To the boy who makes my skin feel like home again,
You held out your hand and stood there patiently while I warily placed my hand in yours and maybe incidentally some part of my heart too. You so gently removed his imprints off me that I did not even notice till I was standing in front of my mirror, glowing, no longer looking away from my reflection but smiling back at it. Thank you. Thank you for having the thoughtfulness to wipe your fingerprints off before leaving too. You know I never could understand how people use standing alone in the rain as a metaphor for sadness, it's not. It's liberating. And that's how I feel about you. You were the drizzle that set me free.

To the boy who does not make butterflies somersault in my veins,
You were smirking at something clever you said at my expanse and I was looking back at you calmly not the least bothered by the slight blush crawling up to my cheeks.  Because that's what you were to me. My anchor. My calmness. My life jacket. Thank you for teaching me that most hurricanes and people are only looking for ways to self destruct and I need not be the one to put myself in their ways in hopes to save them when I myself have been drowning. Thank you for handing me back the anchor. Now I carry it with me and toss it down whenever I feel the flow is too strong for me. You loved me enough to make me love myself, but not enough for me to be yours more than I was mine. I don't know why they don't teach about self love or how we owe ourselves some kindness too.  But you did. I have not been this shade of love in a long while and I don't ever want to be anything else.


To the boy who makes me smile when I'm with him but does not steal it away when he is gone,
You make me feel things in slow motion like the way a tortoise comes out of its shell, like the blooming of a bud, like a letter hidden among the pages of a history book no one is ever going to bother to read and all the other soft things. Thank you. I'm the love in all those soft things. I've the love i need the most. And so I smile. And I write myself poetry just as much as I write for you. I dance alone when you're gone just as enthusiastically as I do when I'm standing on your feet. I don't understand how I could have ever thought that love was love only when you loved with all the parts of you; saving none for yourselves cause it's not. Love is taking care of yourself and being the sun to your universe but letting him know he is the constellation who you love to read and embrace every night before you fall asleep. Love is hand you want to hold while you're reigning your life.

To the boy who kept his distance while I sulked on the floor but became my backbone when I was teaching myself how to walk,
You told me you fall apart and you think you're done but that's when the work begins. I realised how you don't need people when you're down as much as you do when you're trying to get up after falling down a time too many to count. But you were there. And i needed to understand that not every fragility was breakable. Some relented and preserved. And it's not about how long you stay on the floor but with how much fervor you stand back, again and again after being kicked. Thank you. I'm going to carry my fragile heart like a crown shielded by logic. It's okay to be brilliant and kind. You don't have to rust your shine cause you're blinding someone.


To the boy who makes my skin feel like home again, to the boy who does not make butterflies somersault in my veins, to the boy who makes Me smile when I'm with him but does not steal it away when he is gone, to the boy who was there holding me up when I was trying to be more than I have ever been before

Thank you. ❤

You should have heard the things i did not say
  - i read everything you omitted in your poem.
  - you only know as much as i give away.
I know the parts of you you don't  even acknowledge.

You should have held me when i was halfway out the door
  - i would have but i did not know how to.
  - for a moment, i thought i had lost you, too.
I may be lost right now but you know I'll find you.

(Both)
I might not love you right now,
But you know I'll be in love w you in all my tomorrows.
I might need to get away once in a while,
But you'll always be my way back home.

You cut me open, you sew me back
  - i keep running into the love i am trying to forget.
  - you look like autumn, you taste like dawn.
  You love me, and, then you don't.

Your eyes hold a grudge, your eyes hold warmth
  - the more i give, the less you care.
  - but i know you're in there somewhere.
  You only show your emotions when my eyes are closed.

(Both)
**I might not love you right now,
But you know I'll be in love with you in all my tomorrows.

Maybe it was not you, maybe it was me
Setting bridges ablaze
Before crossing
And trying to find  out
What was there on the other side

I'm sorry. I'm sorry you were left there on the other side. If I had only known, if I had only seen, maybe we both would not have been smothered in the fire I had kindled. I swear it was only meant for me.. It's really funny how the fire I had hoped would destroy me just burnt me, it was that one look of anguish in your eyes that reduced me to ashes. Too bad. I'd have taken hundred of those burnings to take away your pain away. Pain that I had unintentionally carved into your flesh.


Maybe I should have said something, maybe you would not have heard it anyway,
But now these silences have become the crime scenes as well as the witnesses*

It's kinda ironical how you've always been the one to  get me down on my knees to pray and the one that had me concluding that both of us had fallen out of God's grace long before we were born. Lucifers in our own hell. Aching from the loss of what we could  have been.

Maybe I should have asked, maybe you should have stayed,
Maybe then we would have something in common other than our parents,
And our disappointments.


