If Sorrow Was A Person by Anushka Das
sorrow is
too young
to be this
morose
she is only nineteen
sorrow shuts
the windows and
doors so tightly
not a sliver of hope
can invade
she lives in my room
sorrow doesn’t
cry to sleep
every night
but just
enough nights
she sleeps on my pillow
sorrow wears
a party hat
to funerals
she uses my charcoal toothbrush
sorrow wears
black pencil heels
and walks a tightrope
with depression on one side
and anxiety on the other
she sprays my lavender scent
on herself
sorrow smiles
like a prisoner
on a death sentence
she rubs my shea butter lotion
on her skin
sorrow drinks
coffee not to stay awake
but to stay away from
her nightmares
she uses my ceramic coffee cup
sorrow treats
happiness like rain
extends her fingers
in the drizzle
but cowers from
the downpour
she uses my blue striped umbrella
sorrow took
the road not taken
because it was
the loneliest to walk
she wears a pendant
with my initials engraved on it
sorrow falls
in love
but calls it
hurtling herself
off a cliff
and hoping to
sprout wings mid fall
she writes unfinished love poems
in the margins of my diary
sorrow has
a laugh that
reverberates
around the room
until it sounds
like a croak
dislodged in
her throat
she responds to my name
sorrow wraps
a shroud around herself
and calls it a shield
she is told that
being sad is not
a medical condition
and hence
needs no curing
so be yourself
and be happy
sorrow says that
she can’t do
both together
but she uses
my tongue
for her sour words
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