Skin. Soul

I felt like a stranger in my own skin.

Like my soul belonged to the cosmos, all the chaos, but this skin,

oh this skin, has soberity forced all over it.

Like my soul was as real as the throbbing of blood under the veins, but this skin,

oh this skin, was powdered with fake over and over.

Like my soul was free and of different layers of blue under another like the ocean, but this skin,

oh this skin, was forced to act white again and again.

Like this skin was and will be a trophy to many

But this soul,

oh this soul, would keep deluding their win.

Every time.

-Anava.

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Escape.

Me? I was expert in escaping.
An escape artist, as some of you call it.
I would trace the veins for hours, lost in the red under blue. I would descent and drown, curl back and cave in my own blood and bones.
Nothing could hold me back. Vivacious, morose, I always looked for escape.
Escape into everything.
Into words, paint, the shades of black (my personal favourite).
Into the sky, always into the sky.
Drifted. through the chipped walls, slipped through the cracks, into the sky.
Behind the frames.
Into other’s minds. Their lies. Through their eyes.
Escape into everything.
Sometimes nothing.

You were the poetry

You were the poetry that made me carve much own heart out, dip in gasoline, and set it on fire.

You were the poetry that I saw at sixes and sevens swirling in the mist, boiling in the bubbles, flying in the gravity.

You were the poetry that never made its way out of my lips.

The poetry that smothered my breaths.

The poetry that made me jump head first in black holes.

You were the poetry that I never intended to find.

You were the poetry that spinned from poison to antidote. Back and forth. Back and forth.

You were the poetry that came back from the grave. When I was still scrubbing my soul raw of your fingerprints.

Then, let go.

Kiss them

Hold them for a while. Then, let go.

They are going to love how you don’t flinch when ashes and knives fall down on your bare skin.

They are going to love how you don’t spill your secrets even on the slurred nights.

They are going to love how pretty you look when you lose your sanity while chasing the stars that turned out to be just jagged stones.

They are going to love the scars you bore so easily with your eyes.

They will love your longing to be normal sane normal.

But.

But.

They will not love how you disappear quietly, staring at the same door for days. Staring, thrashing, screaming, scratching, staring.

They aren’t going to love how your emotions spill from your eyes mouth mouth eyes hands when coals are being thrusted into your chest.

They are not going to love the raw, unfathomable, raucous, crude, fiery, anarchic, antagonistic you.

So.

Kiss them.

Hold them for a while.

Then, let go.

//for the girls like me//