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Kairosclere Mar 2021
I keep biding my time
To say something that sounds right
Finally right, to the chaos in my heart
And I look around.
There's nobody to hear.
Kairosclere Mar 2021
Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?
Verse from Hamilton.
You don't know who, but you can make your story worth telling, right?
Kairosclere Mar 2021
Rare is the urge to laugh,
Rarer to control.
I do not know where I was going with this except for the fact that I was cackling like a maniac today, at random things.
Kairosclere Mar 2021
How do you determine
That one form of beauty
Is better than the other?
Some may say your eyes are prettier than mine, comparison to determine worth.
A string of random thoughts.
Kairosclere Mar 2021
The world is my oyster,
And the entire ocean is polluted.
The pearl inside, dead.
Your surroundings make your label, despite how "pure" you may be.
Kairosclere Mar 2021
We speak of morality and mortality
While each breath
Each word
Poisons our soul.
Cliche but true: it costs nothing to be rude, and nothing to be kind. It's a choice, and I hope you go with the latter.
Kairosclere Jun 2020
This, a story
Of love and endurance
A survival match
Among the wilderness
From a house displaced
Lived a cat
Out of place,
In this cruel world.
He changed his hues
Trying to fit in
This troubled cat,
Only to seek a soul
Much like its own.
He loitered about
Day and night long
Picked prey by hounds
Clean, from all use,
By these bunch of hyenas
That saw the cat
As everything
But their own.
Trying to escape
With each tick of the clock
From an inescapable fate
Which led him
To his cub.
As their eyes met,
Their souls intertwined,
He had found his world
Alas, one he could
Never call "mine"
With the days
Of their lives
Brimming with joy
The cat found himself,
Rediscovered, stupefied.
He decided
That a life
Without her, a lioness,
Would amount to nothing,
A life given meaning
Simply with every
Breath she took.
Alas, she breathed
For her lions instead,
Where she was one
Among the royals,
As entitled.
The cat, heartbroken,
Lost himself once again
The way he claimed back
From the void
He lost, once and for all.
As his cub
Grew with grace,
Into a fearless hunter
It finally reached him
They they might
Never live together.
Yet their small lives
Are still bound
By little promises made
He is,
In her broken mirror's world,
A black cat.
Kairosclere Jun 2021
To wonder whether
The object of your romanticism
Would never match
A harsh reality;
We say the cup is half full
Or half empty.
I don't know that which is real,
Because I put a rosy filter
Over life's hardships
And cast a darker shadow
Over fairytales.
And you begin to wonder
Where the two things mix
And stay in the sweet middle
Of a contrasting ideal.
Kairosclere Jun 2020
I will wait
For you to scramble
And dig around
The shallow stream
Of your being
And tell you
One last time
To maybe, wait,
Take a minute
To soak up that water
And grow into the
Majestic mighty
You were meant to
And, maybe realise
To look beyond
The vision
That your eyes
Can offer
Into mine
The fingerprints etched
Over my soul.
Kairosclere Oct 2021
I know things seem to be difficult right now.
The energy seems to be low.
I don't know, but there's something in the air.
I found a page, fall out of a book, a single line scribbled in it:
Fear of nightmares evades sleep,
And fear of problems evades life.
Everything that's hapenning right now,
Is for a reason.
Stay strong🌻
Kairosclere Nov 2020
You're the air around me,
And here I am,
Kairosclere Jun 2020
An irony of people
Pushing forth, unseeing
Past me,
Past my worth
And I just stood there,
Static, unmoving,
An anchor
To those passing by
Under their ugly shoes.
Kairosclere Jun 2020
I wait with my eyes
Open to slits
Like the Cresent outside
For the minute the doors are closed
And the lights shut off
Finally bathing me in darkness
And invite my old friend in
And cry with him for hours
Beside me
While he whispers
" Nobody loves you"
"You're ugly"
So I make myself much more
Puffy eyes
And dead cheeks
Waiting yet again
For that reunion
Day after day
Alone in my bubble
Of hate and pain
And feel at home.
Kairosclere Jun 2020
There's so much I want to do, almost infinite time, the right resources and a hundred ways. 

