I eagerly await another day of attempting to meet new people.
Students amble through our campus, up and down the hill,
Listening to music, staring at the ground, or caught up in their head,
Past a new potential friend: me.

I’ve got my friends, ones of the highest quality,
In the city, just half an hour north of me.
I don’t see them much, though, and I have no way to leave.
We can’t speak much, either; they’ve got jobs and loves and lives.

So, to maximize my social potential, I put myself to work.
I’ve mastered the art and science alike of socializing;
“Use this register”; “smile at this distance”; “speak to listen, don’t wait to talk”.
Studying it all extensively to figure out what’s best.

They’re everywhere, I hear, in the dozens, maybe hundreds.
Folks just like me: trying to overcome the awkward and build a bond.
So where are they all, and why do my paintings remain unseen?
Why do my endless chemistry attempts produce no reaction?

Well, a girl said “hello” in the stairwell as I headed for my dorm.
She smiled, seeming to be one of few to acknowledge my attempts.
Just a friendly gesture, sure, yet I think of it often, her unaware of its value.
I cross paths with many daily, yet I’ve seen no interaction like it since.

I let my confidence carry me toward new opportunities and situations I desire,
Yet, whenever I go to approach them, something nags at me.
A hand that pulls me back; a wall that stops me in my tracks.
It’s Anxiety, and he’s back, worse than ever.

Within this conundrum lies a great irony; a twist that tears at my conscience.
The closer I get to making friends, the tighter Anxiety’s grasp grips me.
“No, what if your words are taken wrong?”. “The bond won’t last.” “...But your eating…”
The reward, even if achieved, seems not to be without caveats, he claims.

He’s right; at a distance, I am safe; nobody can see me struggle to eat,
Yet this sentences me to suffer the animosity of my esophagus in solitude.
I am shielded from criticism, watchful eyes, and the projections of my mind,
Yet I am my most isolated in the most social of the places I’ve ever lived.

So, I eagerly await that new day of attempting to meet new people.
Fellow loners who walk ‘cross pathways, through buildings, and to their dorms.
Cradling their digital safety net in-hand, perhaps fearing what I fear,
Past their new potential friend.

An abstract painting
Up to interpret.
Is it just me,
Or the mirror has a disfigurement?
Did the flower abruptly bloom,
Or was it something swollen in me,
That grew while I was sleeping?
Stunningly consuming the insides within.
Or does it pain
Because I'm empty?

Lovely and as useless
As a seven year old's drawing.
As haunting of a sight
Like a storm cloud nearby,
The drug of a cinephile.
Even my chest hurts when someone hugs
So even my ribs are in agony.
Or does it pain
Because I'm empty?

Interfering waves distort the mind,
shattered dreams freeze in their wake—
a chasm deep, sleep’s quiet grave,
where reality bends and breaks.

The ego quivers at the brink,
between the void and waking’s weight,
a struggle fierce, a war with fate—
archetypes stir, reborn to think.

वो पहली मुलाक़ात, सामान्य से हालात,
वो तेरा चुलबुलापन, होठों पर मुस्कुराहट।
जब भी मन मायूस हुआ,
तुझे याद किया, तेरा नाम लिया।

बेसब्र कर देता है मुझे, अगली मुलाक़ात का इंतज़ार,
याद कर लेता वो मुस्कान, आ जाती है जान।
फिर से एक दिन काट लिया,
तुझे याद किया, तेरा नाम लिया।

कैसे कहूँ मोहब्बत है तुझसे, अपना बनाना चाहता हूँ,
अक्सर दिल की बातों को, स्याही में ला पाता हूँ।
सहम जाता सोचकर, कि तूने इंकार किया,
तुझे याद किया, तेरा नाम लिया।

जुटा रहा हूँ होंसला, लाऊंगा जुबां पर,
स्याही के लफ़्ज़ों का, कर दूंगा इज़हार।
इंतज़ार है अगली मुलाकात का, इस रात दिल संभाल लिया,
तुझे याद किया, तेरा नाम लिया।

धड़क रहा दिल ज़ोरों से, जो थामे हूँ तेरा हाथ,
इन नन्ही सी उँगलियों से, मिलता है विश्वास।
हैं साथ तेरा जो मेरे, पा गया जहान,
इन प्यारी सी आँखों में, देख लूं कायनात।

लगता जैसे हैं हमारा, जनम जनम का साथ,
काटना चाहता हूँ, हर सुख दुःख तेरे साथ,
आँख खुली, एह्साह हुआ, सपना मेरा टूट गया,
तुझे याद किया, तेरा नाम लिया।

आँखों में नमी , बदन मैं तनाव लिए बैठा हूँ ,
मै हर दिन , रात किसी तरह बिता लेता हूँ।
जाने क्यों खोज लेता हूँ हर अच्छाई मैं कमी ,
मैं हर दिन को बुरा मान बैठा हूँ

For some reason..
I hate you with all my guts
but
I want you to like me
and admire my presence
Yearn for my attention, sir
as I grumble at you from across the hallway..

Maybe I'm a butterfly
Dreaming that I'm human and my
Whole life if just a made-up story
But I guess that's alright by
Me
Because at least that means
Every tragedy I've so-called seen
Heard felt thought
Of was fake, right? For every
Novel requires a good plot,
Even if made of pure fiction.
There's a reason why
People like Regina and Cady,
Rory and Lorelai
Because it's always nice
When the dishes bring some spice.