untitled
my eyes are blank with quiet contemplation i am unraveling the cacoon of comfort crying beneath my feet i begin again. what is it about mirrors that are so distracting? is it that we are forced to look at ourselves so clearly so intimately so deeply, an act of forceful introspection of violent denial of silent acceptance you are not what you thought you were you are not who you think you are you never were. on a rainy afternoon, i tell my dad what i think about the rain i tell him that i appreciate how the rain leaves the smell of renewal and revival i think of how thunder storms cause damages and floods i do not realise that these too are necessary for change what if i could physically change anything about myself at any moment last week, i would have changed my tummy it would bulge less and shrink more and never make itself known last year, i would have changed my hair it would be straighter, less kinky,