“So much of sadness reeks in this soul,
it has become tired of living in this home,
now tell me,
do you want to feel something more,
or drown in the sounds,
of blood rushing through your veins,
I have thought about it,
empty bottles,
and sleepless nights,
with pen ink spilled on the floor,
and my room door open,
will happiness just walk through it,
look at the state I am in,
and leave me like that,
leave me to what I want to be,
because I have chosen not to feel,
I have chosen to be empty and numb,
to plaster a smile on my face,
and drink away nights alone,
now don’t tell me this is not the way to live life,
you know I don’t drink,
the only thing that makes me drunk,
is the thought of my life going somewhere someday,
don’t tell me,
to get out there and reach out for happiness,
I have been in the oblivion for so ******* long,
I don’t even believe there’s light anymore,
don’t tell me,
I look like I haven’t slept in days,
because I did last night,
but my dreams,
were of nothing,
but me walking through the streets,
now live one day,
like me aimlessly,
so that when you re-read this poem,
you will understand what I am trying to say,
try reading this with the lights off,
to feel something in your heart,
to feel anything at all.”

“Now I have begun,
one too many poems,
with your name,
and for the first time,
this poem is absent of your name,
and for the first time,
my heart hasn't sunk this deep,
my hands,
will never be the same,
after writing so many letters,
that will you never come across,
my pen ink has run dry,
so has my hopes,
because,
I used to write about,
how beautiful it would be,
if you looked at me,
the way I looked at you,
and last week,
I saw your eyes,
they were beautiful,
but you were looking,
for something,
for someone else,
you were looking for someone to make your heart race,
and oh dear,
I was not the one,
and I know your all time favorite movie,
I know various things about you,
I even knew,
I wasn’t going to be yours,
not anytime soon,
but you see love is an ocean,
no one really has seen all the depths of it,
and your heart may race at the sight of another,
but those eyes,
those ******* beautiful eyes,
will always be carved,
onto this silly heart of mine,”

“
The other day,
the doctor told me,
I wasn’t getting enough of sleep,
thus the prescription pills,
as if my mind,
was switch,
to turn on and off.

Sadness,
was etched in my bones,
and I knew this,
the day you threw words at me,
because I felt my blood drain,
but the sadness lurked within.

Sticks and stones may break your bone,
but words,
they rip your soul,
it’s been months,
but don’t you dare think,
I have forgotten,
what you have said to me,
people underestimate,
a great deal,
the hearts they break,
while trying to find the ‘right one’.

This isn’t about love,
it started when I was eight,
when I didn’t ace maths,
pressure building up,
to be perfect,
to get somewhere,
words haunting,
that never really left,
and you might have broken me,
but I had nothing really much,
to break either.

This isn’t a self-empathy poem,
after many months,
I am finally writing to you,
to tell you,
I will get over you,
it will take time,
I just want you to know,
that I heard your heart stop for a second,
when I said,
“maybe we will get married someday”,
and maybe you knew,
we weren’t going to last,
but that didn’t give you the right,
of drowning me in your words,
as if,
I was your private diary,
to write off guilt and regrets.

This is a poem,
because after many sleepless nights,
my mind has finally sorted out what’s right,
and that’s getting over you,
even if it means,
dusting up my bones.

”

“Don’t touch me with your bleeding fingertips,
I know that your palms,
have memorized her well enough,
Don’t speak to me with your lying tongue,
spilling words,
coated with honey,
Don’t think,
I forget,
that you spent a night with her,
telling her the things you said,
when you first me,
Don’t think,
It doesn’t hurt,
I am only human,
sometimes I try to wash your touch away,
I know I would fall again,
but your name,
dug a hole deep,
in my heart,
I bet it will stay,
Now,
this isn’t about how I still love you despite you breaking my heart,
I mean to be honest,
I pretty much hate you,
but it’s the effect humans leave upon you,
when you fall out of love,
as if all the sunny skies have been replaced,
with grey one,
your hot cups of coffees,
become cold,
every song you used to love,
now reminds you of him,
but here’s the thing,
you see,
after you left,
I realized I loved it when it rained,
I love when the skies were grey,
my preference to coffee,
turned different,
similar to my feelings toward you,
cold,
and all the songs I used to love,
still remind me of you,
but I dance my heart out to them,
so just take this as a tip,
falling out of love is not the end,
it’s the beginning.”

“I want the sun,
to rise in the east,
and set in the west,
I want to be the best,
at my worst,
I want to be the oceans,
and the land,
I want to be the skies,
and the birds,
and the relation is simple,
you see,
I want people to smile at me,
but not look me in the eyes,
I want people to talk to me,
but only with their mouths,
not hearts,
I want to adore the flowers,
on the sidewalk,
alone,
but sometimes,
I wish someone was beside me,
to tell me,
how there is still more beauty to come,
I want to be left alone,
yet I crave attention,
and it’s not as easy,
as it seems,
because solitude is a choice,
but the skies look so beautiful today,
friendship is a choice,
but the skies look beautiful today,
no sure certainty of tomorrow,
and as much as I want to be left alone,
I want this heart to beat for others too.”