There's so much I wished I could do, but what are wishes, without a will?
Connect to me
Via Instagram @_kairosclere_
Via email
On Pinterest  @_kairosclere_
On hello poetry at
And my blog

Make sure to subscribe to get exclusive pieces.
Thank you for reading <3
Kairosclere Jun 2020
Unprompted lies
They hide a face
That lies beneath
A marked crusade
Porcelain dolls
With plastic smiles
Taught to be the person
That the man dictates.
Taught to talk
A rose in bloom
Rotting from the inside
From soul's disuse.
Taught to hide
To portray
The painting
Stripped of its depth
By turpentine
Made to stink
(Cross that last;
her opinions don't matter)
A perfume
To suit the possessor
To enhance his theme.
Late at night though
When he's asleep
With another,
She writes
He could silence her mouth
But never her words.
Kairosclere Jun 2021
I refrained from reading
Books of poetry
Due to a festering fear
Of confirmation
Of my subpar talent.
With hesitation,
I opened my first,
And what an interesting surmise
Our poems
Were all equally bland.
If I go down y'all are going down with me.
*angelic smile*
Kairosclere Apr 2021
What do you do
To fill the silence?
To paint the blank sheet
Of a life awaiting?
I shout, I splatter buckets
Of the choicest colours
And yet there's no vibrancy
When the world is in greyscale.
Kind of a longer version of "hi I had burnout and look! Darkness! Le olde fren!"
Kairosclere Jul 2021
I sit amidst the bustling crowd
Of children and parents
Under a lazy winter sky
With a book in hand,
Seeing but not looking
At the passing sigmoid shapes-
Brightly clothed, brightly toned
Squeals of joy, few of which
Catch my passing eyes.
I see her in parts, this child,
Her hair, petulant, untamed,
Flying, as though it is a mane,
With enough rebellion against gravity
That matches her scream of joy
As she slides down
Right into the arms of her laughing father.
A small smile peeks over his shoulder,
And my lips tilt in response,
To that one soul who knew I sit here.
I quickly look back down into my book.
I blend in again into a scene
Where I clearly don’t belong,
Except for a smile bestowed
In acknowledgement
Of a timid existence.
I never got to know her name.
Kairosclere May 2021
We wonder what the future brings to us, expecting platters of silver and gold,
Such metals, precious, shine none without the rays of the sun, now so old,
Now have this thrum of energy sounding, music that means to push and pull,
The tides and the seasons, and all the will of man, to contain, now null.

We measure cowardice by the failure of tasks, the dauntless, we praise,
Eyes glistening with hope that these men at least, may let nature’s head raise,
With forlorn yearning, no, but pride, without the prejudice, as the days of yore,
This history of ours, to recreate, and live vicariously, to forget momentarily the gore.

So we treated, owned, and *****, all that we lay eyes on - claimed ours.
And now that this planet is done and dusted, with nothing more to yield, it mourns
For a respite that we cannot help but give, for what use is a lump of gray rock,
Without sweet sin, once green and blue and colors myriad, we draped in a dreary smock.

We send them out to scout, to find new ways to plunder, and regenerate, the daring,
All these resources, all this wealth, for why would we need gold platters, it holds no meaning
Devoid of air to breathe. And so we fashion the very fabric of existence,
To prove once and for all this is a species brimming with persistence.

As man takes his steps yet again, one by one, in another planet to make ours, expectant,
Gaze a million survivors’ faces toward the nether, hope abound, victory reluctant,
We hear echoes, “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind”, all abound,
The future of this race of ruin, yet again grows roots, to fashion into a brave new world.
For the person who said they missed my long form poetry <3
Kairosclere Jun 2020
By the ramp of the dearly departed
Still lay his faded fingerprints
While yet another
Was thrown in the morbid bed
Still reeking
like death

The hall deserted
His breathing slow
Hope fading
The morale low
Thoughts crept
Like death

And another after another
Was thrown into the list
Ever growing
Breaths slowing
Ever reeking
Like death

Lying in a corner
Groaning beneath the mask
A soul once alive
Moaning over the past
Waiting for a cure
Like death

And one last breath
Felt in the night
He wished to be his last
He couldn't hold on
To this madness, so
Like death

There was this glimmer
A ray of light
The suffering might end
Things could go right
Maybe slowly
Like death

The world was healing
Not all hope was dead
The once confined bodies
Will rise out of bed
Defeating tragedies
Like death

