blank blank blank blank blank
blank blank blank blank blank blank blank
blank blank blank blank blank
A passionate being
A daughter, sister, aunt and lover.
Please do give me feedback on my writing (I don't think much of it,) but I would appreciate constructive criticisms.
Online Users
• Ask me anything
avant-garde
A daughter, sister, aunt and lover.
Please do give me feedback on my writing (I don't think much of it,) but I would appreciate constructive criticisms.
Online Users
avant-garde
A haiku about writing
As they pulled in front of their destination, Jasmine opens the door for little Beloved. She wipes a little dot of Nutella from the corner of his mouth, he ate his breakfast in a hurry this morning and she gives him a tight hug. To her, he was still her baby- he was the one who’d stumble around the house trying to balance his weight. The one who’d call out “Papa” to her and call his father “Mama”- he was her special boy. He escapes from her hug and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek, as if to communicate to his mother not to worry. He walks away into the far distance entering the gates of his new school, a tiny sob escapes from his mother’s lips but he continues walking. Because in his world, the last thing he remembers is his mother hugging him tightly, his mother forcing a smile because when he does not see, he does not hear.
“It feels like after marriage, we’ve been fighting so much recently and I don’t know if I can take it any more.”
“I’m sorry. I’d rather have us fight all we like now than when we are married.”
“Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.”
— Kahlil Gibran
weak with regrets,
I stumble around the room, waiting for a reply,}
sometimes I sit patiently, crossing my fingers without knowing,
while others I’m waiting impatiently, tapping my finger on the
laptop.
Regrets begin to tire my mind,
the should haves,
would haves,
could haves,
thoughts of then,
the happy moments,
momentarily lingering
at the back of my mind,
then suddenly swarmed
with regrets,
the should haves,
would haves,
could haves,
the ifs, the buts and the maybes,
opening a door of endless possibilities,
Never have I felt so weak,
weak with regrets.
Only if,
things could have been different,
I should have helped,
Only if I could have.
Remind me to wake up tomorrow
and flee this wretched world,
to take the road that’s narrow
and up the highest hill,
where we will be free
free from fear
and forlornness.
We walked hand in hand today, we were both quite content with one another— content itself is an understatement. You brushed your hand through my curly hair and we sat on top of a hill, laughing as our imaginations splattered all across the sky. We rode a horse and you nearly fell from it but I held on. We ran up the hill and came tumbling down together, we screamed until our lungs felt empty of screams,
until we could no longer stand,
and we tumbled on top of one another, breathless.
