Unseen

“We was walking in the mall the other day,”

“we saw a lot of faces.”

And in the evening,

“We was kissing and cuddling,”

“Screaming and fucking”

“It was absolutely amazing!”

Sorry!

In the sense that we all want to be seen

Not just another shadow that passes by

The search for importance,

yet meaningless,

the conversations about ourselves,

Dressed in colours

The music on the radio is the beat of the street

Maybe we find a soul that beats as one
He asked, “of all the faces you saw, how many do you remember? ”

I said, “a few faces.”

“But they were lots of faces?”

“Yeah!”

“Can you try to remember any vivid faces?”

“Yeah!”

“Someday you will wake up and realise, you are unseen.”

And that was the most painful thing he ever said to me.

But why was it painful? He is seeing me, and that’s all that matters.

He said, “when you are girl, a beautiful lady, boys look at you because they want you. Men look at you because they want you. Girls look at you because they want to be like you. And women look at you because they were once like you.”

you walked today in the mall, and got all heads turning to look at you. Someday, you will walk in the same mall, on the same street, and I will be the only head that turns, to look at you, because you will be unseen.”

“the faces you remember most vividly at the mall are more likely younger. But those in the shadows, the unseen faces, are what we all become sometime not far away.”

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Cuddled pillows 

ber

my cross sinks in the sea

Mouth full

The salty waters are tears…

Of a broken self

Trapped in the illusions…

of coloured sunsets

the moon never rises

Ecstasies of stale kisses

Your breath of tobacco,

burning in my lungs

Butterfly wings smoke in the sun

Coloured ashes are memories carried by wind

The tattoos are fading…

arrow hearts bleed dry

Cuddled pillows never get warm

bed

Hummingbird

With a broken voice,

Sounds of her weeping guitar

She darts like a humming bird

Among falling branches

 

Will she be free?

From the violent hands

Dad is a drunk

and I hide in the closet

 

She says, “It is alright”

Kissing my forehead

Her cold lips are bruised,

Is it blood?

or tears?

that I feel on my skin

 

when did the roses decay?

Or they became bruised

Fallen to the ground

Where angry feet creased their petals

 

The frames are broken,

The pictures are in the flames

The vows are the ashes,

of yesterday

When she was a humming bird,

Chirping in the early spring

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