With a combined might
And hope alight
Strength in prayer
And hearts twinned
The world rose up
From death.
Inspired by the pandemic.
Kairosclere May 2020
Each stroke of my charcoal pencil,
Scraping against paper,
Scratched out yet another scar
Masking my feelings
As they bled on paper-
Black rivers running scarlet,
And locked it there,
A dam brimming
Wiped off, in a brave
Attempt to never
Be uncovered again,
Under alluvium.
Connect to me
Via Instagram @_kairosclere_
Via email
On Pinterest  @_kairosclere_
On hello poetry at
And my blog

Make sure to subscribe to get exclusive pieces.
Thank you for reading <3
Kairosclere Jun 2020
My words may not seem like much,
In contrast to your love and adoration,
Rather bland and unfeeling.
Yet I care.
Every heart you send melts mine.
I really do care.
Kairosclere Dec 2020
If I were to
Spew a poem
From the depths of my mind
Within seconds
I'm afraid of the words
Lurking beneath the surface
Those which I've managed to lock
Would pounce
Upon the first chance of release.
Maybe that's why
I write about them
Rather than what they are.
And so, I ask,
To be or not to be:
A walking contradiction.
Kairosclere Aug 2020
In all my imperfections
Let me be your favourite monster
The poison served
In a silver platter
The bleeding eye akin
To the brain most consider not
There's the crack next to yours
That this snake can slither in
Found under ozymandias's head
In a nowhere land
Where lie none
So take my word.
Kairosclere May 2020
Clocks ticking
Slowly move away
No longer in sync

/written a world apart/
This form of writing is called an elfchen.

Connect to me
Via Instagram @_kairosclere_
Via email
On Pinterest  @_kairosclere_
On hello poetry at
And my blog

