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 Jun 2019
vern
discord and strife stood before me
with hollow cheeks, ivory skin, and luminous hair
a knife in her hand
a pen in the other
pick your poison she told me; stir some trouble
from her piercing gaze and wicked smirk I knew
she offered me, a pawn for her games, a decision
however, I had no power to chose at all
so I reached my hand, feeling the weight of my choice
the chaos
and the destruction I would cause.
What would you chose?
The pen refers to emotions, and the knife refers to actions.
Part two will come someday.
 Jun 2019
vern
when I woke up this morning
I had the strangest feeling
the remnants of last nights dream
lingered on my lips and cheek
it was a dream filled with chocolate
it was sweet, but also bitter
it was an enchanting dream
but it left me with an empty stomach
it was not one of lust but one of love
when I woke up this morning
I never felt more alone
I am a liar, I didn't have a dream like this last night, it was actually about treasure planet, but do you ever have a dream where you're just in love and happy or just a good dream and when you wake up you're happy it's over, that's just the mood rn.
 Jun 2019
vern
dearly beloved
I have gathered my pen and paper
to send you love from another world
I've stashed this note in a bottle
and threw it into the air
so I shall not know whether you got my love
whether you even care
I apologize for I left your world without a word
I didn't belong there but I found I belong here
I belong somewhere
and it is not there, it is here
and it is not with you, it is with me
I am regifting the lies that were gifted by you
you are no longer a concept that plagues my mind
do you think about me my beloved
I don't think about you
the thought saddens me so I refuse
I'd rather stay happy and live in ignorance
that you ever existed
these empty feelings on paper will finally disappear
to a place I do not know
well, once knew but have long forgotten
this is my first note and my final note
I'm sending you love from another world
and I will never send it to you again
for this world is my own, and I don't want to share
It's been awhile. This isn't my best work, but it's something.
 Jun 2019
vern
there is so much I want to see
wonders I've never glanced at
art I've never seen
skies I've never gazed at
seas I've never looked at
homes I've never peered at
there is so much I want to see
and yet I still haven't opened my eyes yet
that is the question
 Jun 2019
vern
I have a fear of being left
that one day someone
family, friend, or lover
will disappear from my life
as if they were never there
and I would never know why
this irrational fear haunts me
but there is another fear that hurts me even more
if I left my someone
would they feel the same as I would
when I disappear, would no one even blink
would anyone wonder where I went
how everything went wrong
I am terrified that it wouldn't bother them at all
it is not the fear of being left
it is the fear of never being missed
that is so irrational yet so burdensome
I wish I could get over this irrational fear, but unfortunately, I can't. Also two poems today!
 May 2019
vern
on my calender, I have marked
the perfect day to drown.
for the day I will drown will be the most tranquil of them all
the ocean will be perfectly still, not a wave in sight.
the moon high above will not pull the tide.
the creatures in the sea will travel away.
for the day I will drown will be the quietest of them all
the world around me will watch in silence
as I walk towards the center of the ocean
and lie down to drown
the only ripples will be from my steps
for I have chosen to drown
a choice of my own, not the ocean's
my body will sink as if I'm drifting asleep
my bed of water will slowly lower down
to the bottom of the ocean
for it is the perfect day to drown
I try to write with a meaning behind it, so when AP Lit classes read my random poems they can overanalyze them. This isn't about death, it's not about dying, even though that's one of the hashtags. It's just about finding peace of mind and calming down. It's about sinking away from problems. It's about sleeping and being calm. I'm just very drawn to the ocean and I love poems about water and the ocean.
 May 2019
vern
I am a small and expressive six-year-old
I just came back from India, just a trip to visit family
I wear a bindi
My hands are decorated with mehndhi¹
I wear bangles on my arm of all different colors
I wore a little churi daar
²
And everyone teased me
“She has a disease?”
“Why is there a dot on your forehead?”
“You look funny”
A few of my friends tell me that I look pretty and they wish to wear it too.
I get a few compliments but the rest hurt
I never wore a bindi in front of them again
I washed my hands to rid the orange stains
I never wear my Indian clothes
I am a not so small and not expressive sixteen-year-old
I see music festivals, I see movies, I see the people who teased me when I was six
They wear the dots that I had worn
They decorate their hands with what they call “henna”
It wasn’t an Indian holiday
I’m a little hurt
Why was I teased?
But they are praised
“It’s aesthetically pleasing?”
“The bindi is indie”
Do not tease me for my culture
And then take it for your own praise
Is that even fair?
Do you think that’s fair?
some thoughts about cultural appropriation
1. henna in intricate patterns
2. an Indian outfit prominent in Gujarat, worn during holiday celebrations
 May 2019
vern
in my pocket you will find
a receipt, some gum
scraps of paper, some change
a wrapper or two
there is a dollar as well,
and finally a book
of unfinished poems.
open the book you will find
words that were written
but soon to be forgotten
by the author who misplaces her mind
she wants to accomplish
even a drabble or two but
sadly she will never finish
for she'll forget that too
along with her ambition
perhaps works are meant to be unfinished
I always try to write. Unfortunately, I'm not very good at finishing what I start. I'm trying to get better and finishing my works. This poem is basically about that. This is for the forgetful people who want to accomplish a lot but either forget to complete their works or lose the will to do so. This is basically my first poem on this website, I hope you like it.
 May 2019
vern
we are tied to our fates with a thin red string
they are strung to our love, destiny, and death.
the young man who lost his lover
is fated to fall for another.
the new mother who holds her child
is fated for a beautiful destiny she cannot imagine.
the person sitting alone on the bench
is fated to lose his life to someone.
none of these people can see where their strings go
they live as if there are no red strings tied to their fingers
and attached to the sky.
only the watcher of our fate can see these red strings.
she grieves for the some of the strings
the saddest lives are the smallest
smiles for other strings
she sees those who will have full lives
and she sighs
the watcher cannot see her own strings
unlike the others, she is not ignorant of fate.
she is aware of fate, embraces fate,
but she does not know her own fate
was she destined for eminence, luster
was she destined for a lover, a heart
was she destined for death, sooner rather than later
she will never know
the burden of the knowledge of the red strings
weighs her down
she does not have a fate, a love, a destiny, a death.
For she is the watcher of the red strings of fate
and only the watcher of the red strings of fate.
I've loved the concept that there is some invisible red string that ties you to your soulmate. However, I wanted to reimagine it as something that ties you to any fate you have. Sometimes I feel like I am the watcher of the red strings. It's just a sense of hopelessness and emptiness that maybe I won't amount to anything or will be enough for anyone. That's a lot of emotion, but I hope you still enjoy this poem.

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