https://rave.dj/u/SadBoyShit

When clusters of anxieties roam inside me i try to read the blank last page of my life.

I’ll still love you long after
we’re gone.
When we’re just two names forgotten
with time.
Yours will stay wherever mine goes.
Wherever that is.
I’ll find you again.

***** fingernails
and cheap wine.
Fleetwood Mac and chicken tenders.
Snapping you little flirty faces
saying how much I’d like to make out.
Feels like we’re a couple of teenagers drunk in like.

Just a silly girl who can’t wait to see you
and pretend you don’t know what I look like
in the dark.

The wild side of living life
Is that nothing can be tamed;
Everything is changing,
Nothing stays the same.

But with new wind
comes inspiration,
And even though
There's consternation,

You can always count
On life to sway-
And throw each line
Of the rule book away.

The woman, the one whose intellect stands and pleads on her legs, bring about equality
But whose body recoils not out of her own conformity
Manoeuvre balletic,compassionately and LADYLIKE
Humanity continually directs her, she is a woman, and that is her lone portrayal
Where she yearns to put her foot down ,
she is always giving a foot stool
Assistance is what she needs
Her being independent is hazardous
Only scrutinised for what she wears
underneath her garments
identified solely as a exquisite blossom
A instrument for the hands of society to play
The artistry of woman’s body withholds plenty functions
That men lust for
Gratification being the prime reason
The make-believe contrast bound by  “She and He”.
A level of credit is disposed from men.
Pureness faraway from conclusive
Self-pride being fundamental
Society makes this concrete description.
How to act according to our particular
In order to be respected in the eyes of the people.
of lust and desire.
To gratis herself, to alter what being a woman means,
what (gender) equality means.
Women shouldn’t be criticised by the dimensions of a skirt
A women shouldn't feel apprehensive to chase her dreams
because of society’s wail
It shouldn’t be intricate for all to be the same
to be equivalent
Free of cost from the penny priced stereotypes

We are just words that sing upon the page,

                                       but some never touch.
Singing in our thoughts.

Repetitive and with meaning, but never
                       do we write a word for us to cling too.


Always humming that repetitive metaphorical tune,
                          that  completes a hum down the line
                                  to a verbose culmination


and we still hum it even now further down the line.

he wanted to see if we were on the same page.
meanwhile, I was reading a different book.
its past chapters made me wince in pain,
which lived - unhealed - within me.
as his fingers lightly caressed the pages,
he whispered, "acknowledge the pain,
then close the book. you can't live like this.
we can get through this and read the same page."
I turned to the past chapters, heart pounding in fear.
instead of wincing and hurrying to the end,
I read those pages, absorbed every word,
understood the story, acknowledged its lessons,
and released it to make room for a new story.
then - and only then - I closed the book.
I kept the lessons and sat next to him.
he showed me the book he was reading from,
and now we're finally reading from the same page.