I wonder if you too have just gone through your life, uncaring, and, uninterested as if you were stuck in someone else's dream. I wonder which no. Of disappointment it was after which we decided that there was nothing to be salvaged. Not even us. Esp not us. We have gone so long without talking that yesterday when I opened my mouth, no words came out. Whenever I look at us, I wonder if cremation is just going to be a formality? I wonder if they know why I talk so much because I'm afraid if I stop I'd hear the unwanted sounds telling me that I did not talk you out of ruining yourself. I did not say a word, probably, the only time when my words held any significance and I'm sorry, my baby brother. I'm sorry.


Maybe If I had tried harder, maybe if you had not resisted longer
Then maybe we would not be soaked into this rain, permanently
The sky weeping silent poetry that only you and I can feel.

I never played with you. I tried yesterday to get you to but it was too late I guess. You remained seated in the corner of the balcony. I wonder what it is that you see that is interesting enough to keep you looking but not enough to go out and feel it. I wish I could tell you that is how I feel sometimes too. But I just don't know how to. So I stand there awkwardly in the sidelines. I laugh mirthless. Sidelines. That's where I have always been when it came to you. Have not I? I see our neighbor look at us. I wonder if they call it sweet, or, love? Me? I don't dare call it anything.

I can't sleep without you tucked up against me,
By my side.
But if you were to ask me how I'm,
I'd tell you I'm getting by,
I'm getting by.

And it's like walking through a door,
Just to find another
It's like watching you look for me,
Through my window,
In a house, with no door.

I can't seem to be able to watch you mourn me.
I want to tell you,
You can't be both the killer and the ambulance,
But you're.
And it's just not fair,
It's just not fair.

And It's like I'm the bullet you want to dodge,
But you can't go far without the adrenaline.
It's like how every flower will wilt for you,
If you love it hard enough,
And boy, did we love

I can't seem to be able to make use of this leftover me,
So in case you're looking for an empty, secluded place to rest from your inconsistencies,
Use my heart,
But you can't, you won't
A heart so tamed is no fun,
My heart is no fun, anymore.

And it's like the whole world is spinning,
Tauntingly, obliviously,
But I can't move,
Unless it's to write,
Somewhere along the line,
Expression was the only time
I was away from self destruction
And it's sad, but kind of funny, don't you agree?
It's sad, but kind of funny.

I can't seem to tuck out the disappointments,
Hiding in the wrinkles of my skin,
Or be a disappointment dressed up in
This messed up body,
But if you were to pass me by, I'd compile all the burnt out suns inside of my heart,
To give you one last warm smile,
Anything to convince you

That I'm getting by,
I'm getting by.

I hope you slept well to the  new pillows that have not been imprinted by any essence yet
I hope you woke up startled and longing in a place defiant to show any familiarity
I hope you feel free now that you have burnt down your past to the ashes.
I hope you feel heavy now that the ghosts haunt you for your unbidden goodbyes
I hope the sun shines ever so gently, I will your sunflowers to never wilt
I hope the scorching summer heat reminds you of the spring that faded too soon
I hope the windchimes lull you into a dreamless sleep.
i hope i find my way to you and walk through your resistance even if it is in your dreams


I hope time grants you blissful forgetfulness
I hope you spend your nights trying to remember the feel of my lips against yours but can't
I hope no rain ever takes away your vision of a clear blue sky
I hope no rain is enough for you to drown the softest I love yous you confessed
I hope you now get to write the story you wanted to read, in peace
I hope you can't find a metaphor loving enough that I have not used upon you
I hope we find that we are the sun we were looking to orbit around
*I hope you wistfully say that I was your favorite sky to shine upon

I remember when I was young
I wrote in my diary- Never to love
All in BLOCKS.
But
You were warm, And I was not
My mistake, I forgot.
You came in with a face
Of all I knew AND all I should not want.


I remember stolen breaths,
See through excuses,
The adrenaline.
I should have known better..
But
You were persistent, and so was i
Some nights, I consoled my heart
Some nights the beats would be lullabies
I dared to sleep upon.
(Some nights I consoled my heart
Some nights it was my heart's turn
To become lullabies, I'd lay my head upon)

I remember how it all changed
Small steps, uneasy, nothing to object
Till you were close enough
For so long..
I did not know where i was
When you would go..
If you should go.
But
Your reassurances that I'll never have to wonder.
Then why?
Do i go through my shelves
Wondering which book and whose story
Are you bringing colors into now?

I remember finding sunrise in your smile
Brightening to grey my blackest hours
That smirk upon your face,
those impish eyes
How could I have not fallen for?
But
I knew all along my story's end,
A light that bright burns way too soon
(I rather hoped it would not. Another mistake,
I just forget.)
I Hope, because you told me I must.

I remember when I was young,
I promised myself to never love
And how i forgot!
(You made me forget.)
But
Now I have a bag packed with essentials
Hidden under the bed, my visa renewed
And a courage overfed
You might guess, but you'd never know why.

