I was the childlike girl next door for him.

He was a gentleman and the crush of almost all the neighbours.

He never spoke too much so I was never a good listener.

For him I never mattered so much.

But I, like all other neighbours, had a crush on him.

His body never got my focus, but his writings were.

Day by day I fell in love with his unspoken words.

On a rainy day I wanted to express my love,

As because it was his favourite season after all.

Yes, he loved monsoon a lot.

Many neighbours had asked him once, 

Why he love monsoon so much?

He never spoke too much, as I have mentioned above.

But he said he will narrate it on a rainy day.

When I went and knocked his door, 

His roommate said he had went upstairs.

Greeting him a smiley bye, I went to meet my guy.

Love for him or for his words, I was confused a lot.

But I had already started calling him as my guy.

Silly or stupid or again childlike girl, what he will address me now?

I was wondering and riding towards him.

He was sitting near the terrace door and was writing something.

Hey, hi, Writing some poems I guess Mr.... 

I was silent for a while.

It didn't bother me anytime, but I realised,

I do not know his name.

***! what a great lover I am,

Without knowing his name I had fallen in love with him.

My heart corrected me this time.

You have fallen in love with his writings and unspoken words and not with him.

I smiled and said to my heart,

May be I have fallen in love with his writings and unspoken words, 

But the love for him is pure and real,

And I believe the love for him is also devine.

My conversations with my heart was broken by his touch.

Seeing me lost in my own world,

He had given me a **** on my shoulder and said,

I am a writer so I want to be known by that.

He may have wanted to say something more.

I truly like a bad listener stopped him and said,

Shakespeare had once said,

"What's in a name!" 

And being a lover of your writing, 

I too want to say, 

In name there is no fame 

Because fame is there where creativity and innovation resides.

He actually smiled and kissed my forehead,

And then took me to the terrace and said,

When I had come,

The place was new, people were new,

But when I saw you, I felt something not new.

I do not knew by your name but your smile was very much known.

Your smile was like the sunshine which I knew from a time immemorial.

Then were you spoke to me for the first time,

Your words were like the breeze which inspires me to write.

I used to notice when you read my poems after coming home.

Your comments after reading my poems everyday,

Was the best gift for everytime.

And you thought you never mattered so much!

I was happy that you understood my writings more than I had expressed in words.

I am not worried about the answer, I may get now,

But after knowing about your favourite season, 

Monsoon became my favourite too.

Without any fear, I want to confess that, 

I have fallen in love with the childlike girl who stays nextdoor.

Whatever be your answer,

Just say it keeping the raindrops as our witnesses.

Drenched in rain but my tears were real.

I felt like Monsoon had gifted the best rain that day.

Without any confusion, I hugged my guy.

Many days, months and years had passed since then.

Then what! 

He continued with his Writings and unspoken words.

He now goes for world tours,
To spread his unspoken words.

And I?

Being his better half, accompany him everywhere.

By this logic,
**** is also beautiful.
A stunning mixture,
Of every color that entered your mouth
Of every food you eventually let out.

But more seriously,

Maybe they thought their eyes were plain,
Because they’re a realist?
Brown eyes are the most common eye color on Earth.
Clocking in at 55%.

“But let’s compare their aesthetic traits,
To something more unique,
In order to give the impression,
That we are deep!”

“Oh!
I know!
Mahogany!
Because wood is brown!”

Uhg.

I get it’s about perspective.
You want to appear to see something in them
That they don’t see in themselves.
To make them feel special.
And I’m sure they’ll like the poem.
And I’m sure other people will too.
And no one will think twice, or criticize you.

But your poem is boring.
And average at best.
Just like this rhyming scheme,
I use for the rest,

of my poem.

But that’s okay.
Practice’ll make perfect.
Maybe next time, write about the person?
And not just their eyes.
The relationship you want to express, is why their eyes are special.
Emphasis on “their.”
And why they make them special.
Emphasis on “they.”
Stop writing generic poems that fit everyone.
Write for the person whose eyes you lose yourself in.

I met a girl in high school.
She had brown eyes, with little specks.
As if genetics graced her with an aesthetic, that befit her the best.
She sailed from topic to topic,
Gracefully.
While I was lost in the islands in her eyes,
that cartographed the geography my mind began to see.

I’m glad her eyes did her justice,
Because her name didn’t.
Two syllables,
the latter a misspelling of coal:
Hands black after holding,
Soot filled lungs after smelling,
Bad kids’ reward for insolence.
She’s nothing close to that since,
She’s herself;
A country woman from a little town no one talks about.

We’d talk for hours.
We always could.
Until that bell rang,
And she stood,
up to leave.

I’ve made fun,
of every one,
For the last month
They’re all the same.

Always about love,
But never physical.
(Unless it’s two-sided)

Always about pain,
But never physical.
(Unless it’s self-inflicted)

Its always trivial.

Some love from inside,
Some pain from inside,
Never interesting just throw it aside.

Using weak words like "bad" or "good."
To create their concept of happy.
Using weak words like "good" or "bad."
To create their concept of sad.

If it’s love, its about falling.
If it’s pain, its about drowning.

Everyone’s cliché little space,
To garner some attention.
A measuring contest,
Of who’s the most in contention,
Of who’s the most in depression.

How about a new metaphor?
Something worth being in ink.
Why not write like a human?
You aren’t a robot, you can think.

Clean your palette,
and learn to write.
That’s my advice.

No one wants to hear the same thought,
The same way,
Every day.
It hurts my **** brain.

Why do I love people
That cannot love me back?

"You used to be much muchier"
And why is it that
Some people never feel those attacks?
Is there such a thing as strength?
Do I always have to be that?

I thought there was a “braver” ***
So why am I always saving them?
Taking care of them,
Playing pretend
In their little sandbox of existence?

No. The goddess within
Demands
More than I can
Ever seem to attract.

Chasing your dreams does not mean leaving behind your morally right and christlike values, character, behaviour, people and the most heart breaking is putting God aside. No matter what you believe He exists or not....You will have to take responsibilities of your mistakes or the better word sins.    Mistakes are mistakes and sins are sins  Those are two different things.