Strong winds may uproot you
Unsettle your stoic resignation
You will be shaken and stirred
Lot of ponderings and doubts
In the middle of nowhere
When gravity does not give hope
Become a fearless traveler
Encounter the strong winds
No matter where you settle
Continue to spread your roots, deeper
Your soul is still with you
Nothing can stop you from reliving
Every unsettling episode
Will teach you to be more resilient

Why do you write?

I get overwhelmed easily and words on paper and on a screen are highly effective means of externalising that

I cant read others poems often without crying and am inspired to write of my own

Writing calms me and although at times its already too late, it stops me from doing or saying something ill regret

So I write for sanity
Peace of mind
For clarity
To express myself
Set myself free
Empty my head
Get over myself
People to see how I am
To hide away
Not show myself like I am in poems to people

Is it love?
When you start writing her name with a razor instead of a pen,
is it still love?

...And in the final throws of love we will find ourselves within each other...
...
Sounds like something someone will write in a poem about you some day
Not that I know what that means
I have no idea what that means
It's not like I can pry open your jaw and stare down your throat to see some part of me I didn't know existed
Though it says 'final throws of love' so I guess I'd find my ***** inside of you
But it's 'within each other' so your ****** would have to be inside of me which isn't exactly how that works
Except maybe technically your jui...
Not the the deal
The deal is this it sounds sweet
Important
Romantic even
And it is definitely something someone will write in a poem about you one day
I know this on account of I wrote it in a poem about you one day
Not that I would've expected you to read it
Not that you would've read it
You never read any of the...
Not the point
The point is this
Sometimes the words that we write
Are just words that we wrote
And they don't really mean anything until someone else reads them
Kind of like how your promises
Were just words that you spoke
And they didn't really mean anything until you broke them

Somewhere close to a black hole, time slows to a steady pace
Slow enough to reach out and trace every inch of a face and love every blemish your fingers reach
Slow enough to know better
Slow enough to know that when each second feels like a minute, you better eat up every moment

My heart has four chambers.
3 of them pump cold blood throughout my body, just enough so I can tell you drunken love tales.
But one of them

One of those chambers stays reluctant while I reach for an empty bottle and mistake it for an empty hand.

As I float, so effortlessly, headfirst into a black hole, and I see time progress slow enough to watch a smile fade into a scowl,
as I do what I shouldn't,
I can't help but obsess over the longest seconds I'll ever feel;
the ones where I'm touching your lips

my phone beeped
in an almost deserted train compartment.
my boss,
'where have you reached?'
I sighed and replied,
'should reach in 5'
(would reach in 20)
same old dance
to the tune of corporate slavery.

a sharp sound,
I looked up.
the sound dissolved
into a fit of giggles.

a group of kids
playing around, teasing,
their mother close by;
a hawker, selling trinkets in the train.

it looked so natural.
a working mum
looking after her kids while on the job
(doesn't work that way does it?
guess they didn't have anywhere safe
without her)

I couldn't look away.

it was such a sight...
torn, tattered clothes
dirt and mud all over
and those innocent giggles;
it didn't add up.

I was tired, aching,
infatuating about sleep;
feet bleeding in killer heels,
rushing around without purpose,
forced into an exploitative overtime job
by myself; frustrated,
trying to keep up with society.

the little family
calm, collected;
torn, tattered smiles held with grace,
facing their exploitative poverty
with innocent mischief and honest labour.

confused,
I had a thought:
that's the life they've known,
this is the life I've known.
we fit in our lives...
differently?

no...
we fit in different lives in the same way.
I struggle she struggles,
we both have good bad days.

I didn't realize I was smiling
till she smiled back.

I bought something
and got off at the next stop,
wishing she has more good days than bad
and the kids keep their giggles
a little longer than they can..