My morning prayers become a chant
Reciting all the ways it would not last.

Eyes like a forlorn yet lit pathway on a wintery night,
Leading to an unfamiliar place that unerringly felt like home
Alas, too bad i always kept dying at the doorway,
Every time I looked at my own reflection;
I felt like a stranger to my own self.


A laughter so soft yet carrying the echoes of a hundred distant temple bells,
Holding the murmurs of dying Gods and their fallen grace
Too bad that all of those listening
Lead to a map drawn so wrong
The tune of divine was lost on my mortal ears.

A face like sunlight filtering through the trees,
Playing hide and seek; a perfect escapist,
Her skin is a habitat of all the lost fireflies,
Her hair, a perfect tease daring the wind to stay still
Too bad the wind could not stay, so with itself it carried her away
Never have I wandered before, hoping to get lost so she could find me again.

Who ever said I could not write happy poems while my blood dripped all over these pages

Who ever said I could not smile so much that it hurts in the morning, only to cry myself to liberation at night?
Who ever said I could not bring a party to life, just because my insides feel dead?
Who ever said I could not preach self love while loathing myself?

Who ever said I could not care for humanity, even if I don't really love humans all that much individually?
Who ever said I'd shy away from an argument, just because I advocate peace?
Who ever said I can't be complex in my thoughts, while being so simple in my art?
Who ever said I could not be an insomniac, even if I can sleep all day long just fine?

Who ever said I could not be terribly sad while laughing myself to a fit?
Who ever said I could not wear a seat belt just because some nights my thoughts strayed to suicide?
Who ever said I wanted to die just because I could not expect to live?

Who ever said who you're should be neatly labelled into categories others decide?

I start a poem
I say it's not going to be about you
They say if you lie long enough
It will become your truth
So I'm still waiting for a day
You won't sneak into my poem
As if we were playing hide and seek
Except it's been ages and I gave up
And one day, you suddenly decide to surprise me

"were you just starting to forget me"

I start a poem.
I see you ******* around.
You get to **** around now.
Especially with my mind.
And that's okay.
I try too, to ******* back, but my words don't **** around.
Well, whatever.
Here's another poem you won't get to read

"pls, do you ever miss me too"

I start a poem,
It's 4 am
I think I don't have a choice
In how I get my heart broken anymore
So I write about you
Cause you were the first tragedy I chose
And the only one I am willing to talk about.
It's hard to be ****** at a God you don't believe in
So I stack my "tragedies" together and
Give it your name.
I almost feel bad for doing it to you
But you're warm, and in love
And all I have is these bitter words.

"guess who the joke is on"

I start a poem.
And midway I stop
Not knowing what to do with it
Like the fact that
The only thing separating you and me
Is this 6 feet of earth between us.
I have been making a graveyard inside of me,
In hopes that you would come, visit

"if for some reasons we don't work out, we will  keep each other in memories and move on. There's much more to life. Promise me"

I start a poem
Because what does a broken promise mean
To someone who is long gone
And buried.

I had long realised that I like to make poems out of people I care about. I have loved words. I have loved how insignificant they're alone, how contradictory. How the same words can be framed and hung upon  someone's darkest sky like a thousand glittering stars or be burnt into the corners of our minds getting us to wonder if heaven and hell both exist inside us.

How words are the cage and how they can be the wings.

How they label you sometimes and sometimes let you free.

And how sometimes with all their infiniteness they are not enough.

I had long realised that loving rarely ever equalled to understanding. And I found it to be one of the saddest things. Like how we all have so much love to give, and we all keep giving it away the way we would want to receive it. But it does not work that way, does it? You can't explain to a tone dead person  how talking to them felt like finally being introduced to a melody they had heard so long ago it felt world's away, in another birth except the melody decided to stick with them.

And since then I have been trying to understand more, but sometimes I can't tell if I'm getting better at it or I just stop caring. Or if it's possible to try to walk in someone's shoe and still find a fault with him?

I had long realised that my poems one way or another turn out to be a goodbye to people I love. It's like my hands know they're going to have to wave good bye so they do the only thing they can. They write, as if to convey that they, my heart, will remember them long after they have been let go. I almost did not want to write this for you.

But.

You are the one who points at my wings when I make cage out of my words and get trapped in my mind.

You are the one I call at 2 am when I'm too tired to rebel against yet another label I earned for myself.

It's the mixed sound of our laughter echoing in my ribcage that makes me create my own spheres of infiniteness in few ephemeral minutes.

You understand that you don't always understand, and you accept.

I did not want to write this for you because all my poems turn into a eulogy no one stays long enough to hear.

But.

I think you'd listen.

