prarthanasingh - Hello Poetry

i’ve been sleeping fine these days, taking longer routes home to watch the clouds change colours. i wear golden rings now. i think they suit me better. it’s nice. it feels right. i make coffee at midnight, read about strangers in books like i’m studying a former life. i know all the right words now, how the body keeps score somehow, how memory moves in after love moves out. 99 per cent of the time i move fast enough to outrun my mind. i work, i write, wear myself dizzy. sometimes i give my hands something heavier than fear. and it works. god, it works. i laugh from my stomach these days. groove to music on crowded metro trains. i became somebody younger and older at once. it’s good. it feels right. then there’s the 1 percent. a voice with the wrong cadence coming to split my spine clean through. and suddenly i am 21 again, frozen beside my own reflection, listening to somebody turn me into something unbearable. funny thing about ghosts— they don’t always haunt houses. sometimes they settle in the head, in the half-second before laughter leaves your lungs. beautiful places freeze me now. nobody notices. i got good at hiding it. when i was younger, i used to think romance would save me. nobody told me it could turn me into surveillance instead. now i read psychology at 3 a.m., and annotate fictional breakdowns. it’s safe. it feels right. or maybe that should sound sadder than it does. a week before 22, my sky chart was unfolded. apparently, my hands came with casualties. funny— i thought they’d tell me to panic. instead i slept well that night. like my future had finally agreed to stop introducing me to wolves. maybe love and danger wear the same coats. still, i keep music playing. keep my body moving so it knows the worst thing already happened and the room stayed standing after. people think i’m too alive all at once. until sleep rewinds the wrong night. and suddenly it’s all there again. i gasp awake. make coffee. dance barefoot in the kitchen with peanut butter at the corner of my mouth. tell myself we’re lifting again today. become the new version of myself right on schedule. like nothing ever happened. that it’s safe. it feels right.

0

7d ago

May 27, 2026 at 10:55 AM UTC

"you look right"

i’ve been sleeping fine these days, taking longer routes home to watch the clouds change colours. i wear golden rings now. i think they suit me better. it’s nice. it feels right. i make coffee at midnight, read about strangers in books like i’m studying a former life. i know all the right words now, how the body keeps score somehow, how memory moves in after love moves out. 99 per cent of the time i move fast enough to outrun my mind. i work, i write, wear myself dizzy. sometimes i give my hands something heavier than fear. and it works. god, it works. i laugh from my stomach these days. groove to music on crowded metro trains. i became somebody younger and older at once. it’s good. it feels right. then there’s the 1 percent. a voice with the wrong cadence coming to split my spine clean through. and suddenly i am 21 again, frozen beside my own reflection, listening to somebody turn me into something unbearable. funny thing about ghosts— they don’t always haunt houses. sometimes they settle in the head, in the half-second before laughter leaves your lungs. beautiful places freeze me now. nobody notices. i got good at hiding it. when i was younger, i used to think romance would save me. nobody told me it could turn me into surveillance instead. now i read psychology at 3 a.m., and annotate fictional breakdowns. it’s safe. it feels right. or maybe that should sound sadder than it does. a week before 22, my sky chart was unfolded. apparently, my hands came with casualties. funny— i thought they’d tell me to panic. instead i slept well that night. like my future had finally agreed to stop introducing me to wolves. maybe love and danger wear the same coats. still, i keep music playing. keep my body moving so it knows the worst thing already happened and the room stayed standing after. people think i’m too alive all at once. until sleep rewinds the wrong night. and suddenly it’s all there again. i gasp awake. make coffee. dance barefoot in the kitchen with peanut butter at the corner of my mouth. tell myself we’re lifting again today. become the new version of myself right on schedule. like nothing ever happened. that it’s safe. it feels right.

