Badge of Honor


She wears her scars like a badge of honor

From the heartbreaks and the disappointments

From the lies and the slanders

From her friends and family


She holds her head high

Strutting around in her  heels

With the glances and the sighs

Forming a part of the music her hips sway to


She wears her scars like a tattoo

Her eyes batting off the tears

Her heart beating with a flutter

With self-doubt and a stubborn will


She puts on a show for the world

But over time

She has convinced herself

That this is who she is

That the world is her oyster after all



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Posted by on March 3, 2017 in Uncategorized, Women, Writing


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You are pulling me in

Kissing my lips in a trance

I don’t know where I end and where you begin

We are entwined in each other


I feel like I can shift the tides

I’m in deep

I’m done for and you are my drug

Am riding a dangerous and reckless high


We could be together

If you wanted to

Does this feeling flow both ways?

Are you messing with my head again?


Then you flick my nipple

And my thought process is interrupted

My breath is catching in my throat

And my legs just forgot to hold my weight


Does the moon always shine this bright?

Are you practicing your magic tricks on my emotions again?

Snap out of it for the sake of my conscience

The twisted and deranged are not on my menu today


You were in my dreams again last night

Sucking the life out of me like a succubus

Suspending me in a twist of euphoria

Lost in the depths of your eyes

And your spell-binding curves


Posted by on February 21, 2017 in Muse, Uncategorized, Writing


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Tastes Like Heaven

Be Uncommon


We are lying there in post-coital fervor. She is teasing my neck with soft kisses. She knows it drives me crazy when she does that. And i am running my hands on her back…slowly, sensually. She is moaning softly. We do this over and over and it always ends the same way it began. She is a fucking good kisser. And the best fuck too.

She later gets up to light a ciggie. Naked. She has hips to make one weep. She has legs that go on and on you just want to run your tongue up to their junction. She has curves to make an atheist believe in a higher power. Damn she is perfect!

As usual I am dumbstruck by her bum. I love the feel of her butt against my back. I love the feel of it on my hands. I love the sway of it as…

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Posted by on November 6, 2016 in Uncategorized



Be Uncommon

I am learning about rejection. We haven’t been acquainted for a while but i can taste her in the bitter aftertaste she leaves in my tongue. I can smell her in the acrid air in the gutters. I am blinded by her in the glaring streetlights just when you wake up from a nap in your car.

I don’t really know her well, but i am slowly learning her contours. She is not well-molded. She is just lumped up together like an afterthought. She is ugly, i can give you that. She is not perfect. But when she rubs on you, she takes away a part of you with a cruel smile. She leaves her pungent perfume on you for evidence. She puts a scowl on your face and makes your spirits take a nose-dive.

She is the desperate cry of a baby when it’s sick and can’t express herself…

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Posted by on November 6, 2016 in Uncategorized


Good Old Days

Be Uncommon


The good ole days. I am not old enough to use the term per se..but nostalgia doesn’t really care for age, does it? And when i hear your voice, i can’t help but go back in time. Look at me trip over my past. Wipe the look of disgust off your monkey face numbskull, it happens to the best of us. Judge me when you are perfect. Well, i read the phrase somewhere and i’ve been aching to use it.

Then your face comes to mind. And the movies. And the coffee. Always black. Six sugars. And the novels. And poems. It started with the poems. It ended with them too. Then we didn’t talk. Just miscommunicated our intentions in well-crafted poems that really had no truth. Others were true. The ones that held no meaning drove us apart. That’s what happens when tornadoes and hurricanes try to have a…

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Posted by on November 6, 2016 in Uncategorized


Midnight Rants


The guys who live on the fourth floor are driving me nuts. It’s like a frat house. They came in a few minutes ago and are yet to settle down. They have been yelling and making all sorts of sounds since then. Just shut the fuck up already!!!

The fact that tomorrow is a Monday doesn’t seem to bother these drunk and disorderly ingrates since they have no work to wake up to, or whatever the fuck their story is. Then there is this lady who has been trying on pairs of heels for the past hour. Clink! Clonk! Clink! Clonk! Pick a pair and settle down missy. I am trying to get some sleep, thank you very much!! I have turned and tossed every single direction till I couldn’t take it anymore.

I wonder what their reaction would be if i went and banged on their door real loud. The fact that there are kids sleeping seems to be the least of their problems. Or adults that have to wake up to work and its dreariness too. It is a 1 p.m in case you are wondering why I am ranting so much and getting my knickers in a twist.

So i have decided to whip out my laptop and settle down on ranting here. As if that will make sleep come any faster. But the sound of the keyboard dulls the noise from above. I haven’t written in quite some time. I have almost forgotten how good it feels to just let go and put it down on paper. My notebook has gone idle and the pages are beginning to turn color. Technology has taken over my life and turned my brains almost to mush.

I think that there’s a certain joy to writing. Seeing words come alive and crawl over looking for meaning. Sometimes it is venom, sometimes it is poetry. Sometimes it is love and sometimes the pen spews hate on paper. Sometimes you scribble so fast on paper you see the ideas come aflame. Sometimes words won’t come and you feel a sense of  literal impotence.

Whenever you can write though, the soul always comes alive and every other thing can go to hell. I don’t know about you, but writing seriously gets me on edge and calms my nerves. I think I’ll get some sleep before my alarm clock goes and I have to spend the morning yawning. That is not a pretty picture. And I for one I’m all about pretty pictures.

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Posted by on November 6, 2016 in Uncategorized, Writing





With time you just lose yourself. You totally forget who you are and get lost into an idea of what the world wishes you to be. You forget what made you tick. You get lost in impressing your boss at work. You get lost in putting your better half first. You get lost in being a good friend. You get lost in beating deadlines.

You forget to listen to the small voice that tells you to stop. You forget to reflect on yourself. Every day giving away pieces of yourself. Unraveling at the seams. You are like a ball of yarn tugging this way and that way. And life moves on regardless.

The feeling that you lack something meaningful nags away at you but you keep ignoring it. It’s just how life as a grown up is, you tell yourself. But with each accomplishment you make, the feeling of emptiness increases. You have neglected yourself till you can’t tell apart your favorites’ from those of the people you hang out with. You find it hard to ignore the lies you’ve been telling yourself.

The rythmn just feels off. There’s something amiss.

Hold on, wait, the world won’t stop spinning on it’s axis if you take some time off to feel the sun on your face. You won’t stop functioning if you go to your favorite cafe and order a cup of coffee with a novel like the old times.

Relax. Unwind. Pull out your tattered poetry book and go through it for old times’ sake. Walk through the corridors of your memories tongue-in-cheek. Write something. Get it off your chest. Dance to the music in your head. Take a long walk. Whatever it is. But for the love of God don’t forget who you are.


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Posted by on March 22, 2016 in Uncategorized, Writing