She is made up of scars,
Hidden with the skin of elegance,
She is a captive,
To others' perception of her own fallacies.
She is made up of bruises,
Knitted with the yarn of invasion,
Her eyes reflect the burning agony,
She is the flowing torrent.
She is made up of blemishes,
Concealed with layers of optimism,
She is made up of bewitching beauty;
A crude exposure.
She is an enticing amalgamation of-
Rain and blizzard,
Oceans and waterfalls,
Breeze and vacuum,
She is a world of paradoxes,
Sealed with an air of rigidity.

- Kavya Mukhija

I'm a paradox. I tell myself and everyone around me that I want to be happy yet I force myself to be sad. I think and do things I know will end up hurting me, and I pretend it has another cause. I'm too lazy to be the ambitious perfectionist, I like to think I am. I try both hate and love myself and everything I am and stand for as a person. I crave attention so bad but always reject it when anyone fulfills my craving. I understand emotions and how they work but not feelings. Especially not my own. I want to be alone, but when I finally am, I'm lonely. Even when I'm around people, I'm lonely. I contradict myself in almost every way possible. It's not because I want to, it's a habit now. It comes so naturally to me. It lays in me almost as a defense mechanism.

A buzzing sound against my ears.
I think I'm dying.
I think I'm crying.
All the things you felt and every breath you took I can feel in my blush.
All that we are
Is a blink in time.
Star bombs blowing up inside of me.
Frame tick tick tock by frame.
These pre-chosen paths reside in me.
I'm thinking about you.
I'm trippin' backwards.
Falling forwards.
Back to you.

pull me close, and grip me tight.
for as soon as you've got me
i'll dissolve in your palms.
like an hourglass,
sand running
your fingertips;
my silken shadow will drape.
leaving you empty as a drum.

I do think someone who adamantly denies themselves would
Possibly write a poem judging others for reading
Their poem
But wouldn’t that be denying others
Not them?

to be desired but never valued or loved all the way through.
chronicles of a girl who's never number one but always number two.
half loved by those she puts above everything.
always left on the sideline for the more favorable option.
she's been through it all and still fights to love everyone the same.
she sees through everyone's flaws and faults but they can never seem to do the same for her.
perhaps it's the quality of people she been loving on.
people that, in fact, don't love her but they love how she loves them.
people that can only handle the idea of her but not the reality..
she's a paradox.
she's gentle yet tough.
she is chaos yet she is peace.
she'll set you crazy but she'll also keep you sane.
she's fire and ice.
an angel with demons.
night and day.
she is me and I am her.
everything, nothing, all at once & not at all.

To find myself
In Hell’s grips
From loving you
So tightly,
Is a paradox
So sweetly bitter
I can’t help but to
Smile weakly.