And here I am,
I sit,
I stand,
inhale and breathe and live and wish to change,
but it is still there.
Whether I ponder over it or not,
whether I wish it gone or to disappear,
it is still there.
'No regrets', I said -
How true is that? I wonder.
One more day, I think it through...
Is it even worth a thought, I wonder.
No matter what I do, it still remains.
No matter how I wish to change,
I stand, I sit, inhale once more.
It is through breath and life that I choose to be,
not letting it dictate,
but still carrying its weight.
Regret - one may call it - yet,
in retrospect,
it is just,
Me.
Jan 24
Jan 24, 2026 at 11:38 AM UTC
The inner turmoil keeps on nagging,
keeps on fidgeting,
keeps on finding rhyme and reason when there is no poem.
It slithers under the skin,
sickly sweet with torture.
I say: Another misplaced worry.
You say: That's okay.
Dissolving my tears in your vast ocean.
'Misaligned', I state,
'Perfectly', you retaliate.
Poetry and misery,
forming our never-ending Melody.
Jan 24
Jan 24, 2026 at 6:13 AM UTC
It bloomed so high and bright
that there was no rival
Until it realised, regardless of sunshine,
winter is not the right season for roses...
Jan 24
Jan 24, 2026 at 5:21 AM UTC