Hopscotch

 

Bitter

sweet

bitter

sweetest

 

I taste this shy

freedom

that blushes under attention

and holds its

hands behind its back

but now they’re outstretched

and I lay comfortably

in my own

skin blanket.

 

Finally,

our knives are

not in each other’s

hands and eyes

and though I’m bleeding,

my eyes are healing and

looking isn’t

something I fear

will rip a tear.

 

Alone.

Mint leaves grow

Roots reach for heights

I can’t explain in a sole

fortnight;

this garden of mine

opens up and

suddenly I remember

lilacs are more than only

purple

and blue doesn’t just hold the shade

of the sky.

 

I’ve gnawed

off all strings

like letting

shoelaces untie and

gasping with wonder

at how you are not compelled

to tie it all back up-

let your fingers tie your hair

instead.

 

there is no yellow brick road

there are just paths

with wrong corners

and sometimes you go

underground but oh, when

you come up,

gasping for sunlight,

you unravel.

 

(you realise how many hopscotches you can do with your eyes closed)

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