Make sure to subscribe to get exclusive pieces.
Thank you for reading <3
Kairosclere Jun 2020
Billions of people
All over the world
Are knee deep in fear
It is but the tragedy of death
That threatens to keep
The closest near.
This worldwide pandemic
Not only a punishment,
But a time for self reflection
On all that we have done:
All the bruises we have caused
All the tears we cried.
And as nature slowly heals herself
Amidst humans
Keeping their tails in check,
Sparrow song trills once again
And swans find their home,
And as rare as the golden birds.
The human mayflies
Take in a moment and
Search themselves
Clean themselves
And stay still
For once in their lives
Waiting, watching, listening,
Growing closer hour by hour-
That all those decades running
Couldn't provide,
And retort
Back to being human again.
As nature heals her
Cuts and wounds
We, her children,
Are too birthed anew.
Written based off of the pandemic.
Kairosclere Nov 2020
A ****** of crows,
A conspiracy of ravens.
Ended up painting maliciousness
On creatures mute.
/just thought you should know/
Kairosclere Nov 2020
Smile as though
The splendour
Of the moon
Is your competition.
Also pluto is a planet. I'm still in denial.
Kairosclere Jun 2020
A few days back,
when I could at last take a breath
away from my rigorous schedule,
Amma told me a story.
It wasn't something she usually says,
concerning studies or achieving great things,
or getting into a good college.
She said,
"There is a man,
who lives pretty close
to your paati's house.
While he was going to work,
he saw a crow's chick
fallen below a tree;
fallen from it's nest
just after hatching.
This man,
trying to rescue that poor thing,
took it home and nursed it.
Unfortunately the chick
died after a day or two.
everytime he gets out of his house,
all the crows in the locality
surround him
and try to peck his brains out,
because they probably think
he killed their chick.
Even people
who want to do good
to others are mistaken nowadays.
Maybe it would have been better for him
to leave the chick to die
under the tree itself;
he wouldn't have to be scared
to get out of the house then."
Listening to this,
I thought maybe
humanity has become so corrupted,
that they've lost the trust
of even animals.
Kairosclere Jun 2020
A mellow flower
Waving in the wind
Dried yellow
A long while ago
Yet holding on
To the plant stem
Unwilling to let go
Of its past.
Kairosclere Jun 2020
Let's just say
we were destined
to stand out,
and yell on top of our lungs
till the world notices us.
Kairosclere Jun 2020
Yes, it was a nightmare
But I haven't 
Left it behind
A few days after
My mom reached the stars
And shone down on me
No more by my side
Yet her presence felt
All through the day
Returning to
A semblance of normality
Somehow able to
Reach across the void
Her absence has left
The dark patch
Over our souls
But pretence
Is something that is
As natural
As forgettance.
And I converse
With my dad
Of trivial things
Like they actually
And I say,
"Appa, I can still
Hear her
In my head”
An alive phantom.
And I sob
Waking up
Drenched with salty tears
From what's real
And what's not.
Kairosclere Feb 2021
And so
Opportunities fly by
Until another
Claims what was,
No, is, yours
All because
You paused
At the threshold
Of an open door.
Ha. No regrets. Right?
The denial and "it is what it is" attitude seems to be working well in deluding myself.
Kairosclere Aug 2020
Inadvertently chasing dreams
Failing plans
To lead the way.
Kairosclere Jan 2021
What would you call
The drought in your head
Devoid of thoughts and ideas
Sometimes I can stare at a wall
With nothing going through
And when brought to present
I wonder if it's normal.
Maybe only a draught
For this drought
Can shake me
Out of this
Internal monologue.
I'm not thinking anything then I think that I'm not thinking anything and end up actually thinking about thinking.
Kairosclere Nov 2020
How easy would it be
To change things
To your will
And make things alright-
Yet these easiest things
Are rarely attained.
Kairosclere Jun 2021
There once lived a king,
Only for the love of garb,
Who drained all the coffers,
To be adorned by something new each hour.
He cared not about the people,
Nor the soldiers at war,
Nor royal events,
Among other kingdoms,
Which failed to set a bar.
What can be said
Of a people,
Whose king himself
Was vain to a fault?
A glutton, nay, a fop,
Spent hours locked
Into a wardrobe much bigger
Than the royal throne room:
A room in which now stood two men
Before the billowing robes
Of a monarch whose face was barely seen,
And lay their case-
The only way to appeal
To a man ruled by cloth-
That they would make the finest
Most exquisite, most elaborate, wear,
Most adored, and adorn him in it,
A fabric that none can see
Except for the bright, and the fit,
Just the ones who were worthy
Of the seat on which they everyday sit.
The emperor, salivates, and says,
“Had I such a suit,
I shall know
The bright from the dim,
The wise from the foolish.
This fabric, nay, the stuff of gods,
Truth teller, must be woven,
For I will be then a king,
Who had it all”-
So as proclaimed, these rogues
Were put to work on the robes.
Given two looms,
And placed in the palace rooms,
They were provided with the finest of silk
The purest of gold thread
The sharpest of needles,
Never seen among their ilk.
They worked day and night,
Pretending to create something of might,
On something shimmeringly light
As thin air.
All the while usurping, pocketing
All the fine thread,
Sharing laughs at the dead of the night
At the foolishness of men.
Men were sent from the court
To check on the status of the weave-
No, the king wouldn’t come himself, no,
He had that much trust,
That a man of his status
Could see the working looms.
So, he sent others,
A test to their intelligence,
And all the people waited with bated breath,
For someone to proclaim
That what they beheld
Was, really, nothing, ahead.
The grand vizier,
Squirmed and stalled,
And the impostors, ever courteous,
Invited him in for a closer look,
“Oh, look at the colours, the designs,
The embroidery,
Will they suit the emperor’s fancy?”
Breaking a sweat,
Lying through his teeth, the wizened man said,
“Oh yes, indeed!”
He left with a long, parting look,
Looked and looked,
But could see nothing, so to save face,
He yells, hollers, to everyone who would hear,
That there is nothing more sheer
Than the one resting on the loom.
He spoke of the fabrics, and the designs,
The dyes and at lengths
Of the material.
With each visit from an imperial courtesan,
The knaves filled their knapsacks,
While the courtiers returned liars.
With each man
Spewing the cloth’s glory,
Each of the people claimed,
There were none as wise as he.
The emperor, further intrigued,
By hearing only praises, ears well fatigued,
Decided, on the word of two very honest men,
That the fabric would surpass everything he had ever beheld.
And on, he went to where the crafty impostors rested,
Crooned, “These splendid designs, these glorious colours,
Will soon become yours.”
He looked and looked, but could not see
Even a single thread passing the loom
And yet, exclaimed, “How wonderful,
Marvellous, stupendous, charming!”
And proceeded to empty his vocabulary
Describing something that didn’t exist.
Following his lead, his retinue echoed
Made sounds of affirmation and some of awe
For who would want to be a fool?
(in a world of fools)
The gentlemen presented the pretend weavers
With a riband, an order of knighthood,
Fitted to their button holes,
With the pretentious title of “Gentlemen Weavers”
The day before the emperor would wear the cloth,
They stayed up all night,
Pretended to cut and roll and thread
The stuff of gods
And with the first light of dawn, announced,
“The emperor’s new clothes are ready!”
They brought one article of clothing after another,
A pretentious show with nothing raised,
“Here are the trousers!
Here is the scarf!
Here is the mantle!
Here is the garb!”
To the backdrop of ooh’s and aah’s.
They made the emperor stand
And while they undressed him while he stood,
Looking at himself through the looking mirror,
Arranged and pleated the fabric, adjusted it to his tone.
Once done, the king turned this way and that
A whole round at that,
He examined his handsome suit.
“Do my new clothes fit well?”
“Yes, better than any royal garb!”
“All my people deserve to behold this lovely cloth!”
He marched through the streets,
With four men behind, holding up his trail
Men from all around the town agreed,
That none of his majesty’s other robes
Had ever made such an impression,
As much as these invisible ones.
A meek voice from the back,
One not prone to the ways of the world, said,
“But he wears nothing!”
Hands cupped his mouth, and he was dragged away,
While the whispers passed on.
Long poem but I hope worth going through.
Kairosclere Apr 2021
I left your company,
So “precious”
The moment
You mentioned the name
There’s only so much hate
That a person could contain,
Can tolerate,
And nothing as potent
As that one name
To make me see red.
I thank you
For reminding me again
Why I had vowed
To never come across you.
It brings back, gushing,
The extent of your gullibility
And my blind trust.
You, like a broken puppy
In need of a shelter,
Still yap behind her
All day,
Unseeing the truth
That my eyes still hold.

