Category Archives: poems

The Painter

Photocopied trees circle me,And I feel as though I am being painted,As though a far away brush has brought us all into existence– Then a child runs too carelessly,falls on their face,And the painting is slightly torn.

21

Like all good birthdays, it began with a pigeon.A patient and unruly thing,she had wedged herfeathery body betwixt the chimney and our old living-room fireplace. So, my dad,shovel in hand,broke the seal between her world and ours,as she joined us on the coffee tablefor cake cutting. Like all good birthdays, it followed with friends.Those impatientContinue reading “21”

Ways I’m More Like An Indian Aunty Than I Thought

On a warm summers day, in the early hours of the morning,my non-Indian friend told me ‘Priyanka, you’re giving me Indian aunt vibes today’. Now, naturally,I was worried. Because my friend is non-Indian, this could mean one of two things: Her observation wasn’t correct because she wasn’t affliated with Indian culture OR Her observation wasContinue reading “Ways I’m More Like An Indian Aunty Than I Thought”

A Love Letter From My Right Ankle To My Left Ankle

For a little bit of context, check out the Agora-Poetry blog post! How do I start this…? I’m not very good with words,but you know that. You know that I’ve always been the one who pushes forward first,right left, right left, right – but then you left – No…let me start again. I know howContinue reading “A Love Letter From My Right Ankle To My Left Ankle”

Laughing Buddha

T/W: Eating disorders & self harm There’s something you don’t know about me I’ve been pregnant for most of my life. When I was born,my limbs were skeletal,as if someone hadpulled my skin across my bodylike an ironing board,the creases and angles jutting out underneath. But, when I was 12,an Evil Boy and aWicked Girl,guidedContinue reading “Laughing Buddha”

Warm Showers

I have been told people who take warm showers are lonely,that they crave bodies. So, sometimes I think myselfevil brute,chewing onflesh to tear itfrom their bones tobuild myselfprecarious bodies,upon which I can balancemy very delicate ego. But mostly, I think myselfone-eyed cyclops, narrow-visioned,searching only for warmth,as cold rain pours from the showerhead above.