I find the glass to be half empty,
He finds the glass half filled,
It's the same thing,
Except it is not literally,

Each one of us forgets, conveniently
That the glass can be refilled
Just as easily as it can be drained empty

And it's up to us
But we are too busy clanking the empty glasses together
Till they shatter,
Or, try to drown ourselves,
When they overflow.


I take a step in,
He repeats,
We both try to co exist in a way,
That neither of us are actually leaning,
Both trying to be friends,
With strangers' acceptance of how one is
I like to chatter, he wears a cloak of silence,
Except there's not much difference between either.

And it's up to us,
But we are too busy screaming to override the unwelcome words,
Or try to dance our imagination on the tune of silence,
Away from the cruel intentions, camouflaged with soft words
Except there's not much difference between either,
We both are shaped by our hurt, and undone by happiness.

I find the life to be a continuation of misery,
Add in some whining and self deprecating poems
Different faces, worn by the same ghosts
Different paths, same dead ends
Pursuit of ever evasive happiness,
Life is never changing.
You think every thing changes,
It's just me who is always going to look the same
To you at least

And it's up to us,
Whether we remain the same or not,
To grow up and grow apart,
Or to Shrink in and fade away
Except I look around,
And I know for you, it's always me
And you look back
And know I'm the one who has always been there

I find the glass half empty,
You find it half filled,
It's the same thing
Except it's not literally.

Like you,
But with no filters around your mouth
Not stopping midway when you reach out for me.
Like you but before my demons got to you.

Like me,
But with my heart not swelling and crashing,
My lungs not elating with hope and deflating with reality
Like me, but before i fell in love with you.

Like you,
But with strong hands that feel like fluttering of butterflies against my skin when they touch me
Your footsteps sometimes syncing with my heart beats,
Like you but when I could read your eyes the way I read poetry, never getting enough of either

Like me,
But me talking to you, rather than bringing up your name as the room quietens and my friends look anywhere but in my eyes
Like me but when I had you, instead of these metaphors, and hyperbole, smilies and allegories, arranged in the shape of you so I could still have some souvenir of you.
Like me but with our names that you scratched on my back not faded.

Like you,
But not thinking that you have had me figured out now, so you could casually go down your library and put me on a shelf
Like you
But not finding me to be a waste of breath.
Like you but when you thought my light was worth the long period of eclipses it comes with

Like me,
But going on walks with you to the beach
Instead of me going on and on trying to kiss the horizon or the bottom of the sea,
It depends on the mood actually.
Like me but happy.

Like us,
But when we knew exactly who it was that we wanted us to be,
Instead of clinging to whatever vague ideas our mind comes up,
Doing anything to distract us from the aching hollow heart we carved ourselves out of

You look like a reason to try to want to wake up
A reason to try again
You look like the shameless shade autumn wears,
Not apologising for all the goodbyes it brings.

You look like a reason to want to die a little less,
A reason to play dressing up in front of the mirror
You look like this rebellious pen of mine,
Taking a break from the blues and writing about  the red in your cheeks
Clichés be ******, it yells.

You look like a liberation death could bring, but only sweeter,
The light filtering through the curtains, but softer
You look like the face of a stranger I confessed my miseries to long ago and wished never to see his face again when I was done
Except I could never run away from you, pls don't make me ever wanna

You look like the adrenaline rushed first kiss,
But with more finesse
You look like all the warning signs I have ever ignored when I ran past them,
Except this time I want to stay and discover why.

You look like all the poems I have ever sat on fire, except you fire never burns you into Ashes, it somehow compliments and coexists w your halo
You look a lot like humming bird, except you're humming in my heart, fuzzily flowing into my veins

I buried myself in my own body so don't ask me why the words on my lips taste like tombstones or why I wake up in the middle of the night startled as if I can listen to the rattled ache of old bones colliding against one other inside my self because the muscles have decayed off long ago.

2. I have swallowed enough tears and choked on enough words to create a sea inside of me so don't ask me why I walk sometimes as any moment I might collapse under my own weight if you don't know how it feels like to have your organs soak water and later drown in it. Don't tell me pressure gets to you too sometimes if you don't know how it feels to have your insides fight your own skeleton and skin to get out.

3. I sleep a lot or not at all. My sleeping pattern is a perfect symbolism of how I feel things. Either I'm overwhelmed or numbed except no one ever notices cause my lights are always on. My friend once joked that I'm too old to be afraid of monsters. God bless her sweet, innocent heart. She did not need to know that I carry the monster with myself to my bed, that sometimes the monster walks around her wearing my face but guess that's okay. To them I'm a happy girl who likes to write sad poems. As if sadness is a persona I'm trying to adopt cause it's a trend. But ignorance is Bliss. I'm counting on them to always deny that things are worse than they look when the signs are glaring them in the eyes. Their ignorance is not just their Bliss, but my liberty.

