his mind was a graveyard,
and the maternity ward of a rundown hospital,
at the same time.
𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.
and he reminded me of the attic of the house,
that my mother grew up in,
the house that my grandparents sold later on.
𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦,
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥.
but most of all,
he reminded me of me.
𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘥,
𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳.
of the insatiable urge to be held,
and reassured, and touched,
and heard.
𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘺 𝘤𝘶𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴,
𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬.
his body was a piece of art.
tracing my finger up his spine,
i could feel the universe under my hands.
𝘸𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥,
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯.
i used to run my palms over his back,
licking the curve of his spine,
whispering to his scars.
𝘸𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯,
𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴.
my breath lingers on his chest,
and caresses his neck.
i breathe in through my mouth.
𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴,
𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘨𝘰?
my voice echoes against the bare walls,
a harmony of sirens howling,
i don't want to be heard.
𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨,
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘸 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵.
my hair falls on your face and it crumples.
your touch is bitter and i let you,
crush me into powdery dust.
𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦
𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
the sound of thunder rumbling,
as i fumble with the buttons on my shirt.
the sky warns me but i go on.
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥,
𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨.
the first drops of september rain,
hit my face with a gentle intensity,
similar to the way we kiss each other goodbye.
𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦,
𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯?
the fingers curling around my wrists,
turn the butterflies in my stomach
into stones, but they don't weigh me down.
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦,
𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨 𝘶𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘰.
i run my fingers all over your scarred skin,
your breath fans my face and my smile widens.
i let go and hold on tighter at the same time.
𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘪 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳.
Brishti Samaddar is a budding poet who searches for poetry in between the lines of science textbooks and scratches poems into half written assignments with the hope that her poetry will survive in places she struggles to.