84

I flee, I flee yet not so far, not far enough to be caught again by the very thing that centered me for quite a while. How fleest thou a thing that dwelleth everywhere? I feel and feel in measures most discreet, enough not to stumble into where the passion and the spirit meet. How am I made of so many contradictions? I toil, I read and I bleed on sheet. Small feedings for the hunger of me. Keeping its faint essence alive as I swear I don't need it to thrive. How fleest thou a thing that dwelleth everywhere? I ask the moon, the sun, the clouds, the stars, the constellations. who only show me... and me again. How am I made of so many contradictions? The night arrives and the luna wakes to play with the what-ifs I remember I jailed. How fleest thou a thing that dwelleth everywhere? I need no studded band, no dread, no snare. Luna, I crave but freedom, light and open air. 'Tis Mono no aware. Doth thou mock or test my weary sight? for there is joy in the vision's light yet waking brings melancholia's bite. How fleest thou a thing that dwelleth everywhere? That which I flee from, grants me air to breathe though from its void my spirits leak I refill it with living, with working, waiting for joy to exist without the very thing. How am I made of so many contradictions? my soul seems to love what I do most despise, I search for answers in ancient words, in spirit and in mind. How fleest thou a thing that dwelleth everywhere? Thou shalt never truly flee that which dwelleth everywhere.

0

Mar 15

Mar 15, 2026 at 3:21 PM UTC

Instructions on Running (in circles)

I flee, I flee yet not so far, not far enough to be caught again by the very thing that centered me for quite a while. How fleest thou a thing that dwelleth everywhere? I feel and feel in measures most discreet, enough not to stumble into where the passion and the spirit meet. How am I made of so many contradictions? I toil, I read and I bleed on sheet. Small feedings for the hunger of me. Keeping its faint essence alive as I swear I don't need it to thrive. How fleest thou a thing that dwelleth everywhere? I ask the moon, the sun, the clouds, the stars, the constellations. who only show me... and me again. How am I made of so many contradictions? The night arrives and the luna wakes to play with the what-ifs I remember I jailed. How fleest thou a thing that dwelleth everywhere? I need no studded band, no dread, no snare. Luna, I crave but freedom, light and open air. 'Tis Mono no aware. Doth thou mock or test my weary sight? for there is joy in the vision's light yet waking brings melancholia's bite. How fleest thou a thing that dwelleth everywhere? That which I flee from, grants me air to breathe though from its void my spirits leak I refill it with living, with working, waiting for joy to exist without the very thing. How am I made of so many contradictions? my soul seems to love what I do most despise, I search for answers in ancient words, in spirit and in mind. How fleest thou a thing that dwelleth everywhere? Thou shalt never truly flee that which dwelleth everywhere.

34

i had a moment in me that never got to breathe. it sat behind my lungs, pressed against my tongue, waiting to turn into touch. but the world was in a hurry the flight gates closing, our laughter trembling between panics, goodbyes and something else i couldn’t possibly name. you stood there, trollies blocking our path years of kindness in your eyes, the same boy who once said “we’ll end up together someday” and i, foolishly brave and too wise, told you to go find better. you listened. and that shattered something quiet in me. so i stayed silent not because i didn’t feel but because i didn’t want to unmake your peace. this is not regret, it’s just remembrance of us two who met too early, loved too gently, and protected each other a little too much. i wanted to lean in just an inch closer. just to give the gratitude, the goodbye, my heart owed. but maybe this whatever it is, or whatever it was, is knowing when to let the moment pass, and still saying, “i’m so glad we met today.”

0

Nov 6, 2025

Nov 6, 2025 at 12:31 PM UTC

Gate no. 52

i had a moment in me that never got to breathe. it sat behind my lungs, pressed against my tongue, waiting to turn into touch. but the world was in a hurry the flight gates closing, our laughter trembling between panics, goodbyes and something else i couldn’t possibly name. you stood there, trollies blocking our path years of kindness in your eyes, the same boy who once said “we’ll end up together someday” and i, foolishly brave and too wise, told you to go find better. you listened. and that shattered something quiet in me. so i stayed silent not because i didn’t feel but because i didn’t want to unmake your peace. this is not regret, it’s just remembrance of us two who met too early, loved too gently, and protected each other a little too much. i wanted to lean in just an inch closer. just to give the gratitude, the goodbye, my heart owed. but maybe this whatever it is, or whatever it was, is knowing when to let the moment pass, and still saying, “i’m so glad we met today.”