And so, I left.
It keeps the pain at bay.
NaNoWriMo, I am late but I am here, and what better start than a hate poem lol
Kairosclere Jun 2021
MAJOR TW (mental illnesses)

It feels oppressive lately. Blindly ticking things off a schedule, halfheartedly, just because I want to tick the entire thing, and hence check out the boxes, even if I had dome the things without much consent or interest.

These boxes that I drew for monthly tasks, daily tasks, twenty or so of them to include in my 24-hour day. So, my mental exhaustion was surprising and contradictory, considering I was the one who set those tasks out for myself. It is the 15th of December, 2019, a year is coming to an end, and I feel like so will everything else on Earth. Well, not because I’m a sociopath, but it is a strong gut feeling. I’m standing at the precipice of burnout, having bitten so much more than I can chew.

Every day I take on more tasks, not knowing when to say no when to stop. I think I can juggle everything, but it did not mean that it didn’t drive me nuts.

I have had zero creative outlets lately. And for so long, I sit down wanting to be productive and head out having done nothing. I beat myself up for my inadequacies. I should really be better than this. And yet, my mind and heart are so utterly exhausted. Lately, I have also developed body dysphoria. I cannot look at myself in the mirror without coughing out a little hate.

I used to think I was one of those people who had come to terms with being themselves and loving themselves. Well, I still think I am, but in love with a far away version of who I will be, who I have the potential to be, and not this version of me whose empty eyes gazed back every day. Maybe that is the cause of the hate, holding myself to the high standards I’ve set for myself and always, always coming up short. It makes me want to lash out at a lot of people, and at a lot of minor things. Well, lately, I have been.

But I do not feel any better. I fact, I feel like I’m drowning every day. I feel that I don’t belong. I’ve read that almost all of these symptoms are of anxiety. A friend even pointed out that it might be of depression.

Ask everyone else whom I interact with and they will surely say I’m one of the most outgoing people they have ever met. I’m good at masking; good at pretending. I do not lie, but I deceive, with slender word-plays and elaborate loopholes. Maybe all of this makes me a horrible person. That’s what I have been beating myself over every day, for very long.

Hindsight isn’t an amazing superpower to have. I don’t think I am stuck in place with regrets, though. Always jotting down plans, consequences, and places I will be in if I chose a particular course of action. And yet, you cannot keep devising plan after plan when every single thing you’ve thought would happen doesn’t, or even if it does happen, in some brutal mockery of it.

