For a long time I was trying to be something I’m not.
Then again for a long time I didn’t even know who I was.
I kept trying on different skins to see what I liked best
but nothing fit quite right. Either too big or too small,
or itchy like wool, or so thin I felt too exposed for my own comfort.

It took me a long time to realize my own bare bones
suited me better than any stretched out,
over used idea of any person ever would.

Now I am raw and slightly confused, but at least I can claim this  skeleton as mine and no one else’s.

When my past comes to visit me,
it isn't a smack in the face.
It gradually creeps up,
wrapping itself around my body,
engulfing me.
It knocks down all my feelings
and throws them away,
making room for itself.
My past is not a welcome guest,
but it's hard to kick it out.

Curiouser
And
Curiouser
I follow you
down
  down
    down
      Into the most
       Odd little world of
         Madness and magic
           Jubjub and Jabberwocky
              Red-painted white roses;
                 Such a beautiful adventure
                      I have only dreamt about.
                    Still I'm bothered by how,
                   Even in a place like this,
               You only think of the time.
            My dearest white rabbit,
         I would truly hate to see
     All of Wonderland
  go and
pass
you
by.

So I’ll tell you why I write.
I write because I’m the protagonist of my own stories.
I write because in my stories, I solve the problems that invariably creep up between people and I
In the most heroic ways possible
I write because in my world,
Not every rainbow ends in a *** of gold
But sliding across its multicolour will be the happiest memory in your mind
I write because my stories are clouds that do have real silver linings
I write because 3 am is time for chai, and childhood stories
Impromptu bike rides to greet the sleeping night
But all I can do is write.
I write because I’m angry and frustrated but
you asked me not to turn my anguish onto my body
and leave battle scars for the world to question -
so I write instead.
I write because sometimes,
the tumult in my head comes from
words that are struggling to spill forth from my brain
and stain empty pages with their loud meaning.
I write because
Writing is the only way I have to make sense
of this messy world we live in.