41

on that call you told me to die. again and again, you wished me a hospital bed, breathless, gone. i froze. like a locked house with all the lights cut. inside my stomach, butterflies mutated into bees, stinging me from within, so i pressed my palm to the hive each night. cause i knew if i crumbled, nothing would please you more than my ending. ten days later, you appeared. no omen, no warning, just there. beside you, a blonde. on you, the shirt i gave, the same one your mouth once screamed through “Burn it all, Let it cave” irony draped across your chest. i hated the sight. i hated you like the shadow hates light. my safe place soured, my ground devoured, the world smaller because you walked through it. your face, once rush of butterflies near, now swarm of danger, a mask to fear. two days later, an email came. an apology. not for me, no. for the record. for your conscience. for fear of one more enemy. you cried to your big sister, you said, for the cuss you spat at me. how neat. you get to cut, then stitch yourself clean? you get to curse, then beg not to be cursed? i let you call. i wanted you bare. and you spoke “just a friend, nothing there,” seven years older, a tour through the street.” the same one my footsteps first taught your feet? you moaned, said regret had swallowed your core, but your mouth still hid the dagger’s three-quarters more. i listened. i hated you more. your email read: “I’ll forever be rooting for your happiness.” what a joke. the same mouth that da*ned me to death now waves pompoms from the grave it broke. remember how you spat on the only faith i had? my books. my words. the ones you burned with your tongue? don’t worry. i’ll build a pyre of them to burn you back. and honey, don’t stress i’ll sign the acknowledgments to you, via email.

0

Sep 4, 2025

Sep 4, 2025 at 6:04 AM UTC

via email

on that call you told me to die. again and again, you wished me a hospital bed, breathless, gone. i froze. like a locked house with all the lights cut. inside my stomach, butterflies mutated into bees, stinging me from within, so i pressed my palm to the hive each night. cause i knew if i crumbled, nothing would please you more than my ending. ten days later, you appeared. no omen, no warning, just there. beside you, a blonde. on you, the shirt i gave, the same one your mouth once screamed through “Burn it all, Let it cave” irony draped across your chest. i hated the sight. i hated you like the shadow hates light. my safe place soured, my ground devoured, the world smaller because you walked through it. your face, once rush of butterflies near, now swarm of danger, a mask to fear. two days later, an email came. an apology. not for me, no. for the record. for your conscience. for fear of one more enemy. you cried to your big sister, you said, for the cuss you spat at me. how neat. you get to cut, then stitch yourself clean? you get to curse, then beg not to be cursed? i let you call. i wanted you bare. and you spoke “just a friend, nothing there,” seven years older, a tour through the street.” the same one my footsteps first taught your feet? you moaned, said regret had swallowed your core, but your mouth still hid the dagger’s three-quarters more. i listened. i hated you more. your email read: “I’ll forever be rooting for your happiness.” what a joke. the same mouth that da*ned me to death now waves pompoms from the grave it broke. remember how you spat on the only faith i had? my books. my words. the ones you burned with your tongue? don’t worry. i’ll build a pyre of them to burn you back. and honey, don’t stress i’ll sign the acknowledgments to you, via email.

85

i waited for grief to come in floods, in salt, in a body emptied out by mourning. but nothing came. only fog. fragments. a static silence where you should have been. disgust, i’ve learned, is a dry wound. it does not weep. it rots. you called me fake? dumb? CRAZY? as if snapping my bones could stitch yours whole. your words clung to my skin like mould on damp walls. i scrubbed. scrubbed. until i remembered: “the rot was never mine.” you spoke like a warden locked me in isolation, called it care. captivity disguised as care. and i, fool enough, tried to call it love. when my heart cracked open, you entered like a thief, shattering the mirror where i kept myself safe. i watched my life flash past, present, all of me. as you clawed at my reflection, as if breaking me could free you from yourself. you were never a batman. but a boy in a paper mask, reeking, hoping shadows would hide your stink. i don’t hate you. hate needs blood, and you’re not worth a cut. what i feel is filth, the stench of your voice in my throat, the memory of lowering myself to touch something already rotting. you are not a loss. you are THE DISGUST. the shame i scrubbed off my skin, the vermin i left behind writhing in its own dirt.

