Three years seems like a long time,
I think back to my early 20s when I could not survive without you.
You were always there for me at any point in time.
Your form would constantly change,
Sometimes you were a crimson and full-bodied, and other times you were clear and led me to the floor.

I truly felt good when you were with me, but the next day was always terrible.
I was even more insufferable in your company, and I was not a nice person.
You were an ****** that made pain go away,
I did not feel, and when I did, it was a false sense of happiness.

People often ask me how life has been without you,
Truth be told, my life has changed so much.
I am not seen after midnight, and I feel like Cinderella (without the glass slipper).
Some might argue that I have replaced you, but I have to respectfully disagree.

Sometimes I miss the person that I was when I was with you,
I look back and the nights out sounded fun,
But I have to remind myself that it was not healthy, and I was horrible.
My choices were bad, but I own them now.

Life is good, and I cannot complain.

This poem was originally written at the end of 2024 after many epiphanies were had.

Truth be told I thought my heart was cold,
I had feared that I had lost the feeling of being bold,
With no sparks being brought into the fold,
I always knew that I did not fit into any mould,
Life also told me that I was baggage that had to be put into the hold.

I lift heavy weights but have been unable to remove this pressure from my shoulders,
Feeling like Atlas holding up the earth like an immense boulder,
Filled with doubt like Arjuna before battles started in the Mahabharata,
While wanting to seek revenge like Amba.

My heart was once broken, and certainly in pieces,
But it is a Lladro sculpture mended through kintsugi,
I can now recognise that its beauty never ceases,
With every crack and fracture, a river of gold, platinum and bronze seals and connects previously disjointed niches.

Anger has been replaced by joy and love,
A deep sense of connection with those who are chosen family,
Whose presence in my life has made life a lot less tough,
For who I can’t bluff with my brand of nonsensical stuff.

The yearning will never end or stop,
But recognising that life is short and it is not made for a swap,
It is truly a blessing, and don’t quote me on this, but for once doesn’t feel like a chop.

Tension.
It tugs inside me and inside them,
Wanting to do more but being unable to do so,
Feeling the chemistry lingering in the air like white musk and oud.

It’s heavy, it’s sweet, it’s consuming.
Feelings of walls being slowly chipped away and promises of being open,
Hands being closer but never quite touching,
Legs are touching each other, but are unable to do more.

Being given the best and tightest hug, and it felt like fireworks on New Year’s Eve,
Smelling their skin and the softness of their hands,
Wanting to lean in but knowing it can’t be done,
Feeling like running through clouds and an embrace that is warmer than a thousand suns.

Inside, I want them to hold me, grab me, fireman carry me out of here,
It’s a shame that this part of the world is the way it is,
But alas, we are left with this tension.

This piece was inspired by a girlfriend of mine who matched with a man who was somewhat lacklustre in person.

Baggy t-shirt and basketball shorts that can hide multiple children under them,
Eyes carrying bags more expensive than a Himalayan Birkin,
All while you avoid looking at me while I am seated at the table behind you.

An online presence suggests skin that gleams like bronze under sunlight,
You standing shoulder to shoulder with other members of the race of men,
Eyes obscured by shiny sunglasses whose shapes are honestly doing my head in.

Seated at the table by you is your handsome brother,
And boy does he deliver where you have shortcomings,
Penetrating my soul with a deep gaze,
I certainly know that my dalliance with you was certainly a phase.

Skin that shines like polished gold, and a face that can launch a thousand ships,
How is it that both of you have the same mother and father?
Dressed in a button-down that shows some level of decorum,
All while you have the look of a homeless man in a forum.

Your response to my DMs leaves wanting for another,
Calling me random when I have opportunities that can enrich your coffers,
Yet you refuse to look me in the eye despite my offer.

***, dusty, and musty come to mind,
Despite a profile that gleams and has lots of shine,
Sandals so worn that they make your bare feet look less ashy,
Hunched over your breakfast like you are some Siberian husky.

Your brother’s relationship status comes to mind,
Is he single, is he taken, and when will he be mine?
He was eyeing me like a prized possession,
Oh, do be a dear, and bring us the brother.

Someone asked why? And it made me wonder
Pushing myself to the limit, all for what plunder?
Maybe it’s a need to show myself that I am strong,
Maybe it’s a desire to show my childhood self that you can do all of the things the idiots told you that you could not do.

