You.
Cause with every sun rise you blossom like a flower,
And inspire everyone around you to do the same

You.
Cause your kisses taste like laughter and warmth that can even get a wanderer to stay.

You.
Cause like salt in sea
Your thoughts have dissolved into my skin

You.
Cause I don't want any other way to be.

You.
Cause I love yous don't cut it anymore.

You.
Cause somehow you made a way in,
Not unlike the sunlight that peeps in through the curtains,
And stains my sheets and colours my skin.

You.
Cause you managed to did it without me noticing.

You.
Cause somehow your favourite song often dances on my lips.

You.
Cause I may be all these fancy metaphors, but you provide meaning to these words.

You.
Cause you left all these love notes on my finger tips that I translate into words.

You.
Cause who needs the stars anyway when we can set each other on fire with a look.

You.
Cause it's as easy as inhaling the scent the first rain brings.

You.
Cause it's effortless like gravity.


You.
As simple as breathing.
It's you.

I think, and trust me by thinking, sometimes I just mean taking shots in the dark except my shot hits the aim more than my thinking ever leads me to the right spot but this time I have been thinking and I have come to the conclusion that maybe, maybe the reason behind sad posts in a relationship is we love them the way we want to be loved by them and not in ways that would make them feel loved.

But have you ever had a passing moment that renders you nostalgic for a place you have never been to? A smell or a tune that sounds familiar but you could not place a finger on where you experienced it, not even  if your life depended on it. Has a view ever flashed randomly before your eyes, deep into the night with a longing in your Heart. And you brush it off knowing you have never been to that place and so you blame it on the late hours and carry on?

I think this is what poetry is. A list of moments, of feelings, that can't be conveyed in words. Though we try. Of course. Because sometimes we need to write it down and read it to understand it ourselves. So we sit down with a pen in hand. We write but something remains missing. So we drop the idea but that feeling keeps nagging us at the back of our minds. Till it fades. Till we heave a sigh relief. Till it happens again and there we sit again. Against a type writer. No, poetry is not all about what I mentioned. But I do believe that poetry is what is written on the page and what remains missing. An echo imprinted on our brains. Something always gets lost in the process of translation of our feelings into words. Whether it be an exaggeration or not paying things enough attention.

Or, maybe that's just me and my lack of poetic skills.

But I have a list of feelings I never could write about. Though I have tried but something always felt off about it.

Like the first time as a kid I wondered how could something so vibrant be so close to death when I looked at the autumn leaves decorating the roads? Is that how we are? A bit dying every moment and we only notice that when we have become a shadow of who we were? Are we already gone by the time we are medically dead. I did not know. I was a child. Not that I have an answer now. But I'm now better at handling these moments of retrospect. If something itches at my heart, I make it a point not to scratch it. You see, I have long been accustomed to watching my mind ricochet between two ends. But oh, the naivety of a young mind. I did not understand it then. So I tried to write about it. I gave it a title "dead like the autumn leaves" never got much farther than that.


Some more moments.

Like the time I saw the sadness in my mother's eyes for what it was and realised there is nothing I can do to change it. For it was not the angry sadness, not volatile. It was the type of sadness that comes after you have cried yourself to sleep for many nights only to learn to accept it one morning. It was the kind of sadness we learn to live with. And that was the day I lost a bit of my innocence. A bit of my resolve. That was the first time I had walked in her shoes and was amazed by the amount of beating our heart can take. But it was not the first time my heart failed to explain what exactly it felt.

Now you would ask why is it that I write. Personally, most times, I don't know. I write because.. I just have to. It does not come to me at my command. It is just sometimes when I hold a pen, my hand moves on its own. Trying to find consolation in the non judgmental, patient care of the paper, in the tender caress of words.  

And so I think, poetry is always more than what's written on the page; more than what the poet has let out. Or, this could just be me. Have you ever had moments you tried to write about but all it gave was a pale description of how it was like to feel it?

When you're writing, show your brutal honesty in the ugliest ways by using the softest words.

Forever sounds
Awfully, torturing long
Till you're on your knees
Begging for just a little more.

Being friends sounds,
Awfully conveniently like a solution
Till you're lying in bed,
Longing for a gentle caress

Letting go sounds,
Awfully brave, heroic,
Till you see them learning to move on
Yourself becoming a vague memory.

Going silent
Continues to work in your favour
Till you have to open your mouth one day
Only to taste all the words rusted on your mouth.

Being a poet sounds
Romantic enough
Till you're in too deep at 3 am
Drowning in feelings you can't seem to word

I can turn my gaze away
Command my tongue to never take your name
Be your ***** secret
For as long as you want.

I can lay my eyes on the roads,
Waiting for the day you knock my door,
I can manage not to bait an eye
Every time you go off to her when we fight.

be your anything

But I'm only a girl,
There is only so far I can go,
I'm only a girl,
Who made a mistake of falling in love with you.

I'm only a girl,
So desperately in love,
But I still bleed,
From your unpredictable blows.

I'm only a girl,
Looking at you like you're the **** sun,
But it is still not enough.

I can play pretend,
Tell my friend it's okay,
The marks on my arms, are nothing
I just tripped, a time too many

Incidentally that is also where your hands held me.

I can take the guilt,
I can drown my voice,
I can be your machine,
Aligning my thoughts with what you wish me to be
I can rust my mind, cause what I think is never right,
I can turn deaf and dumb
Be a shiny object you show off to your friends
If that is all it will take

For you to stop inflicting pain,
For you to realise I'm just a human

Because I'm only a girl,
And I lash out and scream,
In hope to get through to you,
Or anyone.

Because I'm only a girl,
On this sinking ship called hope.
A silly girl who has not yet realised
No one else can fix you up