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Jaanam Jaswani Sep 2013
Here comes the days of craving tasteless food
To dip biscuits in tea by your bed
Today I'm the exact opposite of a *****
Groans and hmms and spitting red

Oh, but wait, my nose unblocked
I breathe with both nostrils now
The movie I just watched totally rocked
I feel like sleeping again, but how?

Toss and turn, take a pill
Blowing my nose some more
Cough drops? No, I've got nil
****, my throat will stay sore
Jaanam Jaswani Sep 2013
there are holes in the sand because of the hermit *****
but the hermits aren’t nearly as beautiful as these
my very solitude is a beauty
but i’m the beast

i will lay upon this rock at the end of the beach
until the shore ***** up and touches me
even if the gods above want to scare me with a little water
even if the claws pinch me
even if the sol water stings me

wash my footsteps away
evidence of my existance is obsolete
i’m but a ghost
spiriting amidst the contemporaneity of it all

shred my skin away
leave them like bones
bones after an apocalypse
i’m their epilogue

the sea is a dog
it barks upon the shore
it pulls you into a tide of glee
it slobbers love in the contours of your face
it invites you in, and doesn’t let go.
Jaanam Jaswani Sep 2013
A worthless instrument filled with sentiment
That is what I want to take
   from when I thoroughly become benevolent.

I yearn a reminder of a version
Of myself where I don't have piercing eyes
Or a cold body
Or a stifling loathe of beings similar to myself
Or a need to curl up to a ball when pens *****

Ah fornicate this I can't write anymore

There's a hope buried in me
It multiplies like bamboo shoots entangling
It says grow thorns, be turgid
It says pop horns, stay frigid

I walk down the corridor constantly defying myself
I'm one character I think
Am I
Jaanam Jaswani Aug 2013
Free fall -- into the unknown
Rock bottom -- boulders tied to my ankles
I can't move, can't breathe
Enclosed


  I have come to be melancholy's child
A fluke--
Darkness to diamond cuts

And so the air comes--
Punishing my lungs like the cold steel of a gun
In lieu of the wholeness; sphericity of moments.
Jaanam Jaswani Jul 2013
Girl turns three on a homemade cake
She had candy balloons and plastic grass bits
Toy princesses and marscapone rakes
And mom burnt her finger because she forgot the mitts

Girl turns five on a store bought cake
This time it was shaped like jack and jill
And she wondered if it was a fake
It was the month mom got ill

Girl turns seven on a cupcake
And mom could barely get up let alone bake
Dad taught her baseball that week
She peeped at her parents through the little door creak

Mother.
Other.
Her.

Girl turns nine on a chocolate bun
Mom gave her blessing through the grave
That was the year dad knew no fun
And they kept telling her to be brave

Girl turns eleven on a self made cake
Mom was back but her ******* were fake
Dad was googly eyed, yes
He neglected that his baby was depressed

Girl turns thirteen on a seven layered cake
It was all this posh she couldn't take
This year new mommy and daddy started fighting
And she'd turn up the music and dim the lighting

Girl turns sixteen on a birthday card
This year, dad started drinking
And life felt hard, really hard
Deep down she knew she was sinking
Inspired by TV series Suburgatory.
Jaanam Jaswani Jun 2013
Dad brings the men into my house
My sweet daddy, who once wore a blouse
They walk in, against my will
All those snobs, who make me want to ****

Up goes the smoke and in goes the drink
Till there’s not any brain left to think
And they laugh, they laugh loud
They’re happy, that’s no doubt

But they don’t know, none of them do
That there’s a little girl who needs it too
To be happy, in every way
But all she was told to do was play

Play, upstairs in her room
Alone, and her toys went zoom
But she’d think of them laughing, and smoking their lungs black
All she wanted was to give them each a smack

She hated those men with the ice coolers
Think about it, they resembled rulers
Invasion and tyranny and all
Oh how’d they’d act superior, yet trip and fall

I didn't want daddy to be like them, you know
How they’d smoke by the carton and flaunt their doughFor grown men, their lives were nothing
And dad, he’s my everything

— The End —