4. One of my friend while reading about someone's suicide asks me why would you want to trade all that's out there for an oblivion. I looked her in the eye and told her that it's cause they notice no difference except for the extra pressure that life brings, the constant reminder that you should be out there just doing something.. You know, living the life and all and knowing that you're supposed to want to feel something but you don't, don't want to at all, is tiring. Existing is tiring. Or so they think. It's not like I'd know, I add lamely to differentiate myself from them.

5. I'm always sad but I have never let that prevent me from being happy. It's really sad, and it's really funny that I have never been truly happy and never been truly sad. A hopeful present always brings me a smile, or death. Depends really. And the regretful present is enough to sober me at my happiest moments.

6. Sometimes my days feel like a continued extension of night, my life a silent movie but with the sad bg music where I'm the only character that does not know its role or which scene is going on. Sometimes it feels like I have long exhaled my last breath and my mind has not just caught up to the fact that I might be dead

***** hands, mine
Always *****
Scrap and scratch,
Always nagging
Layer by layer,
Digging out the dirt
Layers gone, but dirt remains.

***** hands, mine
Ever so intrusive,
Clenched fist, jaws clamped shut,
Still they find a crack,
And in they barge, authoritatively,
To my heart
With blood, the dirt gets pumped out, everywhere,
Drop by drop, the blood falls,
While the dirt sits there, a vicious smirk,
"you can't get me till you have drained your life out "

***** hands mine,
A seductress, in her ripe age,
Traps, their hold growing stronger,
With each show of your resistance
Oh ***** hands of mine,
You play your cards so well
But let me go wash my hands
Before we begin again.

-Written by someone with a constant compulsive desire to wash her hands, and that too at most bizarre moments

"sometimes, the poem has more friends than the poet."

And I kind of find it beautiful and I kind of find it sad
But at least the poet has his pen.
When all else has left
He can look across all these version of himself
Scattered on the floor,
Across all these pages.
Maybe that's why he writes,
To give tribute to all parts of himself,
All the damage he has endured,
Or maybe he just writes to feel less lonely,
Or he writes because he just has to,
Like one has to breathe.

Whatever the reason may be,
I'm kind of glad,
That when all else has left,
An artist still has his art,
And it may not be much,
But it's at least not nothing at all,
Maybe his works are a result of all his pain,
A consolation price for losing more than he has gained.

A pen might might not always be mightier than a sword,
But sometimes it's all you need to get through.

The infinite gap between I don't want to live and I want to die and how sometimes they can be covered in a flicker of your eyes.

The infinite gap between who you are and who  time wants you to be and how a whole life can be covered trying to find a balance between these two.

The infinite gap between where you're and where your heart lies and how sometimes the hollow heart beats remind you you're better off without your heart trying to break through the ribs that enclose it, for its own safety.

The infinite gap between your lips and the name you want to chant like some unheard prayer.

The infinite gap between the fingers on your hands and how they're used to holding air in an attempt to fill the spaces where his hair you held.

The infinite lapse between the first step you take towards him and the next.

The infinite hesitation between feeling too much and never acting on it.

The infinite times I watch my palm open and close reaching out and running away from you.

The infinite gap between I love you and let's be together.

In these infinite gaps, somewhere, we both are lost

I felt the wind whisper to me, as my mother's tears fell on the earth, unobserved
I heard it say that the clouds are sad too of course, that's why they cry as they could form no words.

I felt the ruin beneath my foot, trying to reach out to me,
I ran my hand along what was left of the monuments and felt their abandonment try to console me,
They said they were beautiful once, but now they stand there, majestically, for they witnessed pain and survived through it when most could not.
There's art in resilience.

I felt the echo of the words, my father once said to me, today, again
"you take care of yourself and do what makes you happy and run if you have to, away from my miseries" I remember having my knee bone crack under the implications of the emotions he left hanging in the air and have them choke me. My heart has been in my throat ever since. No emotion could  ever overshadow it. Like a broken deck, I keep hearing the same thing again and again. I'm sorry I could not fix it. I'm sorry for adding more woes to your miseries.

I felt the bitter resignation of the words crossed with black ink, no longer wanted by the poet that carved them. I can still feel them laughing maniacally, talking about their uselessness. I can get the disappointment an arrow feels when it misses the mark. They say there will be a judgment passed on all of us. But why did God give up on me the moment I was born? Why does every church I have ever been to seem to abandon me when I need it most

I felt the sun drain away my energy as I held my sickly brother in my arms, I felt it shrink away in shame because it was trying to **** his illness away instead. I felt things fail one by one as I sat on my kneees there praying. with my knees bruised and my knuckles gone ******, I stood up and decided no one was coming. And there were other ways to harm myself while still healing, find help with no feet approaching. I decided to write honest words, and have them cut my skin brutally with their tenderness.