0

Aug 23, 2025

Aug 23, 2025 at 4:52 AM UTC

batman? ROTMAN.

i waited for grief to come in floods, in salt, in a body emptied out by mourning. but nothing came. only fog. fragments. a static silence where you should have been. disgust, i’ve learned, is a dry wound. it does not weep. it rots. you called me fake? dumb? CRAZY? as if snapping my bones could stitch yours whole. your words clung to my skin like mould on damp walls. i scrubbed. scrubbed. until i remembered: “the rot was never mine.” you spoke like a warden locked me in isolation, called it care. captivity disguised as care. and i, fool enough, tried to call it love. when my heart cracked open, you entered like a thief, shattering the mirror where i kept myself safe. i watched my life flash past, present, all of me. as you clawed at my reflection, as if breaking me could free you from yourself. you were never a batman. but a boy in a paper mask, reeking, hoping shadows would hide your stink. i don’t hate you. hate needs blood, and you’re not worth a cut. what i feel is filth, the stench of your voice in my throat, the memory of lowering myself to touch something already rotting. you are not a loss. you are THE DISGUST. the shame i scrubbed off my skin, the vermin i left behind writhing in its own dirt.

55

and it comes without warning a shift in the wind, a breath that won’t land, a blue that lingers like a ghost in my hand. i sit in my skin like it’s foreign, misplaced, like it’s shrinking each hour and i can't bear the weight. no one broke me today. and still, my body folds learning to stay in a world that forgets how to hold me that way. don’t ask me what’s wrong there’s no name, no song for a pain this old, just the weight of a hundred selves i couldn’t hold. but when it strikes, i don’t need grace. just the courage to look my ruin in the face. because some days, survival looks like a girl curled up and still biting her fist so the world doesn’t hear what it means to be here and feel everything masqueraded while her heart knows that she lived, but not all of her did.

0

Jun 19, 2025

Jun 19, 2025 at 12:31 PM UTC

miscarriage

and it comes without warning a shift in the wind, a breath that won’t land, a blue that lingers like a ghost in my hand. i sit in my skin like it’s foreign, misplaced, like it’s shrinking each hour and i can't bear the weight. no one broke me today. and still, my body folds learning to stay in a world that forgets how to hold me that way. don’t ask me what’s wrong there’s no name, no song for a pain this old, just the weight of a hundred selves i couldn’t hold. but when it strikes, i don’t need grace. just the courage to look my ruin in the face. because some days, survival looks like a girl curled up and still biting her fist so the world doesn’t hear what it means to be here and feel everything masqueraded while her heart knows that she lived, but not all of her did.

37

i stand in the silence between what’s said, a love that lingers, a love that bled. one promises, soft as a lie the other burns with a question in its eye. one says "forever" but i feel the weight. the other stays quiet, afraid of fate. one is fire, bright and untamed the other’s a shadow, untouchable, unnamed. both make me feel like i’m meant to choose but neither tells me which one to lose. i’m caught in the space where i can’t decide, between the love that’s loud and the one that hides. one pulls me close but leaves me cold, the other stays afar but wants to hold. and i wonder if i’ll ever know which love will break me and which one will let me grow.

0

Apr 1, 2025

Apr 1, 2025 at 11:44 AM UTC

the fire Vs the shadow

i stand in the silence between what’s said, a love that lingers, a love that bled. one promises, soft as a lie the other burns with a question in its eye. one says "forever" but i feel the weight. the other stays quiet, afraid of fate. one is fire, bright and untamed the other’s a shadow, untouchable, unnamed. both make me feel like i’m meant to choose but neither tells me which one to lose. i’m caught in the space where i can’t decide, between the love that’s loud and the one that hides. one pulls me close but leaves me cold, the other stays afar but wants to hold. and i wonder if i’ll ever know which love will break me and which one will let me grow.

