top of page

self portrait

my corset made of ribs,

my mouth full of teeth,

no tongue, no tongue,

no taste, no speech,

my fingernails curled with dirt beneath,

my hair in locks of dread,

my skin oiled in soot, and seethe

of tan, of colour, of age, of life,

my spine straight carrying the hollowness of pride.

my abdomen concave

always hungry, never satisfied

my pelvis a symbol of the infinite.

my legs as lanky as the shadows of Indian child brides.

my toes curled inwards in shock n surprise,

my mouth always open

gasping to engulf more light.

Recent Posts

See All

Love

Sometimes when I read Hugo, or Hemmingway, or look at old photographs of Dazai I wonder what must have it been like to be an object of...

untitled

I wish for some harmony between the person I want to be and the one I should be or the person I am and the one who I see myself as. I am...

conclusions

I hope you had stayed tracing silhouette of epiphanies on my bare skin. is intimacy only physical? how much time is adequate to know...

Comments


bottom of page