A mental game is what they call it?
Sometimes the difference between a great effort and a mediocre one is one rooted in meters,
I come home sore and feeling like I have done so much,
My body remembering what it was made to do yesterday.

Is it validation, or is it a sense of accomplishment?
Does this feeling ever go away?
From tipping the scales and being unable to lift or run,
To finally be able to perform feats that I once thought Herculean.

The fire that burns is kindled by trauma,
Enmeshed so deeply in my being that it has altered my DNA,
It shows me that I can do more and will do more,
Blazing, roaring, with its flames licking the sky.

I do it because I am enough.
I do it because I know that I am capable.
I do it because I have a duty to the 7-year-old in me that I am just as good as anyone else, if not better.
I do it so I see myself for who I am today.

You hold me in your arms,
I feel your chest expand and contract with every breath,
Hold me tight, and I have no more fight.

I melt into you as your head nuzzles my neck,
Slowly, the defences are coming down,
Once like the walls of Asgard, I am now undoing them,
You ask me about my day, and tell me how pretty I look.

Your hands clasp mine, and I can feel your pulse on your wrist,
Your words go over me like silk, and I just relax into a puddle,
I turn over and I look into your eyes,
My head lies on your chest, and you hold me even tighter,
Your smell makes me feel so warm and giddy,
I feel gentle kisses on the top of my head.

Legs entangle, and you gently massage my neck and shoulders,
You talk about the mysteries of flowers while bergamot and orange are in the air,
I feel like absolute bliss, and I do not want this to end.

I want to be your little spoon until the very end

I wrote this when I was feeling despondent and angry about life. Particularly when I was dealing with issues around my gender identity and ****** orientation lately.

Are you a 0 or a 1 ?
Is your bounty plenty or do you have none ?
Are you fire or water ?
Are you in or out ?
These questions just make me want to pass out, and result in me just being unable to escape the upcoming falter.

Be a man,
How many times have I heard that statement ?
The answer : too many to count.
My father, my teachers, my bullies, my relatives,
It never ends and it feels like an onslaught of pressure with no abatement.

I cry too much, and I hold on to things.
I cling on to fleeting moments and memories,
From the light airy laughter to the deep anguish that haunts my soul.
My heart has been broken and shattered by so many people, and yet I still feel as if it were my first loss.

Is it a sin to feel deeply ?
Is it a sin that I don’t align with so many of the binaries that mark our lives ?
Is it a sin that I am constantly trying to repent for past mistakes ?

It’s your sensitivity and femininity that got you in this mess, said Ms Radhika.
You are too sensitive and will not amount to anything if you stay this way, in some weird way build resilience after I had been sexually assaulted at 14.
It’s your fault that they hurt you, you gave them a reason and a target, said a former friend when I was bullied for being a flamboyant little boy who dreamed of nothing but Thierry Mugler and taffeta.
You are a fat f*g and even your parents don’t want you, said Jamal, Dzaki, and chorus of teenage boys shouted when I couldn’t run a lap around the field without slowing down or stopping.
Whoever said sticks and stones may break my bones but bones can’t hurt must have a twisted sense of humour or had their emotions surgically removed.

What was my karmic balance going into this life ?
To be blessed with all that glitters like gold, but never being able to be seen and loved that would transcend seven life times or have peace ?
Did I do something wrong, am I making the same mistakes ? Over and over again the universe feels like it is testing me and making a jest at my own expense.

What  must I don and do to rid myself of this perpetual stress and anguish ?
Why is my internal monologue like Matthew Arnold’s Dover Beach ?
Why do I feel like Lady Macbeth, even though I share in none of her deeds ?

More and more I sound like Andy Warhol in his diaries,
Written and tarred with melancholy and sadness that chills to the bone,
It’s hard to not sound like Larry Kramer or Karl Lagerfeld either,
For those two are often very angry about most subject matter, and those had a fire that burned everything in their orbit.

I must admit that I am no angel nor have any desire to be one,
Nowadays, I resonate with Medea, Medusa, and Cassandra,
I have turned into something nasty, jagged, and only appreciated by certain individuals.
I am at peace with that and welcome it wholeheartedly.