by Gill, Nikita
don’t feel like they belong to me.
Days I cannot look men in the eye
because I do not want them to get
the wrong idea about me.
It’s because we are taught
from an early age
that we hold within our bodies
Pandora’s box.
Something so dangerous
it does not just affect us,
it affects everyone we love,
and everything we care for.
And we must guard it with strength,
with determination,
hiding ourselves from becoming
an object of lust and sexual appetite.
Still I cannot help but wonder
as often as I did as a child.
Why do we shame Pandora for opening the box,
when she simply did it out of curiosity?
Shouldn’t we rather blame the person
who created a box
of such terrible power
as we should blame society
for making rules for our bodies
that we never agreed to,
nor wanted to be our philosophy?
Temple
Her body is not your home
it is a temple
and you are a pilgrim
it is kindly giving shelter to.
And pilgrims know better
than to destroy the holy thing
that is providing them with shelter
away from their home.
Questions to Ask Yourself
When was the last time
someone was kind to you
without wanting anything
from you?
When was the last time
someone was gentle with your soul
without asking for something
in return?
Value
I only learned
the value,
the weight,
the density
of my soul
when people tried
to devalue,
undermine
and soil it
with terrible intentions
with their damning touch.
Pieces
I understand
your need to nurture
and to give yourself away in pieces.
But darling,
some people will take from you
and give nothing back in return.
You feel empty souled and heavy hearted,
it is because you have been robbed
of your kindness.
Protect that kind, giving heart,
give to those who appreciate
your magnificent soul.
Time
What I have spent
in mourning
is the price
I have paid
for my healing.
Belonging
You have belonged
better in your own arms
than in anyone else’s.
Remember you are
the softest love
you will ever have.
Haunted
We are all preoccupied,
haunted by the people
we should be.
By the ghosts of everything
we promised ourselves
as children we would be,
until we faced life with all its cruelty
and it turned us into graveyards
of our dreams, our choices,
of what should have been our history.
Nurture
Yesterday
I spent the morning
tending to my wounds
with the sun’s rays
and brushing through my scars
with sweet, honey like words.
I spent the afternoon
washing my sins away
with warm salt water.
I spent the evening
in the moonlight
soothing my mind
under its calm.
Later,
my mother asked me
what I did that day,
I told her,
‘I healed.
For my soul,
like flowers
needs tending too.’
Blossom
Recognise the danger
of loving someone
who does not let
the seeds of your emotions
blossom
whether in tears or flowers.
If they cannot empathise,
they should not be
a part of your life.
My Monsters
I had hoped one day to find someone
who loves my monsters,
the wolves that I feed,
the demons I sing to sleep
the tiger that is my caged heart
the parts of me I do not talk about
I prayed and wished and yearned
until I realised that I had already found her
within me.
Never Forget
Woman,
Forget what anyone tells you.
Your flaws are beautiful.
Sit down with them
and admire them.
You are permitted to be cruel sometimes.
And you are allowed to fall apart,
and feel every emotion
they tell you not to feel.
People tell you to be virtuous,
and ladylike and pretty
and everything you aren’t
and were never going to be.
People forget that women too
sometimes bare teeth.
We too feel the need to be hard
and lustful and angry and taste blood.
Just because we are soft
doesn’t mean there aren’t flames
within us that rise
a thousand miles above.
Fuel
The fuel that runs this spirit, this soul,
is not easy to understand.
It is made of fire
And it is made of water.
It is made of the kind of darkness
that will swallow entire stars.
But it is also made
of the cold sea waves
that soothe.
It is wild too,
as wild as the birds
and wolves
that live in the forest.
And the way it flies
when we experience true happiness,
true freedom
it is made of the wind too.
We try to classify ourselves
into words,
into labels,
but how to define
something as eternal,
as huge as your soul
when it is an entire universe
in and of itself?
Three Versions of You
There are three versions of you.
The one that smiles
and laughs with others,
the one that hides
and cries alone,
and the one that has the ability
to achieve greatness.
These are like three roots
that emerge from a sapling,
you must find a way to grow
into a single, enlightened being
like a wise old oak,
and you will bear the fruit
of every happiness that eludes you.
Earth
When you are in pain
remind yourself
of the earth and
how she must have felt
when she was born.
Every single one of
her oceans
her rivers
her forests
and her sky
must have
caused her agony
in creation.
And from her,
you will learn this:
growth is a thing
/>
of beauty
and of pain,
without heartache
there are no lessons
to gain.
Planets and Stars
And if they berate you
and push you down
and break you
and tell you over and over again
how you are not enough,
remember how Pluto
had once been dissolved
to being nothingness,
and is fighting its way back
into being a planet again.
You are made of planets
and stars and seas and oceans.
And no one can tell them
what they can and cannot be.
Just like no one can tell you
what you can and cannot be.
Bedtime Stories
When your daughter asks you to tell her bedtime stories, the kind that you grew up with, I hope you tell her better versions.
I hope you tell her bedtime stories where the princess isn’t a princess but a knight and she’s going to war with dragons all by herself. I hope you tell her stories where the princess rescues her father’s kingdom from impending doom. I hope you tell her stories where girls save themselves from anything. And no towers and monsters and dragons and kings can ever stop them from doing what they want to do.
Acknowledgements
With deepest gratitude to:
My parents for letting me grow at my own pace and in my own time, the way I need.
My grandparents for always telling me the best stories and truths.
My brother for being so supportive and strong when I needed him.
Emma, for discovering my work, being the absolute best editor anyone could wish for and keeping me inspired always.
Leanne, Zabiba and Cait for being the dream team of wonder women every author should be blessed with.
Steve, for being there for me when I had broken and thought would never recover.
Ivan and Tom for being such incredible humans in a world where that is becoming difficult.
Clare, for being my sister and my human when I needed one the most.
Bianca and Chris, for believing in the crazy universes and theories I can only share with them.
Tree and Jo for being the once-in-a-lifetime friends that they are and who never fail to bring joy and creative life wherever they go.
And to you, who has never stopped believing in good, and watching the night sky, no matter what life has thrown at you. Thank you for believing always. I hope you find what you are looking for.
About the Author
Nikita Gill is a British-Indian writer and poet living in the south of England. With a huge online following, her words have entranced hearts and minds all over the world.
Follow her work online:
Instagram: @nikita_gill
Tumblr: meanwhilepoetry.tumblr.com
Facebook: nikitagillwrites
Twitter: @nktgill
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