Sometimes I am afraid
to begin something new
because I don't want to end up
just short of my destination
or rather I
don't want to find out if destiny
prefers my misery over my dreams
or maybe it's easier to
never begin in the first place and
I can waste away lying down
instead of dying in the heat of battle

if I start something new I also risk
losing my way  (again)  and
with things as they are
I should avoid new beginnings
I should stay as I am,
stagnant and afraid

yet I long for the feel
of the earth beneath my feet as I
walk forwards
for it is always stable

Funny when your own head is a double edged blade, huh?

I seem to find the imperfection of days to be the most beautiful. The goofy moments, the little mistakes, the figuring things out, the unexpected.

But those same moments sometimes lead me to the nights where I lay down with a little chip on my heart and concede, "Not all days will be beautiful."

I'm happier. I'm stabler. I must concede things are better.

So why can I not concede that I will never be perfect?

These days I end like this sometimes hurt much more than the ones I give up on. These are the days I did all I could and just accept defeat at the end of the day, knowing every day isn't perfect.

Why am I such a starving perfectionist that even stability cannot sate me?

I hate myself when I do this. When I keep on pushing and pushing my own mental ability until I crack. If I push harder the stability of my mental wall will not strengthen. It will only crumble all the faster.

I am never satisfied. I am selfish. I am wrong. There's this darker side to this pure, bubbly girl I show the world. The monster side. The side that I can never be pleased with, and the side that makes sure I can never be pleased with anything else.

I know this is one imperfect day with one imperfect night. But its hard not to be scared that this is a descent into darkness once more. I'm so scared of the dark by now. Please don't make me go back for too long.

This day has been long and disappointing and imperfect. But I just wish I could hate it a little less.

Going to sleep is the scariest thing.
Not because of nightmares
Or sleep walking or whatever else,
But because of the uncertainty.
The uncertainty that a new day will start,
That your life won't be significantly altered,
Or that your loved ones will be the same.

Normal people don't dread sleep though,
But there's just something about cancer
That makes sleep an uneasy task.
Having a mother with cancer will change your entire life.
From dreading the thing you cherished most,
To not knowing how to live your life.

You become used to being woken up for
Middle of the night treks to the ER.
And to think about becoming used to that
Well, that's enough to make you sick.
But you have no choice but to trudge through,
You have to seem strong and stable,
But going to sleep is the scariest thing.

Best are those whom you meet by chance
when you cared less and free from heart
everyone stood equal and no one apart
it was easy moving with flow with no draft

through the happy and through the sad
from chirpy loud to silence
you withstood by me
immense patience bottled inside you had

nothing did I leave to not turn you upset
out of mind and puzzled in my own quest
like a rock in cold and night
I am indebted with your gestures of not taking a flight

I have never seen discontentment in you
you had been so constant in my life
Words fall short to explain somethings
so I'll just say a Thanks to you



Manisha

There is stillness immersed in movement.  
Branches that wave in the wind on a rooted tree
Passing clouds over the hushed sky
I search for that stillness inside,
But it seems the closer I look the less I am.
I can't find the permanence in identity
Can't find stability in me.