I don't know when my words became my redemption, I don't know when they became my sin.

Collapsing under its own gravity,
The sun dies a little every day.
Every morning is a reminder,
Of its resilience,
Every night a tale of its loss.

A star shines brightest,
The more closer to death it gets,
Every constellation is a reminder,
that art wears melancholy the best.

Leaning in for a kiss,
The moon creates ripples in the sea's heart
Always reaching out, but never touching,
Every full moon is a reminder,
That it's possible to find contentment
While still longing.

A million shade of hues,
Blending into one another,
Then why did I decide,
That these various shades of blue
Are what i look good in.

A hundred feelings I could have felt
But I decided to dwell deeply in
This self loathing
When did this sadness take me over,
Its grip so tight that
It's not even poetic anymore

All these words I could have used,
All these topics I could have penned,
But why does everything I write,
Seems to speak words,
That only I can hear-
Save me, save me, pls save me from myself.

A Hundred jewellery
To adorn
Then why did I decide to take
the blade in my hands
And carve these rubies out,
What a terrible contrast
Against my pale skin!

A hundred people
I could have talked to,
A dozen whom I call my friends
Then why is it that at 3pm
I'm scrolling down my tl,
Longing for a connection
I'm not sure exists.

A hundred cemeteries,
For all these ghosts to live in,
And yet they decide to haunt me instead
And why is it that when they're gone,
I almost crave their company?

What have I done to myself?

I might be sad but I'll never let that become a vulnerability that some one else might exploit.
I might be sad but I'll never expect anyone else to make me feel better about myself.
I might be sad and not do anything to conceal it but I'll never let that sadness become me or my most prominent feature.
I might be sad but I'll never use a person as a replacement for the happiness I could never feel.

I might be in love but I'll never expect that love to heal the wounds that run too deep.
I might be in love but I'll (not still there but I'm trying to be) never make it a point around which my universe balances.
I might be in love, but I'll never let it be the prime focus of all my passions.
I might be in love but I'll never forget how to love myself in the process.

I might be standing too close to the edge but I'll never jump
I might be tempted to the shiny blades but I'll never carve the first cut
I might be  inherently attracted to lonely, dark roads but I'll never shy away from the light
I might be waiting to be found at the moment, but I'm no longer looking at you to map my steps in case I want to find my way back.

I might have never been your priority but really how can I have let it bother me when I was never my own?

I might want you to stay but I'm not bending out of shape to make spaces for you,
I might love you but really for how long can love be used as an excuse to tolerate disrespect
I might want you to remain happy but I'm no longer trading my happiness with the devil to catch your smile
I might want to give you my all, but I would not.

I might be sad now but that does not mean I'll never be happy

All these pieces and not enough space to hold them all
All these guilts and no one to confess them to
All these words and no poet around to marvel
All these potentials and no motivation to fulfill them.

All these sadness and not enough time to carve them into art
All these emptiness and this 5-9 job
All these numbness and this full blown party
All these familiar faces and not a single friend.

All these laughter and no echo of happiness from within
All these glorification and anticlimatic reality
All these walls and no windows and door to get in
All these things to hold on to and there's your memories.

All these raining and you're still caught up in a draught,
All these homes, and you'd rather lay on the road
All these pretty things, and the raw, unadulterated you
All these lingering silences, and no peace.

All these blooms and the graveyards' laments,
All these flutters of heart and the outrageous mess it makes.

Sometimes I find myself getting overwhelmed,
By the intensity of fear that ripples through me,
When anyone suggests me to love anyone else,
I ask myself
Could I ever go down a path like that?


I guess, I can.
Love someone else, I mean, in some ways.
But I'll love you with all the loves,
In all the ways,
Forever and
Always.
Because most of the poems I have written
Can be broken down,
Into a simple word: love.

And love has never been a feeling to me,
It is a person,
And it's you.
And if someone finds it twisted,
I am sorry,
But I'm not going to apologise,
For the way I feel.


So, for this once,
I decide to cave into my selfishness
And hope the stars align right now,
To make a wish for us.

Because every day without you,
Is like going to a war zone,
Where I'm the only soldier,
And I still end up losing,
With my blood on my hands.

And this war will only stop,
When we have found,
The missing pieces of ourselves,
In each other.

