Indu Pillai

Who maimed your story? Who twisted parts of it and perforated the rest beyond recognition by guilting you into premature forgiveness?

terrorizing my mind with a positive thought

going to self soothe and heal in the sunshine of my own love today in the actual sunshine

Difficult to make good decisions when your only choices are bad and worse.

you have to separate the art from the artist, they go in different garbage cans

Now rest the deep breaths of silent seething and twist that regret into a raft. If it rows backward, jump and disappear.

Him: you look so young

Her: thanks thats because I avoid responsibility at all times

Where the threadbare holds onto the strength of their stitch.

Soften that gaze. You may break loose the restraint strewn through the nostrils of wild thoughts.

I care, you care, we all do the care-care

If you're thinking of doing a silly little creative thing, now is the time. Tomorrow is not guaranteed and we all need a little more joy right now.

My dove eyes of yesterday I cannot fashion again from my owl eyes of today. This wisdom is irreversible.

i don't care where my extra hour goes as long as it takes me with it.

We're developing a kind of meditational grounding practice centered around caramelizing peppers, mushrooms, and onions

Mind the gap...in accountability

That one wish you keep stunted as a bonsai, its roots practically an afterthought, perhaps leave it in a forest and don’t look back.

I can no longer afford my poetic license.

my goals have training wheels

When things were real, we made ethereal but slipped soon in the wide gap between surreal and funereal. Here there’s a thriving township.

I was my tv’s favorite kid growing up.

My bicycle got a flat and now I'm in decision limbo to either fix it & see friends this week or leave it & enter goblin mode 😭

No hurry, all that matters shall surface in this special churn of decisions and disappointments.

i've got my home in my hand

Stink bug drowned in the dregs of last nights rumchata. Where did he come from where did he go, where did he come from stink bug Joe.

My passion was the moon, after all, free to stay or hide without a why.

hovering over myself like a dissociative ghost

The ghosts of good enough.

my nonsense cannot magically be made into sense why do you bother

Pay attention. In words, the distraction. In pauses, osmosis.

Whatever you do, just don't be forgettable.