This does not mean I have stopped. I still make plans. Still, schedule, as if it is a ritual every day. But, I think I have reached a point of a standstill when I can see that not much that I do can change what’s to come.

I mean, why work when you’ll definitely not end up where you want to be? In contradiction, how could you know if you will have achieved it if you just stop trying?

Every thought contradicts itself, and the next, changes course entirely.

What am I working towards? Am I working hard enough?

That is all relative because however hard I try, there will always be someone more talented. An impostor in my own skin, these thoughts don’t leave me alone.

I have knowledge without depth. Ideas and personality formed from a culmination of all sorts of inputs I’ve got in my life. I fear I am not original. Accepting compliments for the same leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I feel like sometimes, I am not even a real person. Just a shell that manages to tick off the daily tasks.

So, I try to be the most genuine person anyone has ever met. Earlier comments about hiding parts of myself notwithstanding- I hide only the darkest parts of myself. The side that will make people pity me. The side that is so swathed in the darkness that the glimmer of hope that people speak of, there is zero hope of even encountering it.

I have a pile of books waiting beside me, yet, encountering them is the last thing I want to do. Well, I do not know what I want to do. Always stuck in a negative spiral of emotions and I fail to see the way out. Not always, no, but on days like these, when nothing seems to go right.

Maybe it is easier to say “this will pass” and look forward to a future than deliberating, as I have been doing for countless days, but ignoring and wishing these thoughts away doesn’t do much to silence them.

It's funny how well I seem to pick apart and arrange, categorize and analyze what’s going on inside, but in reality, I sit with a blank expression, scratching away conflicting thoughts trying to make some sense of them.

Small blessings, that the tear-stains on my pillow are near-invisible.
If you relate to this, I am sorry.
Kairosclere Jun 2020
Tiny bubbles of soap
Held fragile
by the molecules
of my existence
In moist, soapy
Fingers shielding
Against a gentle
Breeze that might
Disrupt the perfect
Harmony of atoms
Vibrations, of an
Intangible soul
Protected- to perversely
Selfish reasons- for
Who will shelter my heart
If not myself?
Kairosclere Dec 2020
If my eyes
Are the windows
To my soul,
Let's see
How well
You can read
A void.
*laughs in dark circles and burnout*
Kairosclere May 2021
As all the good things are,
Yours to decipher.
So every journal I have begins with this line. Yes, I'm sentimental lol.
Kairosclere Oct 2020
In that pond
Which housed
A thousand fishes
Of gold
And a single
One as dark
As the depthless seas
I went to fish.
Eyes fixed
After the prize
Of one unique.
And in the try
To bag the gold
(Here, the boa)
I let go
Of a hundred
Actual gold.

//I chased after a single utopian idea, a goal, and never appreciated the other opportunities that were given. //
Kairosclere May 2021
So many things
Are easier said than done
And maybe there's where
Half the fun lies.
Would you really value something if it were easy?
Kairosclere Sep 2020
When the days turn longer
And nights unbearably short
In the middle of winter, even,
And slogging weights
Pull down the neck
Threatening to choke
Given one second
To pull back and breathe,
Then the limit of
A thousand beings
Is surpassed to something beyond
Aspirations and goals,
Something beyond a dutiful soul
To a being
Living life
To make it
What it should be;
Kairosclere Jan 2021
It weighs you down,
This baggage you carry.
Today in poems out of memes: what's heavier? 100 pounds bricks or 100 pounds feathers?
Kairosclere Dec 2020
I leave hidden messages
In everything that I touch
A colour
A whisper
And a thought
Maybe you'll touch that same space
That I love so much
And it would be so
That you're right by me.
This is probably the kind of ghost I'll be tho. Causing tiny discontinuities and patterns to follow, only if you can find and see them first.
Kairosclere May 2020
Pages hanging on
By a breadth of
A mere molecule
Paper hearts
And discarded minds
Holding on to life
By a brief tether
By auspicious grim.
Connect to me
Via Instagram @_kairosclere_
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Kairosclere Nov 2020
What if this story
Of ours goes down in history
As a change of times
For once
The love of self
Triumphs fairytales.
I wish I could love myself as I am, before I could give it to anyone else, all encompassing.
Kairosclere Feb 2021
I caught up with my reflection today.
She turned,
And I couldn't recognise her anymore.
Let's just pretend it's an I'm ugly joke and not some deep stuff.
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