I am in the middle of this sentence
The pause takes your shape
Should I be grateful to you?
For misunderstanding me
In a way that made me look
for my self ?Guilty girl in the dungeon
She was sexy She hated the fleshy outgrowths
On her body that converted friends Brothers in to pure men
His stickiness between ,Her shapely thighs
Too much human smell ,Stifled in a struggle
Was that love or hate?Was that duty or choice?
It felt like someone with insatiable hunger ate her up
If I have to teach one lesson ,It would be never love ever again


It was a seminar on whether antidepressants had to be given or not to a suicidal person. I was tricked to attend it by a teacher who wanted to prove that I was suicidal. Was I? Nope. I was beginning to see that rage was deserved by others not me. All guilt was raped out of me. This teacher wanted to prove his innocence after using a group to flood me with reminders of trauma….He colluded with a hacker and was offended by an independent thinker struggling to retrieve a buried self , quietly writing at midnight amidst violent interrogations, unaware of Trojan Horse virus in the wires. What was more violent? Explicit interrogations or implicit mind meddling? Here I was, refusing to split Dr.Jekyll and Actor Hide…..

Foul Play

I was blindfolded my hands were tied

I was twirled clock wise anticlock wise

Then one hand touched me Next another

Then one more Tell me who am I ?

One man was using many hands

Twirls left me imbalanced I smelt a child , but he was a grown man

Hands in glove with others The game was played against me

Sometimes suicidal threat Othertimes homicidal threat

Finally they stopped playingThere was no one

Just the stench of foul play

Could it be a father ? Could it be a brother ?

Could it be a friend ?

Hatred has more eyes

Love is blind.