at this moment
i have so many emotions
am i sad?
am i happy?
am i jealous?
am i nervous?
am i insecure?
am i lonely?
am i intimidated?
w
   h
      y
why do i feel like this?
i have a loving family
a good amount of friends
why?
at this moment

Black coffee, closed book, no mystery.
She is defined.
A word in the dictionary with one line.
One tense.
One meaning.
She is the word you must look up to understand
But once you do.
You know her.
Like the north star you know her.
Why she shines, where she is.
Why she cries and who she smiles for.
Perhaps one day
Someone will look her up.
And make an honest woman out of her.
But until then she is nothing but black coffee, closed books.
And mystery.

Exhaustion tugging at the soul
like damp attire hung on a thin clothing line.
Blood red eyes carrying the weight of
crashing tides.

You've dug yourself deeper than the roots
of the most ancient trees,
and dressed yourself in anchors,
dragging you down into the depths of the sea.

there is nothing romantic
or tragically beautiful
about wasting away

my sadness is not poetic
my scars are ugly
and so are shining blades

in cracked skin i find no art
no admirable trait
in learning to die

bathroom tiles hold no appeal;
you shouldn't look at me
and find me lovely

broken skin and broken minds
are not unfixable
but shouldn't be desired

being sick is not being fragile
not fire escapes at 3.am
or tears that fall on lovers hands

not bambi eyes and bones
but a complete loss
of all humanity and all identity

demons curl and the void yawns
the one inside your soul
and you have no love, no body, no name

when your mind is sick
every day is a curse
and it is never romantic

*© Tara India.

I like how the air feels
when you are in the room
the atoms visibly assemble
as your soul and synapses
converge
the earthly and the ethereal
and I need it now,
the air you produce with your exhales
I need it on my skin,
through my pores
inside my ribcage
wisdom and innocence co-habit your face

you are pure running waters

raising humans above your head
like a homage to the gods
like the worship of cats in Egypt
your hands form a basin
to cradle my vulnerability
they safeguard the ethos of who I am
and exalt the who I want to be
you are inside of me
and together we are whole

Light filters through frosted windows
It illuminates only portions, a mere subtotal
Of the whole
My mind no longer spins
Uncontrolled
It just eases on
One thought
To the next

No particular worry
Well, the worries are there
They're
Here
But not all over the place
Which I'm thankful for
No more illogical
Unreasonable thinking
On a day
Like today

No work
No one in particular to talk to
No obligations
It's just time
Time to relax
And I don't care
Which I guess is a problem
In and of itself
But
Right now
It feels right
Just to write
And think
And write
Whatever surfaces
Shows up on the screen in front of me
Glowing unapologetically
Just like I like it

Tonight,
The streets have fallen
Silent

Only the fan is
To be heard,
That is,
The fan and
The million voices

Even at this place I call home
I feel completely alone

The ones I love most
Know nothing of my troubles

I act like everything is alright
But the second someone comes near
I raise my walls
Prepared for a fight
Holding in every last tear

I can’t be myself
I can’t let them see

So I bury it all
Deeper and deeper
Within me

But hiding only brings more pain