Blank Verse

I will never be your muse,
You’ll never be my poetry.

Here we are again,
with these broken brushes
and inkless pens
to paint this canvas
that’s already sketched.

You look at me,
knowing just how hollow I am,
carrying the burden of this diary
full of miseries and rants.

You dip your fingers in the colour;
You run them on my back. 
As you touch my skin,
the wounds go grey.
I feel serene,
I feel scared.

You sigh in pain,
these endless pricks I carry
now have the burden of your blood.

I take a step back.
You hold my hand,
With all that blood
You still want to kiss my forehead.

Your eyes paint me with love
I am still terrified
but I choose to stay still and look at you,
as irony writes itself tonight.

‘Brave are those who are not afraid of falling in love.’ Well I clearly didn’t fall in that line and so when life put me in a place where I found myself getting attracted to someone, I was scared.

I was a mess, in no control of my life or my emotions. I was deep in a place where I found it difficult to love myself and so I had no reason to put someone else through the bitter experience of loving me.

This poem was a result of a conflict within, where I was trying to stop myself with all my might but also had a craving to experience what they call the most beautiful feeling in the world.

Like most, I was also wondering about someone who would put all these worries at rest and would love me even on the days when I cannot love myself.




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