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@figmentofyourimagination1
Home
Maybe home is nothing but a pair of eyes looking straight into yours,
like they can see right through you.
Read the darkest of your secrets,
buried somewhere, lost ages ago.
And you’re scared what if they find something they don’t like.
 Don’t worry,
You’re home now. This is no place to be judged.
 Those eyes looking into yours,  are just trying to understand how much you’ve been through,
know…
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out of all the bridges I’ve burnt, you will always be the one to lead me home.
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adoration// (noun) the manner in which your fingers whisper secrets into my palm, cupped like a lotus, its perfume causing the air around us to sway drunkenly. Â Â Â Â
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Your soul is a thunderstorm, caught amidst the chaos of raindrops, hitting my windowpane.Â
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Chris Cornell sounds like gathering of storm clouds, the faraway howl of a lonely wolf, the kind smile of a stranger that stays with you.  Hozier sounds like peaty whiskey, maple syrup, the smell of log fire, the feel of warm fur under cold hands, the russet of winter sunburns. John Mayer sounds like the new patina of old leather, the taste of berry popsicles, the feel of cool polyester sheets…
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Touch.Â
Temporary Homes
//what it seemed like// I feel vulnerable as i think about all the time I have spent being cocooned up in you, you have been there, standing,as I fed on what seemed a lot like love, you stripped my soul naked, and looked around until you found all my insecurities and threw them away, one by one, but you forgot how insecurities are just like worms, they come crawling right back, and when…
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A-Z
A, for the agendas you write on her skin B, for the barbaric C, carcasses you want to make out of her D, for her dwindling E, existence; she dreams of F, freedom. G, for the gates of her vagina that even the autocorrect refuses to mention H, for the hell you’ve put her through and for the heaven she fights for I, for years of inequality that pinch on her thighs J, just below where your…
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Polyglot's Problems
Polyglot’s Problems
Hindi runs in the veins of this लड़की every द, ध, ढ, ढ़, ड़ slips off my tongue and I take great care to pronounce each right for it is indeed my mother’s tongue and I wish to do justice to her tireless pleads. I speak English in phrases and metaphors, a language in which I am soft spoken and delicate; where the crown of sophistication rests on my head, from a बच्ची, I am a woman. My toes…
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Messy
That’s the purity in messy people. They touch you in places the world has left untouched. They take your heart and senses on a road trip and hope to hell that you’re courageous  enough to never return back to normality. After all, there’s no life in the mundane.Â
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Curiosity is that slutty cousin of  anxiety who fucks up everytime for a handful of candies.
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2a.m.Â
You’re staying up until 2am for all the wrong reasons. Because you’re wasted. Because you’re  heartbroken. Because you’re bored and lonely and scrolling through social media until you’re forced to surrender to sleep. You shouldn’t be half covered with blanket with your head propped up on a pillow, daydreaming about how things used to be back when you were in a relationship. Our plugging your…
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Thunderstorms and HurricanesÂ
We used our tongues like swords in a war. Slicing through the insecurities, and exchanging breaths of revolutions. We were hurricanes curled up in a satin blanket. We were the thunderstorms, wrapped in mortal bodies. _____________________ |excerpt from the poetry slam yesterday|
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Playing The Lover's Role
Playing The Lover’s Role
Those three little words I love you never meant much to me. I mean yeah of course in the beginning; how it feels so sweet to finally hear something you’ve yearned for is such a victory. But after a while, the thrill of hearing those words are an ending to a sorry conversation that lose its meaning . It’s when I love you is said in such a tone as if forced. No one is asking you to love me darling.…
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And there we sat, once upon a time, two homeless travelers from times unknown, just running towards eachother  for millennia, only with a single desire to collide once again, toÂ
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Ramblings Of A Delirious Mind (2)
I want to dance until my stomach aches from twisting and twirling and spinning. I want to feel my mind melt into my hips and legs until I’m free. I want to drive on desert roads with blazing sun through the roof, a song that pushes the tears from my ribcage and a bare foot on the gas pedal. I want warm wind blowing through my hair,  and dark coffee that pulses through my veins. I want stars.…
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What society needs to understand is that friendship and romance are  not ranks, tiers or levels. They are not above or below eachother. Romance is not a promotion. Friendship is not a demotion. Romance is not “more than”  being friends with someone. Friendship and romance are concepts that exist on equal terms, side by side. Sometimes they happen to coincide. Other times they never intersect at…
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