INNOCENCE

“Innocent.”

You say that like a bad thing.

Like the horror unleashed by half-men on a full night’s bed.

You don’t falter, for you know I’m wrapped around your finger.

So mesmerized,

So taken, after your long chase.

 

“Innocent.”

You say it again,

You the words slip by without caring;

for you have judged me in a split second,

and labelled twenty three years of I.

 

Though, how would you know?

What goes in on my mind,

What scars I have,

What lies I spin in my head,

To keep the fire burning in my eyes alive.

 

What efforts do I take to go out and see the world through the same lens, I once used as a child –

trying to believe in the innate goodness of the human heart,

trying so desperately to believe that good things happen to good people,

but lay bleeding on the floor the next day, from the punches of another child who had been told that there was no place in this world for a weakling to grow into.

 

What attires do I choose for my soul,

that betrays the steel armour I would like to wear, every time I see another human

for a broken soul is all I’ve carried since forever

and I could give anyone up in a heartbeat, before they look like they would leave me.

 

How I hear the sniggers behind me, “Too good. Too giving. Too unreal.”

Too much, is all I’ll be.

Too much to take in.

Too much to keep.

And you would have let me go before I would have ended with this –

From sheer frustration of dealing with a girl who bares her heart when she finds someone she could keep,

no complexities,

no mysteries for you to unravel,

no long nights of tease.

 

And believe me, I’ll sigh and just let you pass by,

for I’ve seen the likes of you since I started to see right.

You with an exterior of tough and experienced,

so hollow that you go around trying to have someone in some way,

trying so hard to have a smidgen of something without giving your anything,

and feeling satisfied for that night.

Waking up the next day, spent and shaken;

from a taste of the drug you had the night before;

wanting it again, just not from the same person – for too soon, too long, too much is innocent.

 

And I’ll keep on spinning – poetry and goodness.

And I’ll keep on wanting, more than others have been taught to want.

And I’ll keep on loving, more than people deserve to be loved.

For even if I get hurt at the end of the day,

I won’t go to sleep with regret,

Having done my bit.

For this world needs a bit of saving,

Even if good people take the most beating out of it.

For this world needs a bit more of innocence.

 

– Parnini G.