Sometimes,all the thousands of namesthat I've swalloweddrip out of my mouthin tragically beautiful shades of grey,and lie there on the bed sheetall around me.
On days like that,I become far too familiarwith the taste of my tears;salty and melancholic-smelling like ifs and buts,what-ifs and maybes,and all the thingsthat could have been,and I forget what happiness used to taste like.
And, in that moment,surrounded by all the namesof all the people I've ever loved,I feel more lonelythan I've ever felt before,and I hate
that I'm a leaky faucetwith my feelings drip, drip, drippingwith no way to fix them,and I hate thati'm the light switchthat little kids play with,with my feelings flickering,between light and dark,and I hate thatI have sadness living in places its not supposed to live,and I hate that
when I read this againthe dust on this poem is enough to choke me.
How do I stop?
-Rupali Jeganathan ( @missbookthief)
Photo: Vicki King ( @_vickiking)