I'm happier without you.
But, I don't write poems anymore.
At least, not of him.
Sep 15, 2019
Sep 15, 2019 at 5:11 PM UTC
To think I was quenched by the drips of a rickety faucet,
when there was the whole ocean.
Now that I'm finally here,
I will stay.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 4:33 PM UTC
Snowflakes stuck on the window pane,
mesmerizes me every single time.
Each with its own intrinsic pattern,
like fingerprints of a thousand angels,
scattered about delicately,
in multiple shades of pearly diamond dust,
trying hard to appear abstract,
but failing to disguise the meticulous magnificence
with which they have been created,
not only restoring faith in a divine power,
but also confirming she's an artist.
But, they say it's really bad for the window.
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
Though I'm confident I know every inch of you by now,
I'd rather not say 'like the back of my palm',
for the familiarity is more tantamount to the air that I breath.
If I were to describe you to a sketch artist,
I would be stumped, completely lost for words.
If I were pressed I'd ponder for an eternity,
and reluctantly begin with your eyes, if pressed some more.
I would say they are dusty blue and deep, deep not in the hue
but the capacity for me to get lost in them forever.
The beard, rustic and playfully speckled in shades of crimson,
is a tug of war between a starving artist and an ancient Greek philosopher.
Freckles in-between resemble the night sky with my favourite constellation,
plus a few more stars scattered for that extra sparkle.
Those ridiculously long eye lashes completely wasted on any other man,
forcing me to restrain blinking in your presence,
so I would not miss a single time you blink,
hence witnessing third of a second of divine artistry.
You are indescribable and defining you as perfect would be an extreme misstatement,
for you are not the ultimate level of mortal physical attraction.
You are a memory, a vision and an everyday feeling,
inherent yet I relentlessly pursue and strive to own.
You could make raging atheists superstitious,
whereas for me you are salvation.
So if I were truly pressed to describe even vaguely the way you look,
it will have to be in animated glossolalia, or resort to a quick intake of breath
followed by a wistful sigh and gazing dreamily into the abyss.
On most days I think you are my every dream,
but here you are, very real.
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 5:40 PM UTC
I wonder what we are trying to do.
Are we trying to write our love story,
or fit into the characters of one that's already written,
by just you or just me or an anonymous author or society?
Either way as it appears improvisation is not our forte
and the plot is yet to thicken.
Do we really have things in common, or
pretending to believe in the opposites attract notion?
I can see us shaving bits and bobs of ourselves off,
as usual me more than you,
and wedging mismatched corner pieces together,
almost hoping we'll some how stick, grow and evolve,
like a transplanted ***** or a candle wick in wax,
when in reality all we are is a badly in-completed puzzle.
We share a sense of brokenness and a fear of being broken,
so together we are skeptical of most things, and all people,
and hold our emotions hostage,
while using emoticons and gifs instead,
hoping if we play independent and self-love cards often enough,
we'll somehow win the hand,
when no one knows the rules of the game,
except that the stakes are really high.
Perhaps what we are doing is to see if we can walk together,
you on your side of the road and me mine,
sometimes one leading the other, and sometimes side by side.
But if neither one of us knows where we are going,
will the journey still be worth the while?
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
Just when the ****** I found on your bedroom floor,
was finally clarifying our relationship as casual and nothing more,
you went and blabbed about your nan.
I wish you'd stop baring random bits of your soul,
when this has been nothing but a ***** call,
and quit crossing the line I keep drawing in the sand.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
Lying in bed cocooned by sweaty old sheets,
un-showered with last nights make up on the face,
binge watching Grey's Anatomy for the second time,
I felt more closer to you than anyone else in the world.
Isn't it ironic how the love which once made us soar,
see the world in a brand new light,
added a skip to our stride and a boost to our pride,
can bring us to our knees on a bathroom floor,
gasping for air,
for that same love was now taking our breath away,
in a humiliating, excruciating, soul ******* kind of way.
But you were only acting.
I'm not.
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 4:28 PM UTC
It wasn't until you pulled the carpet from underneath me
that I realized I was never the princess;
I was in fact the genie.
I had been blissfully unaware,
enjoying the view from up there,
dazzled by you,
when the world was never new.
I'm trapped in the dark now, again,
free falling through the starless sky.
It was never magic was it, just voodoo?
Well, no more wishes for you.
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 2:37 PM UTC
When your favourite song came up on my Spotify,
I froze.
For just over 4 minutes I couldn't move,
I couldn't think,
I could barely breath or even blink.
I felt cold, abandoned, disoriented, hopeless,
like the moment I knew we were done.
I'm holding on to Winter,
but there's the sun.
It hurts more than anticipated,
but I'm not deleting the song.
Shuffling between self destruction and being strong,
I must go on.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
When the man at the hardware store asks,
what shade of blue are you looking for sugar,
to paint the walls of our hypothetical son's room,
I would have said heartbreak,
the same shade of heartbreaking blue as his daddy's eyes.
Ironic, because I would have rooted for a gender neutral colour,
an agnostic upbringing and a liberal education,
but somewhere down this erratic, dysfunctional relationship,
I stopped caring, or perhaps, cared only of you.
Since you left there's nothing to care about,
there's no you, there's no us, there's no motivation,
my priorities, values and aspirations are still maintaining a distance,
I'm feeling a heartbreaking shade of blue.
Like that one time I got high on dried out ****
I was completely aware of every stage of this breakup,
the shock, the disbelief, the sadness, the pain, the regret,
until it stopped.
The world has come to a standstill,
leaving me tripping between spring and snowflakes on the windowsill,
I'm not coming down from the high, or low,
I should have got you out of my system 4 years ago.
It's not a linear process, said my friend,
and I know what he means,
because for everyday I get through without thinking of you,
I spend weeks curled up in pain in bed or on the floor,
feeling a heartbreaking shade of blue.
Kept awake at night, weary, paranoid and deluded,
suffocated, drowned in despair, sometimes even in air,
in the shallow words, empty promises and plans made,
thrown into solitary confinement among hundreds of other people,
breaking me, when I'm already broken.
All while you stripped me of my dignity, intuition and optimism,
disregarded my needs, exploited my insecurities and wasted my heart,
I thought I knew you,
come to think of it, I don't think your eyes are blue.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 8:44 AM UTC