Messed up

I listen to messed up songs and

I hang around with messed up people.

There are quakes in my heart and

I can feel tremors of it in my toes.

My tears are like leaves in autumn

Falling off without consent.

My diaphragm doesn’t expand like balloons anymore

And I can’t breathe.

I dug into my veins, to find at least a well

Were once we’re streams,

All had dried up.

Alas, the deprivation of oxygen

Messed up my brain.


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© The Rendezvous Club

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I am sorry people for being away for not reading you post and not replying to your queries. I am a little but lost. I hope you haven’t forgotten me yet.

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A bottle of ash


My works are like, leaves of a tree in autumn

Waiting to be carried to it’s grave.

Waiting to be carried by the air

To go the places, it has seen.

Carry them to a pile of other leaves

Where it’ll be burned later on

And those ashes I’ll wear on my face.

My face shall resemble a dead women’s then,

All words marks and no feelings

With wrinkles not beautiful like leaves veins,

Neither parallel nor reticulate.

But maybe like roots

That never found water.

Water not my words, while at death bed

And not burry us, while we both die.

Rather burn us and collect those ashes

In a discarded bottle and keep it safe, openly

For another dead woman, to find it,

Reach her hands into it and

Wear those ashes on her face.


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©16/04/19 The Rendezvous Club

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Eating soil


My mamma caught me eating soil yesterday,

She wouldn’t have caught me, if

I hadn’t stolen the sieve

From the kitchen,

To separate the rocks from the soil.

I should have let those rocks

Poke my oesophagus.

She patted thrice on my back

And took me in,

Seated me next to the kitchen door

Went in to get a glass of water.

She asked me to drink at least half of it

And wiped the dirt off my face.

She asked me, why I was eating dirt?

I said, you told me that

I was made of soil and

I’ll return to soil one day.

So I was trying, to fasten the process.

Which process? She asked.

I said there was two and

I’m happy with either one.

First is that,

I think when I was made, someone left holes in me

And I wanted the soil to fill me up.

For things ache in me and

I want to feel whole .

And second is that,

If I eat too much soil then

I’ll have more than enough of it in me that,

Earth would want me to return to it soon

And I’ll finally be free.

Mamma then held me close to her chest and said

Baby things don’t work like that,

If they did,

Then I would have sat along with you

And ate soil.

My dear baby things don’t work like that.


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© 14/04/19 The Rendezvous Club

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What good will love bring?


I think I love you

But I would not tell you.

You have places to go

And I have eyes to meet.

Our desire part ways

In the crossroads.

Our love unties

As future stare at us.

What good will love bring?

When I need you,

Yet not want you.

When I love you,

Yet need to part you.


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©10/04/19 The Rendezvous Club

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Mad girl’s daughter


There were moments

When my mamma thought

I need therapy.

But I know

She won’t take me

What would the world say.

Mad girl’s daughter gone

Even more mad.

Demons on her back

Skeletons in her bag.

Sin is a word to describe,

We don’t know her past.

But then again they’ll sing

Mad girl’s daughter gone

Even more mad.

When Dad went out of the picture

You should have seen her suture.

Shadows kept in room

Windows kept her in.

Shadows kept in room

Windows kept her in.

Shadows kept in room

Windows kept her in.

Mad girl’s daughter gone

Even more mad.


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Image from Pinterest

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©9/4/19 The Rendezvous Club

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A sunflower’s insanity


A sunflower went to a bouquet shop

Tried to buy a Garland of roses

Just to be worn around it’s head.

The sun got mad at the flower

For it’s atrocity and asked;

You yourself is a flower

Don’t you know that it hurts

When cut up to be born a bouquet.

The sunflower said;

I’m insane

I turned into one

When I started loving you,

You enslaved my head

Labeled me yours

And now I’m out trying to find stuff

To label as mine.

And I think that being a bouquet is better

Than being enslaved.

At least it dies in the hand of someone

Who appreciates love

As a symbol of love

With the knowledge that it was loved.


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©8/4/19 The Rendezvous Club

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If love was coffee


If love was coffee

I’d add a bit more milk to mine

Being bitter is fine,

But not always

That’s not right.

If love was coffee

I’d stir the sugar nice

Until homogeneously mixed

Bitter on top, too sweet down bottom,

Now that’s horrible

Don’t you think.

If love was coffee

I’d have it twice

A cup in the morning

To be awake and

Another in the evening,

To stay awake

Not a drop more.

Can’t deal with insomnia!

If love was coffee

I don’t mind dying to soon

Because I had too many

too soon.

If love was coffee

I’d advise you,

Don’t start too young

Caffeine is not good for you.

If love was coffee

Arrgh! Who am I kidding,

Love isn’t coffee

It’s much worse than that.


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©31/03/19 The Rendezvous Club

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