Too Late

By Mahati Shiralkar

i know i should’ve come out,

from way under the ragged depths of my skin,

from underneath the rotten flesh,

dead from days of deprecation and pure pain.

but i hid sheepishly instead.

i know i should’ve walked away,

away from vile people that expected too much,

away from dreadful situations that gave too less,

away from ghastly thoughts that had infiltrated their way in.

but i foolishly froze there instead.

i know i should’ve liked myself better,

liked the scars that intimately laced my skin,

loved the occasional smile that was always half-warped,

And i wish i adored the sound of my cracked voice,

but i ended up being a person i bitterly hated.

i know i should’ve looked away,

i know i could’ve.

but it’s too late,

they’re already staring at me with a sardonic grin,

looking into my soul.

fiercely. deeply. intensely.

By Mahati Shiralkar