Shreshtha

A Poem

Leafs severing from
The trees,
In hush autumn
A contract,
Of foreverness ending,
Or perhaps a cycle — of
death and rebirth.

Cold hands, empty hearts
Waiting in gallery
For your sparkling shine.
Sitting alone,
Knitting your unworn
cardigan
Tears glistening the fibers
Weaves on… and on

my despair.

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Photo by Sandra Seitamaa on Unsplash

I suffer in
getting in touch with
my feminine — 
The sacred Yin, the intuitive
High priestess
Because I have always been
The go-getter or have been in
the go-getter from as long
As I can remember,
I was told times are changing
And I thought that meant
I could be more like a boy
I felt I had to be that way
And discard my softer, gentler
Natural self.
Now its 4 am and some
twenty years later
I lay alone, struggling to
Find a middle ground with the
Boy I love
Because his Masculine is as distorted as
Mine feminine
And we both stand empty-handed
In front of each other with
Tsunami love inside
But not finding a way to flood
In each other waters
Restless we roar
To find a
Calming ,

shore.

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Shreshtha

Shreshtha

Keeping a keen eye on humans. When not writing, you can find me humming to some song, daydreaming, or plowing up research.