P.s. I do not exist
Came across this writer, who had ‘liked’ one of my poems. I just had to repost this piece of hers. 🙂
“Strange is my story,
Stranger are the memories
And here I stand barefoot beneath the sky, wondering –
Who am I?“
As the briny water washes my feet seeking forgiveness, the sand beneath wants to drag me in;
conspiring to swallow me once and for all.
I stand firm trusting my broken wings.
I carry jagged pieces on the inside;
Still try to fathom constellations inside my head.
I smoke seashells by the seashore, trying to bottle the urge of tides to kiss the moon;
For I’ve known the consequences long enough – being ruined grandly.
I kiss my scars. Victory.
I’ve loved the sky as much as I’ve loved the sea.
The only wrong I was doing all this time was –
Hunting for seashells in a sky full of stars.