Monika Lives in Delhi, Delhi, India

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Today My Alarm Went Off At 12:30PM by Mira Gonzalez
I stayed in bed for over an hour 
looked at things on my phone 
I felt slightly anxious about nothing particular 
I walked downstairs and poured coffee into a jar 
I asked a person on the internet if I should take drugs 
I took drugs before the person had time to respond

I feel alienated by people who express concern about me without 
defining their concern in terms of a specific solution or goal 
I dont feel comforted by the idea of an afterlife 
I dont want to continue experiencing things after I die
I want someone to pull my hair because I like the idea of someone 
controlling my head without touching my head

what is the difference between being an independent person 
and being a person who is accepting of loneliness

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Love in the Dark Country by #KapkaKassabova
Tomorrow for twenty-four hours
I’ll be in the same country as you.

The sky will be constantly shifting,
the morning will be green, a single morning
for my single bed. And in the night

as the dark country goes to sleep
a church bell will measure
the jet-lag of my heart.

I’ll open my suitcase and unfold my life
like a blanket. In the dark country I will lie
all night and wonder how this came to be:

the one light left in the world
is your window, somewhere in the land

of thin rain and expensive trains.
And instead of maps, I have an onward ticket.

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"A Brown Girl's Guide to Gender" - Aranya Johar (Women's Day Special) - Amazing Poetry 
 <a class="tagAnchor" href="" title="Gender">#Gender</a> <a class="tagAnchor" href="" title="Feminism">#Feminism</a> <a class="tagAnchor" href="" title="AranyaJohar">#AranyaJohar</a> <a class="tagAnchor" href="" title="AmazingPoetry">#AmazingPoetry</a>

"A Brown Girl's Guide to Gender" - Aranya Johar (Women's Day Special) - Amazing Poetry
#Gender #Feminism #AranyaJohar #AmazingPoetry

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#Shapes by #RuthStone
In the longer view it doesn’t matter.
However, it’s that having lived, it matters.
So that every death breaks you apart.
You find yourself weeping at the door
of your own kitchen, overwhelmed
by loss. And you find yourself weeping
as you pass the homeless person
head in hands resigned on a cement
step, the wire basket on wheels right there.
Like stopped film, or a line of Vallejo,
or a sketch of the mechanics of a wing
by Leonardo. All pauses in space,
a violent compression of meaning
in an instant within the meaningless.
Even staring into the dim shapes
at the farthest edge; accepting that blur.

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