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Mary Jan 2018
Solitude sits beside me.
I welcome it
the way you'd welcome
a stranger on a bus
with three empty seats,
who chooses the one
right next to you.
And you can do nothing
but smile
and try, numb
to avoid it.
Mary Dec 2017
Please play that song
once again
on the old jukebox
from your mum's attic.
We'll just sit around,
a cigarette for two
as we pretend to live
in those golden days of youth.
When nothing really mattered
but The Beatles and new dance moves,
hand written letters
with no shades of blues,
and sweet old songs
that i sure wouldn't mind
writing for you.
Felt like i needed to write a poem about the past.Things have changed a lot, and even if we've come so far, many things were so much better back then.And these things are part of the reasons why i'd like to go back to the past, sometimes.
Mary Nov 2017
Dreams are not
what they are supposed
to look like
A constant blur
of reality,
reality meaning sadness,
sadness being
the most familiar thing
in this house.
My imagination
being nothing
but let downs.
Because i only know my dreams,
and sadness
is the most familiar thing
in this house.
  Nov 2017 Mary
it's that time of the year
full of dry skin and
dryer eyes
emotions feeling like
woollen sweaters
in the sunlight
feeling like regret, feeling
like very not right
feeling like the whole season
makes you sleepy, makes it night
darker mornings, darker times
and it's well known
we all feel a little more alone
at night.
  Nov 2017 Mary
november rain
brings so much pain
now that you're gone
the birds will sing a song
as you're welcomed to the light
we'll weep into the night
although it'll be sappy
all that matters is that you're happy
love & miss you mamaw
  Nov 2017 Mary
Moushmi Mehta
Wish I was younger
In the thick of my stupidity  
Blindly gulping adrenaline
Now garbed in sour rigidity

It's just not nostalgia, its angst
It's just one cigarette, no stress
I'm better than this, my friends know
But can't ask them, they're unknown

People leave, yes I've been told
I'm no better. An island & me, I'm sold
And I rock myself to bed at night
And I kick my mind to be alright

But the sand is slipping faster now
The moonshine itching loud and how
And after all, I am still an imbecile
Ranting about love but a little less cynical
Mary Nov 2017
Some boys
are more
than just their title.
Some boys
can make up a thunderstorm
out of a simple glance,
not aware
of the calamity inside of them.
Some boys
are pure and simple art,
their lips a poem
i'll never be tired
of reading and writing.
Some boys
can tell you so much
all while being silent.
Some boys
are best selling books
with not a chance
of happy endings.
Some boys
are a never ending tune
that rings constantly
in my ears.
A powerless and monotonous
soundtrack of sadness
and lonely broken fears.
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