16

in soft whispers, our tale did start, he, the constant beat within my heart, through all my flaws, his love prevailed, yet now, it's like a ship that sailed. (drifted away) in silent vows, we danced in dreams, but now, reality it seems, has torn our love like shattered beams. his gaze, once warm, now icy cold, my love, a story never told, i loved him deeply, hearts enfold, now distant shores, my love untold. in silent tears, my heart does weep, a love so deep, now lost in sleep, i gave my all, our secrets keep, but now alone, i sadly reap. (feelings of loneliness and heartache) as i watch him drift away, i'll cling to memories, come what may, for love, though lost, still finds its way.

0

Apr 1, 2025

Apr 1, 2025 at 11:37 AM UTC

love's last visit

in soft whispers, our tale did start, he, the constant beat within my heart, through all my flaws, his love prevailed, yet now, it's like a ship that sailed. (drifted away) in silent vows, we danced in dreams, but now, reality it seems, has torn our love like shattered beams. his gaze, once warm, now icy cold, my love, a story never told, i loved him deeply, hearts enfold, now distant shores, my love untold. in silent tears, my heart does weep, a love so deep, now lost in sleep, i gave my all, our secrets keep, but now alone, i sadly reap. (feelings of loneliness and heartache) as i watch him drift away, i'll cling to memories, come what may, for love, though lost, still finds its way.

19

we locked eyes and i didn’t know i’d already started to drown you spoke in fire but all i saw was the glow. promises bled through your teeth, as you hid the ashes in the sheath. your touch was a symphony of desire, but love, it seems, was a language you never learned to inspire. you held me like a trophy. but trophies don’t have hearts, do they? and then, there was blood. not the kind that heals, but the kind that screams in silence, that no one sees or feels. i waited for your hand! for your voice to break the ache but your care was a phantom, a shadow i couldn’t shake. you kissed my name on your boots? yet left me bleeding in my bed. your love was a script, rehearsed. while i lived without an urge. i gathered myself in the dark, each fragment, each broken part, but i left before the light had burned before you saw my heart returned. i burned what the boys left of me and rose from the ashes, again, wild and free. for i am no man’s reflection i am my own truth, my own salvation.

0

Apr 1, 2025

Apr 1, 2025 at 11:36 AM UTC

a trophy without a home.

we locked eyes and i didn’t know i’d already started to drown you spoke in fire but all i saw was the glow. promises bled through your teeth, as you hid the ashes in the sheath. your touch was a symphony of desire, but love, it seems, was a language you never learned to inspire. you held me like a trophy. but trophies don’t have hearts, do they? and then, there was blood. not the kind that heals, but the kind that screams in silence, that no one sees or feels. i waited for your hand! for your voice to break the ache but your care was a phantom, a shadow i couldn’t shake. you kissed my name on your boots? yet left me bleeding in my bed. your love was a script, rehearsed. while i lived without an urge. i gathered myself in the dark, each fragment, each broken part, but i left before the light had burned before you saw my heart returned. i burned what the boys left of me and rose from the ashes, again, wild and free. for i am no man’s reflection i am my own truth, my own salvation.

30

i carry wounds like fragile glass smoothed edges but sharp in secret places, ghostly seams from a lover who left me hollow. and now there’s him. this beautiful, distant man holding me close yet never close enough. his hands warm but never knowing where i truly hurt. i want to peel back my skin, show him where the bones are brittle press his hand to the bruises that linger to reveal the hurt without flinching. but he is quiet. my silent healer. and i am tired of whispering, “see me.” into shadows, he will never chase. so i lie still, half known and half hoping. a broken thing too weary to break again wondering if love is just the art of pretending, we are whole.

0

Apr 1, 2025

Apr 1, 2025 at 11:32 AM UTC

almost whole

i carry wounds like fragile glass smoothed edges but sharp in secret places, ghostly seams from a lover who left me hollow. and now there’s him. this beautiful, distant man holding me close yet never close enough. his hands warm but never knowing where i truly hurt. i want to peel back my skin, show him where the bones are brittle press his hand to the bruises that linger to reveal the hurt without flinching. but he is quiet. my silent healer. and i am tired of whispering, “see me.” into shadows, he will never chase. so i lie still, half known and half hoping. a broken thing too weary to break again wondering if love is just the art of pretending, we are whole.

19