Hold The Sugar

My chest is a teacup, fine bone
china chipped off at the edges
by the teeth that clashed against
the porcelain cream, leaving rose-
shaped bruises people gasped
over – ‘is that handpainted water-
colour?’ – rimmed with the thinnest
line of gold trim scraped off by
years and years of tongues being
held back by the brim of scalding
liquid that poured forth every time
someone tried to tip it – hot heated
crimson stained with anger, lust,
and uncontrolled spillage of words
that stain the sheen every time they
flow through, till the glaze is tinted
a faint yellow, not bright enough
to be the sun, and not weak enough
to live in the melancholy of sepia-
tinted dreams and wants, my heart
is the bottom that gathers all the
dregs left by every spill that splashed,
quietly hoarding every leaf, every
drop of dirty milk, and every little
omen I can read, my chest is a teacup,
and it cracks every day, little rivulets
escaping their little cage, the pressure
of simply trying to exist, to be
exploding through their embrace.

Harnidh Kaur is currently pursuing her Master’s in Public Policy. Her first book, The Inability of Words, is slated for a 2016 release.

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