echo the ache I buried beneath my mother tongue? Sometime...
Read more

The Unanswered Ring: Returning to Decision to Leave

Some films don’t scream.They breathe. Softly. Like someone lying next to you who doesn’t dare touch you. “Decision to Leave” wasn’t a thriller to me. It was a letter never sent.A wave that crashed but never reached the shore. I watched Seo-rae fold her silences like laundry. Every movement quiet, every word a disguise. And yet—every glance, a plea: “See me. Even if you don’t believe me.” And Hae-jun— he didn’t fall from a mountain.He dissolved, little by little, like a man walking into the sea,telling himself it’s just water. The film didn’t ask me to watch. It asked me to listen. To sighs. To footsteps. To hunger that never became desire.What kind of love is this? One that doesn’t kiss, but watches.Doesn’t hold, but follows from a distance. Doesn’t beg, but leaves quietly, hoping to be remembered...The kind that hides in plain sight. The kind that tells you,“You’re better off without me,” but still checks if you’ve eaten... A Scene I’ll Never Forget: (And perhaps, never forgive) Seo-r...
Read more