Well, I rarely post. Like once in a lifetime. I'm more of an explorer in this community. This post here is more of a whining than conveying my emotions. I never got the idea of posting this until one of my friends asked me to. If it was worth posting, I hope u enjoyed it. The worst part is, this is one of the pages from my diary and guess what it's full of utter despair .
There's a river flowing Loud and fertile within me, My epidermis is a fossil Of engraved touches I've preserved all over The years; my insides are a Bloodshed of flowers I have Always tried to stuff into my Bones: I am not a single entity Mostly I feel like I am Composed of fragile things Found on earth, My overgrown roots overspread Trying to grasp in Whatever my palms could hold of, I have knees covered in weeds, And bruises, from falling over and over, My hands are little branches, Which birds perch upon, The colour of peace is enveloped over my body, Sunshine plays with my hair, Sometimes I collect tragic thunderstorms and pin them over my braids My womb bears young ones With colours of my roof, That changes every moment, Tenderly I nurture them, Along the birds, But I've to let them all go, Some sooner, some a little early. I'm trapped in deep Tunnels of thoughts, Whilst my hands are cut, As my torso falls on Inconsolable carcasses of My hair, and Corpses of my children, Motionless, I lay there, My heart still pounding, Not silent, but loud Like the river flowing Inside me, within and without.