radiohead

oh my head's like a cloud of smoke
and not the good kind with flavors and sounds
but these whiffs of thoughts that just don't
evaporate.

rupi kaur

reading her is like sharing a secret
that can't be spoken out loud.
words so simple, metaphors so apt
and between those lines are whispers
of pain and smallness and a seed of feminism
growing against the odds and because of them
into a sapling
that always belonged to the sun

how does she knowme
so well

and between those lines are whispers
that love and guilt can be the same
that a brown girl's daily bread
is worth poetry