The way you looked at me made me feel beautiful in a way I have never felt before. The kind where I could feel the sunlight seeping in from all the cracks in my skin and warming me up and I realised love is the glow on your skin when he looks up at you. I have been playing this memory all night and I can't wait to have those pair of eyes look at me that way again. Even though I won't manage an eye contact for long and trust me, every time after you go, I curse myself for not looking at you. But the moment is so intense, so fleeting. That I do what I do best when I'm unsure of something . I remove myself from the equations. But this time I did not. The silence in between was not oppressing, it was soft. The silence that says we have said all there was to be known. A silence of familiarity that comes from knowing each other for so long. But your longing eyes. Something about them make me nervous, the good nervous. Like the time I was trusted with my baby brother and I cradled him in my arms. I was so scared that I might drop him but the fear passed and I was left with this inexplicable feeling. That is the memory that came in my mind when I looked up yesterday and caught you looking at me like that.
I wanted to write about it. You know how I like to have souvenirs of all my favorite moments. But I could not..there was no metaphor I could come up with to explain the warmth I felt when your eyes held mine. I have always thought you were biased when you called me beautiful but today, I felt it too. Thank you for having that look on your eyes that made me believe the words I have been hearing for so long.

Thank you. You never once told me how I looked pretty and I'm so thankful for that because your eyes told me all there was to be known. Your thoughts, finally set free. "She is beautiful, and she is all mine

I went to the terrace and looked up,
The sky blushed and tore itself open.
I stood close to the edge,
To get a better view of the town,
It was the playfulness of the wind,
That finally took away my breath.

It was in the silence,
That I heard the branches talk to the wind,
And saw the leaves, swaying gently,
To the music the sky sang for the earth.

I closed my eyes,
To take in the smell,
To hang these pictures,
On the walls of my brain.
So that I could revisit this lane of memory,
Whenever it gets a little lonely,
So that I could have a little of symphony,
In my otherwise tuneless journey



I looked at the horizon,
And saw the sun wave a good bye,
The sky bled, hoping it could get it to stay.
The sun, in turn, left a million stars,
As a promise and as a reminder, that it would return.

With a reluctance will,
I saw the sun,
Blend into the sky,
Splitting itself, into pretty colors,
Maybe that's why, the sky can do this every day,
It knows that even when the sun is gone,
It remains a part of herself.

I pondered for a minute, how nice it would be to made up of the sunsets. A hopeful kind of goodbye.

I looked up at the sky, and saw the moon wink at me,
Despite myself, I felt a smile tugging on my lips.
It was a moment or an hr later
When the moon told me, it's not conscious of the scars on its face,
That they're beyond self pity.
(take it people, moon does not give a **** about your idea of beauty. *******)

It was with a much better spirit, that I left the terrace,
With a cheer in my footsteps and a new poem on my finger tips.

silently whispers

You're not the allegation of any guy who blames you for leading him on because you have two fatty sacs on your chest.

silently whispers

Your tears don't absolve you of your masculinity, nor your gentleness is something to mock about. Don't let anyone tell you any different.

silently whispers

You are not the lustful touches they give, or the hungry stares. If a man finds you ***** after he has touched you, tell him to look at his own hand.

silently whispers

You're not entitled to give it to someone, or enjoy what has been forced upon you, cause it is a sick imagination of someone else. Your gender does not determine if you're a victim or the culprit, deserving the punishment.

Please don't ever think you're supposed to sit still when someone's hand over stays their welcome, and stray to other places, where they were not invited because everyone says your gender Is supposed to enjoy any ****** act.

silently whispers*
You're not the intentions or the ***** implications of someone who compliments you, neither you accept their unsaid offer when you say thank you.

And when you talk of things like that, you're not supposed to stagger, when they speak out loud-" but I have never done that". Not you, maybe, buy definitely someone else.

speaks out loud
A crime does not stop because you refuse to participate in it, or if you decide to close your eyes. You can't dismiss a problem because you never had it happen to you.
It's not a girl or a boy, who is sexually abused.
It's a person.
Please, proceed onwards after you have this understood

And when they come for me, they'll find a book titled all the ways I felt but was not supposed to.
I want you to cremate the book with me.


The world is strange, the people are stranger,
Everyone has a notion of how things should be,
And everyone knows how it should not
But maybe some things just are,
The sun rises, and it sets on its own accord
Maybe the way we need to be loved, is not within our control.

And how hard I tried to control my desires
But how do you escape what is trapped beneath your skin


People are strange, feelings are stranger,
I have spent my whole life trying not to need,
Until I stumbled upon you,
And I hope you understand it's not easy
To tear myself open for you to see,
In all the few glories I have had, and in my all vulnerabilities

And how hard I tried to not  let my coldness touch you,
While trying to remain unaffected by your warmth.

Pls, don't let these I love yous become the saddest words I uttered.

I can feel a poem rising at the tip of my fingers tonight. I can feel them revolting, buzzing with anger; demanding to be heard.
And so I tie my hair back, pick up my pen, ever the docile servant to my emotions.
What do you wanna talk about, I ask them?
The buzzing stopped short, for the first time with some hesitancy, they answer we don't know.
And so we sat in companionable silence, with pen held. A hundred fluttering thoughts, but none I can connect to form a poem.
Write down, they say, write what we have always wanted to say, and so I let my emotions glide my fingers over the page, scribbling my brain out of the story, letting heart play to its fullest content.
And so heart wrote the softest words,
And in silence my brain slept.

