"Once upon a time,
I wrote Love Poems about
the girls who made me happy.
Nowadays,
I mostly write Love Poems
about the girls who broke me.
These girls I write,
and have written about were always
the greatest inspirations to my poetry.
The girls that I once
wrote Love Poems about
are the same girls that I now
write Love Poems about consistently.
All this time,
I have been the writer
of an endless twisted irony.
The only difference is
that I stopped writing Fairytales,
and started writing reality.."

Who can tell?
Whether malice has its own purity?
If odor has its own fragrant smell?

Does right wrong right
Or wrong right wrong?
Could darkness have its own light?

What do you know?
Guilt might have its own innocence
For all you know
Humility and modesty
Could just be a show

This is how life is
You either laugh hard
Or you cry in pain
You love too much
Or you die in vain

If you don’t make someone smile
You end up being a bore
If you dress up too guile
You are tagged a *****

You may be very pretty
but deceitful in act
You may be called ugly
but are beautiful in fact

In sadness
you’re creative
In happiness
well that is tentative
and yet sans it too
you may appear narrative

If you know too much
you realize how less you knew
If you are too ignorant
you realize that all lies are just few

Humor shames trivialities
Irony is the truth about absurdities
We scorn at all harsh realities
So we smile at its mockeries

Could love really be true?
And hatred absolutely false?

Is sadness a gloom
Covered in joy so sparse
like a dull audience
forced in its applause?

Without a doubt
A truth has a lie hidden
Simply because
The mirror isn’t clear
It hides many flaws
and your aesthetic sin
deep within

If you counted the seconds
and minutes and the hours
Will you still be wasting time?

Or would you still
have to make an orange juice
out of a dainty lime?

What’s rhetoric
if a question has an answer
if silence it’s own message
and guns and bullets
its own power?

What’s the point
If you’re devising a plan
for your future
to become a big man

And you still say
that you don’t know
what might happen tomorrow

That it all looks bleak and dark
And you sit there
not working hard
you crib and worry
and fake a smile
to everyone
you appear
as blithe as a lark

We dwell with glee
In a world where
two extremes meet
Order deals with its chaos
And chaos struggles for order

Everyone fights
for the latter
And to straighten
an imbalanced balance
and dispel a dulcet clatter.