One tree
Doesn't make a forest.
A fallen leaf
Doesn't make it Autumn.
A drop of water
Does not make a lake.

The forest shivers when a
Sturdy tree falls.
It reminds the twigs of trees,
Anything can
Snap.

And when that last little leaf
Falls to the dirt,
It seems to say,
"I just couldn't hang on any longer."
And the leaves worry as
Winter falls into place.

When a rain drop hits into a river
The whole pool silently echos,
Saying,
"You don't belong."

But if that tree hadn't fallen,
The forest would be complete.
If the leaf hadn't hit the ground,
It wouldn't have gone through winter with the others.
And if that droplet of rain was absent,
You would notice.

Every time I want to ache
I find your mark again.
Branded with that first touch,
first kiss, first breath upon my neck.

And when he holds me I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
As though somehow he’ll know that his arms
are your arms;
that his heart beating against my back
is your heart, miles away,
forgetting me.

I loved you with everything I had
And I became more invested
Every second
I gave you my heart
And everything else
That you wanted
And didn't even know I had given you
Because that's the way that I love
I expected that from you in return
Because that's all that I know
I'm sorry I needed so much from you
I would give you second chances
For the rest of my life
If I could
I just don't have enough of me
For the both of us

That song; my favorite possession,
The one you’d given me to sing,
The one that forsook the world
And let us alone together.
It still touches me the way you did:
With an almost religious zeal,
As if by contact we could transcend.

I still find its echoes when I dream,
And I always spin away ashamed
But always savor that record’s spin
And taste your blurred memory
On each rotation drawn by doubt
The record plays inwards towards the core
And I wait, a starving spider at the center.

Overhead the tree-tops meet,
Flowers and grass spring ’neath one’s feet;
There was nought above me, and nought below,
My childhood had not learned to know:
For what are the voices of birds
—Ay, and of beasts,—but words—our words,
Only so much more sweet?
The knowledge of that with my life begun!
But I had so near made out the sun,
And counted your stars, the Seven and One,
Like the fingers of my hand:
Nay, I could all but understand
Wherefore through heaven the white moon ranges,
And just when out of her soft fifty changes
No unfamiliar face might overlook me—
Suddenly God took me!

This is water.
Metaphorically speaking of course.
This is really life.
A greater being surrounding your pulse.
This is the day you carried on;
Instead of folding, giving up.
This is what we all have in common.
Despite color, age, or gender.
This is our power and weakness.
No matter how strong or fragile we believe we are.
This is not water.
We are not drowning.

buried myself in melody
in stage paint I wear all day
underneath my skin is cracking
my mind is unpinning
if only they could see

dress for battle and take them down
i could conquer anyone
well, except my demons
they have become my life
if only they could see

but if they saw my lies
stopped believing and really looked
wouldn't they lock me up
as my senses shatter
and I become insane

something came loose inside
this pretty little plastic head
under the oil and fame I rot
break: I die once more
and I go insane

*© Tara India.

I'm sitting here waiting
Waiting
For this to end
Everything does eventually.
Almost everything. I'm not talking about anything specific
Unless I made you think of something
Because I'm talking about that.