I realised I loved you
When I realised
That you're much more than the softest words,
Stitched together in smoothest cursive,
To produce the most beautiful poem.

You're much more than any word I could use to paint you with and though, the playfulness in your innocent smile deserves a chapter written all about it, you'll always be much more and nothing like the comparisons I use. And I admit it.

And when your decision to never write about me, slowly started making sense, that was when I realised I loved you.

I realised I loved you,
When you taught me
That most of the things I found romantic, are not really love. When you made me question the way I looked at you and through the crumbling foundations, I realised, that what they call love, is usually endless needing. And love does not always need, but love always  wants.

And love chooses. Love chooses to work hard for oneself, and for each other. Love decides to uplift itself. Love does not need you to be its walking stick or support. And I realised I loved you, when I decided to be what I needed from you, so you can see that I want you to stay around, for all your charms and wit and not because I'm a paralysed mess when you're gone.

I realised I loved you,
When I found that no people you love are supposed to be answers, or a destination to a long quest, no. You're not my favorite poetry, or my home, or a problem. But a person who I want to share these with. No, You're not the sun light filtering through the leaves, or the sound the water makes as it falls down a lake. You're not calmness personified and no, you're not some superhero looking for a maiden to help.

You're a human being. All sweat and farts, skin and bones, perfect moments and flaws. You're a human. And not a word I could twist around to shape any way I want.

You're messy handwriting, and heart beating for itself. I realised I love you, when I realised that my heart wanted to beat for itself too. And maybe, just maybe sometimes when we are together, our heart will beat in sync. Or not. It really does not matter. Cause we are much more than all of this.

They told me,
The curse of a functioning heart is,
You don't get to choose what fades,
And what stays
A couple years ago,
I believed the same

But now I know better,
I don't think there is anything passive about a survival.

You wake up, you look into the worn eyes of your reflection
Devoid of the shine, you used to be complimented at
You sigh and then force a smile,
For yourself.
there is no one else
Whom you owe a smile,
More.

And every minute is a battle;
A choice,
To succumb and be a victim of circumstances
Or,
Fight, to have what you deserve.

There is nothing passive about living, and that's how it should be maintained

I have loved you still,
When I could no longer turn you into poetry.
I have loved you from afar,
When you needed space to spread your wings and navigate.
I have loved you freely,
Because labeling things usually restrict their growth
I have loved you in silence,
And you still heard every confession I never uttered.

I have loved you, unabashedly,
Let my words rage on,
I have loved you gently,
The way moon sings lullabies to a kid.
I have loved you in hues,
Both crimson and blue,
And so when the winter comes,
And your hands are cold,
I'd still be holding you.

I have loved you when you were a poem,
I have loved you when you were spiteful words thrown away, casually.
I have loved you at your best,
I have loved you when you yourself could not.

He will  call you beautiful and you'll feel something stir within you, a feeling that makes you realise with a warm surprise that you believe that that's how he feels and that will be your first cue. Your first warning. An omen asking you to turn your back and run away as fast as you can.

You're sitting with him watching the sun set and you'll look at him and catch him looking at you and that moment will take your breath away and you'll ask yourself how come you never noticed how strikingly beautiful he is. And that's  your second warning.  Tell yourself it's not him and it's the sunset's ability to turn everything it touches into an art. Do whatever it takes you to convince yourself of that. And whatever you do, don't spend your nights away looking for metaphors to fit him.

And soon enough you'll find his name trembling on your lips and these unknown feelings bouncing in your tummy trying their best to announce themselves to the world and have them acknowledged. And this my darling is a very dangerous stage. Choke on them if you have to. Bite your lips till you bleed out and hold on your breath till you're blue in the face but whatever you do, don't let your emotions be known. Because they're little fire who might burn you from inside if you don't allow them to see the light but know, once they get out, they'll set everything you love on fire starting with the little brown eyed boy you seem to love so much.

It's been few days and you see his gaze lingering on you for longer than ever before and his mouth opening and closing as if it intends to tell you something and this, my baby, is your last chance to save your life. After all, you should have known by now that you're perfectly capable of breaking yourself without any lending hand. Then why **** the thing you have put so much faith in? Let the one thing you love remain untouched by your miseries. After all, you have still not learnt how to fly and why would you be willing to clip off your own wings?

And don't try denying that you would not. Because you know you will.

And if there is one thing worse than a guy you love, it's a guy who loves you.

Because the same rush you're feeling; the gentle caress of wind thar uplifts your mood and soothes your qualms can also rage against you and uproot the very foundation of your being. And you, my darling, are not ready for it.

Insecurities and a need to be needed don't get along so beautifully. So do yourself a favor, darling and leave.