“The floorboards still creak your name,
what has it been?,
3 days,
since you left me,
since you took me whole,
and left,
your touch still lingers,
somewhere on my body,
somewhere i can feel it,
your touch electrifies my body,
especially when someone else touches me,
i think it’s been 3 days 2 hours,
exactly,
since i got the call,
quotes,
your favorite quotes written on my forehead,
is it too obvious,
i have become a walking tragedy,
my sadness is an anchor that i bring along,
everywhere i go,
it’s been 3 days 2 hours 8 minutes,
since i heard the news,
“he’s gone”,
were those words,
what are words,
just incoherent sounds that line together,
look it’s 8pm,
yet here i am screaming your name,
are you really gone,
i ask the skies,
all i see is grey,
baby,
how could you do this to me,
we were in this together,
forever,
forever i said,
and you would say,
“nothing lasts forever”,
i miss your voice,
****,
is that my 7th cup of coffee,
i only drink alcohol with you remember,
drunk nights,
sober kisses,
ah you can’t be gone,
you can’t be,
**** i love you so much,
but you’re gone,
and i am shattered,
all my pieces are on the ground,
i can see them,
but i am not going to fix myself no more,
people may see me,
being broken and sad,
but lovers will see me,
as someone who was loved,
and that’s all i need,
people to know i was loved,
and no one else could kiss me like you did.”

“Now sit down,
look around,
see everyone,
okay good,
now stand up,
go to the mirror,
and look at yourself,
what have you got figured,
anything yet,
or has someone already figured it out for you,
the other people you saw,
most of them might have figured out who they are,
but you,
not so much,
haven’t you,
but don’t you worry,
you know why?,
most of the people you saw,
put on a mask,
you could be thirty-two,
and still haven’t figured who you truly are,
and you don’t have to necessarily find out either,
you don’t have to constrain yourself,
to restrictions imposed by you,
“I think I am gay”,
“I think I am more reserved”,
you see,
you are you,
you fall in love when it happens,
your personality shows when you meet the right people,
so it’s okay if you haven't figured out yet who you are,
neither has most of us,
the fun is in the journey remember,
so look at yourself as an unsolved puzzle,
there is much more than beauty,
in the unknown.”

“When he told me he loved me,
I asked him why,
he replied,
without the slightest hesitation,
about the color of my eyes,
without the slightest hesitation,
I bid him goodbye,
because growing up,
I saw my father leave my house for work,
whispering in my mother ears,
“you’re beautiful”,
before he left,
and that’s what my mother believed she was,
beautiful,
growing up,
she told me,
that she hoped,
I would find a husband caring as my father,
who would tell me that I am beautiful,
and love me with all his heart,
and all I could think was,
is,
is that all I am?,
some toy piece in society,
for some man to love,
am i just,
appeal in a guy’s life,
a beautiful mother,
a life partner but I am under home maintenance category,
despite my dad’s unconditional love for my mother,
and hers for him,
my mother’s dream of becoming a doctor,
were shattered when she was 20,
so growing up,
I promised myself,
I would be more than a pair of ******* beautiful eyes,
graceful posture,
amazing hair,
and nice voice,
I would be woman,
powerful and independent,
I would be human,
ambitious and hard-working,
so if you start your poem with my name,
please do reconsider,
what you’re going to say.”

“if your first love fails,
it’s not the last they say,
but i see my hands,
and i only see the past,
these same hands,
were the ones,
that wrote your name on pieces of paper,
hoping the ink would vaporize,
but your essence would still be present,
these are the same hands,
that used to shield myself from the mirrors,
whenever you came around,
these were the same hands,
that used to dream of holding yours,
interlocking in evident spaces,
but time passes,
and so does my hopes,
my hands stop dreaming,
and they start facing,
what’s real,
what’s possible,
my hands wipe away tears only,
on many lonely nights,
now tell me,
my first failed love might not have been the last,
oh but nothing hurts as much,
and some nights my hands wake me up,
just to remind me of something that i have lost,
that wasn’t even mine to begin with.”

"

My mind,
is not some machine,
to go back in time,
to erase your memory.

My hands,
are not some tools,
for you to use,
and for you to leave,
hanging,
waiting for your warmth,
craving for your touch.

My eyes,
are not toys,
for you to play around with,
and name,
they’re not your favorite things in the world,
they’re not a temporary distraction either.

My first love,
was you,
and like everything new,
I wanted it to last,
and I wrote down your name,
at least thirty two times down,
to assure myself,
this wouldn’t hurt,
but look where we are now,
here I am penning down my thoughts,
about you,
and how things were,
as if your first love was easy to forget,
who ever said that,
my father once told me,
the girl he loved when he was seven,
still never left his dreams,
he told me,
you will find someone new,
and you will love them,
till time ran out,
but you wouldn’t forgot,
your first love,
neither,
would you forget their touch,
nor their painful absence,
and I might be young,
and years to come,
I might find someone new,
but forgetting you,
would still be one of the tasks,
I would clumsily right on the grocery list,
even when I am sixty-two.

”