she’s half-written poetry scribbled on a tissue-paper
she’s a tear-stained letter from a dead-lover
she’s bitter black coffee with too much sugar
she’s a withering summer
beneath her surface hides the winter
and when she cracks, she shatters
and when she smiles,
she hangs the moon on the sky
she’s an ocean trapped in a tear-drop
a blizzard stuck in a snow-globe
she’s a 500-page novel
curbed in a one-line poetry
—a lifetime lived through a single laughter
she’s love, if love ever wore a face
she’s a message in a bottle
the kind that says ‘if you are reading this, it’s never too late’
she is mismatched puzzle pieces
strung together to form the perfect picture
the ellipsis between broken sentences spilled over by silences,
silences that scream louder than words
she’s a 3 a.m. thought walking in broad daylight
she’s starry nights at the rooftop
moments fueled by a cigarette between the lips
and if i could paint her,
i would paint her in abstract
dip the brush in a palette of sunshine and storms
and splash them in the yellow canvas of her thoughts
but if i could paint her,
i would not paint her at all
because she would bleed through the pages,
and run down the edges
she’s the art no paper can handle.
snippets 