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KCatharsis Mar 2019
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that my hands tremble when I’m about to talk to someone you just introduced me to.
I’m sorry that I’m not able to give my best impression and stand up to my full potential when I become all warm and red.
I’m sorry for stammering and not being able to form coherent sentences.
I’m sorry that my eyes glisten when I don’t feel comfortable in a new place, even when I’m right next to you.
It’s not you, babe.
It’s me.
I’m sorry that I’m not able to place an order in a restaurant,
or when I’m not able to pick up unknown calls because my voice cracks while talking to somebody I’m not familiar with.
I know it must feel like I’m pretending, because I act like I’m bold.
But I’m not.
I try to act tough so that I am not approached by strangers that I’m afraid of.

I didn’t think it through.
I think only about the worst case scenario of every situation that I’m put into.
I didn’t ask for this anxiousness.
I didn’t ask to feel scared and lonely when I’m with a group of people.
I didn’t ask to be able to overthink every thing you say.
And I know,
you holding my shaking hands is to make me feel better and calm,
to stop my fingers from quivering violently.
I know,
your arms around my shoulders are there to make me feel like I know my surroundings,
like I’m at home.
I know that your peck on my forehead is placed to make me feel better,
but I’m sorry.
I don’t know how it stops.
I didn’t ask for this.

2:01 PM
I have no control over it, but I'm trying.
KCatharsis Jun 2017
You should have seen the way she looked at you.
She looked at you with a glint in her eyes.
A hope.
Of stirring something deep in your rough skin.

You should have seen her talking about you.
It was red cheeks and glossy eyes.
Like she adored you and nobody else.
Precious was the word she used to describe you with,
as if it were a synonym for your name.
She talked about you like she talked about her favorite thing in the universe.
Which, by the way,
you wouldn't know what is.
Because you didn't care.

She found little gestures of yours comforting,
fooling herself that it was what you did only for her,
when in reality,
it was what you did for all eight hundred of your other female friends.

She thought you were being there for her,
that she was different,
that she could change a wolf like you.
Boy, was she wrong.
Oh, the poor thing was so wrong.

She talked about you all day,
praying for your health,
keeping herself happy by just seeing you content.

But you?
You let her slip.
You let her think, she's just like all of your other chicks.
You were a coward.

You were afraid of committing to her,
to tell her how you feel,
because if you did,
it would end up just like your last.

Even then,
you craved her voice.
You loved her song,
but you told her you liked it,
because you were a coward.
Even then,
you asked her what's wrong,
you knew she wasn't okay.
But you didn't ask her more,
because you were a coward.

You were so dense to notice what you were letting slip by,
just like the sand you were holding.
She was falling,
there was no time.
And you did nothing to stop her.

You were too much of a coward to tell her you loved her back.
And trust me,
she would have cried.
She would've wept because she loved you with everything she had in her.

She masked it in mock friendship,
but deep down you had broken her for anybody else.

You should've seen the way she had suffered,
seeing you all over girls because you were now single.

You should have seen the way she tried so hard to detach herself from you.

You should have seen how she was never investing into anybody ever again.

You should have seen,
because if you would have,
just once,
you woudn't have let her go.
She was the one,
but you didn't pay attention.
She hoped that you listened,
but you didn't.

You should have seen the way her eyes still lit up,
while talking to or about you,
after all the pain you made her go through,
she was still holding onto you.
But you?
You were a coward.
No matter how hard you denied it,
you didn't deserve her.
And she?
She thought she was the one who didn't deserve you.

            2:07 AM.
KCatharsis Feb 2017
All those people,
          I used to run after,
                  are now running after me.
Oh, look how the tables have turned,
         I don't even recognise the faces
             of these people,
                 who are today admiring me*.

KCatharsis Feb 2017
there are a few things that I often wonder,
distracting me from my daily schedule,
confusing me with each question about you, that I stumble.
I want to know *all
about you,
is that something you could render?

How could somebody so precious,
be so broken?
Somebody so sincere,
feel so much pain?
Somebody so innocent,
be left so heartbroken?
Who in their right mind would do something so horrendous to somebody,
who has been in so much vain?

You draw,
and I love it,
but why does your drawing only limit itself to your flesh?
Why does your inner self feel so scared to be expressed?
Why don't you give a chance?

You know that my gentle touch to your soul will be caressing.

I love you
and I could never say these things to you,
but loving you has been a pleasure.
Will always be the best feeling to me.
I could trade the whole world,
and still choose you over.
and only if,
you'd give me a chance.

Oh darling,
try giving me a chance?
You would be the happiest man at glance.
I would love you like I do today,  
and till time ends,
Be your constant till your last breath.

We wouldn't be complicated,
I wouldn't be anything like your past.
I would give you everything that you really deserve,
love you with all that I have,
only because I want to be your last.

we would be the power couple,
the ones who grow together,
all you have to do,
is let me in,
just give me a chance.

Try me, my darling.
'Being the matutine, and the night isn't that hard,
we could still interlace
and maybe,
just maybe,
be seen together,
happily on the card?

//the happiest thing I have EVER written.
KCatharsis Jan 2017
Is it the feeling of rejection that I rejoice?
The feeling that has me trembling,
desperate to cry words of sorrow,
pages and pages of hand written ink,
the humiliation that I *****,
choking on cascading expectations.

Is it the feeling of pain that I cherish?
The feeling which has me crawling in the deepest,
psychic parts of my torment,
in the wrong, dark place,
where the ghosts of negativity reside.

Or is it the feeling of insecurity?
The feeling which lets me despise myself,
over and over again,
for the imperfect beauty that I hide.

Or maybe it's the feeling of love that I ponder.
The feeling of falling so deeply,
no one could ever help me climb out of it,
the feeling of giving my all,
only to be left alone,
standing on a two way diverging road.

But in all honesty,
I think,
it is simply the feeling of feeling something.  
for the sake of having emotions for my poetry,
words for the repressed thoughts that I save,
kavya for the redemption that I escape.

        12:12 AM.
Kavya: poetry.
KCatharsis Jan 2017
The viens in your hands,
artistically inching towards the pattern inside your human body,
the elongation of each tip,
adjoining the vast bed of perfectly shaped standing rectangles.
Your fingers speak of you,
the art that you create,
the story that you sketch.
Each vein walks in five different directions,
all beginning from the start,
where they collide,
irrespective of their aim.
The sculpted valleys in between each length,
portraying just how much life your hands hold.
Aesthetically beautiful hands you have,
don't let just anybody hold them,
for they hold the emotions that you hide,
each vein striding towards humans,
ready to connect,

                   6:15 PM.
To the most beautiful hands I have ever laid eyes on.
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