we are waking up every day
with so many things on our plate.
Even if the whole day feels empty,
our minds are heavy like lead.

We are leaving early to live our life
but we are always arriving late.
We are ******* the air in
but we our lungs aren't breathing.

We are searching everywhere, we are trying all the time,
but we don't know what we are wishing to find.
We are living every day
but no one is feeling alive.

We are fantasising every night
But we aren't sleeping.
We are wanting more everyday
But we are gaining nothing.
We are talking about living life
But we are burdened by everything that's  coming

Born with a small twitching body,
with a small soft face
living a small life,
Repulsed, filled with rage and hate.
One day i will wake up
and do something great.

Extraordinary, truly remarkable,
Etch something coarse
on the parchment of fate,
One day i will wake up,
Unforgettable,
and do something great.

Write a list of the big differences I can make,
Go deep, scratch all my dreams' buried surface
Maybe one day little things will add to a lot,
The fears will fade,
I will do something great.

I came across a site called "Hello Poetry."
It made promises of sweet words — heavenly.

I tiptoed my way inside,
tired of the world,
with a heavy heart and a heavy mind.

But then I read and read and read;
I read about love, about ruin, about dread.

I read of the pain, I read of the thoughts
of different bodies, of different minds, of different souls.

I came in with my hands empty;
I leave with passion — plenty.
I found it at the right time,
with my heart hollow,
when even love felt like a tough pill to swallow.

I leave now with my own stories
about the words of others,
strangers across the world,
now my round table, my counsel,
a new life — unfurled.

(I wrote this just after I read a couple of poems that really made my perspective shift about different things that we commonly struggle with life. All of them were so beautifully written, I felt so heard and I felt like I was already a part of a community)

How long
Can one wait
For life to begin?
For miracles to occur,
for love to unwrap
and for strength come.

How long
Have you
Already waited?
with your heart in your palm,
open to the world.
with the twinkle in your eye,
staring down at the earth.
with your voice quieted to a whisper,
with your anomalies hidden in a shameful corner.
For the world
to be kinder, for its touch
to be softer.

Last night,
I hugged my favourite book as I went to sleep.
"What an odd thing to do"
my mind said,
But I've never felt so close to myself,
as I did,
that late night.

"The fountainhead" the cover read
as it lay right next to me, on my bed.

I don’t quite feel like myself.
I see it in everything I do.
I read the books I never do.
I enjoyed the songs I never do.
I just took notes about things I am averse to

I don’t quite feel like myself.
I smiled at something that made me upset
I didn’t have food when I was hungry,
I slept more than I usually do.

I cried when I usually don’t
I bailed on on my work when I usually don’t
I looked at old pictures and I felt nostalgic
I took the wrong bus on my way home

I don’t quite feel like myself
I see it in everything I do
I had brussels sprouts and I liked them
I had kale and I liked it too

I put on a show I liked
But I did not pay attention like I used to
I put on dull outfits,
I did not use colors like I normally do

I don’t quit feel like myself,
I don’t know for how long it will last
I don’t quite feel like myself,
I keep looking for happiness in the past
I canceled all my plans
I put on my favorite song but I didn’t sing or dance
I opened up a notebook to write
I started a new show and a book
I started looking for myself
In different corners and nooks
I don’t quite feel like myself, I feel like a crook
But maybe someday I will, who’s to say
Until then, I will learn to be okay

I have been having this feeling
for a week now,
every day I go to my uni classes,
everytime I see my friends.
Everytime I wander alone in the hallways,
Everytime I stay still and stand,
it follows around, it has been days.

Everytime I talk,
it comes out as broken sentences.
Everytime I talk,
It comes out as mumbles.
I should be able to do it-
I should be able to talk,
But I can't get myself to speak.

I talked to my mom right now,
I'm already questioning half the things I said.
Why am I critical, what is it I dread?

I need to meet a friend next week,
I am already planning the things to speak,
Making a list of things to say.
I am already nervous about how it is going to be,
Must be me, it can't be like that with everybody.

Anytime I have to go meet
someone, or even pick them up
from a place they decided,
I'm more scared than excited.

"What if I accidentally stand on the other side, waiting"
"What if I wait too long and everyone stares"
"What If I'm not able to find them, what if I look lost"
"What if I am not confident about my walk"
"What if I am not able to crack through the uncomfortable silence"
"What if I look awkward, what if they get bored"
It is seven days apart, it's already in my head.
What if I just stayed home instead?
"What if I embarrass them?"
"What if they feel ashamed of knowing me"
"What if I am just the awkward friend"
He is a good friend, his actions push my doubts away
But the fear in me, it decides to stay.

I try to act all cool, "I don't care about it"
There is no "cool", There is no "it"
What am I hiding? I don't know still.

Is it something that will ever be fixed?
Will it always be like that?
Where did it come from?
Where will it take me?
Will it push people away?
Make them judge me?

Other people can do it, some even better than others.
They create clear sentences,
out of the fog of their thoughts and frenzies.

I stay in the corner, quiet and hidden.
Should I even go out? Make my words be spoken?
The idea immediately makes me dread,
My shortcomings and how I don't feel like I'm normal,
I feel so different, I feel so separate.
I fear I might be wrong, but what I dread even more
is the feeling of being truly isolated and different
"What if I am really just correct?"

I used to spend so much of my time thinking
if I'm too little, not enough.
or if I am too much.
I don't try to fit myself into perfect amounts now.
Instead,
I just let you go.

I find very little encouragement
to live my life these days,
it used to be different when I was ten.

I remember walking down this street
humming and skipping in full joy,
Like I had the juiciest fruit in all of the world
and that fruit held secrets,
carrying more than just sweetness,
It was big, golden and shiny
I think that fruit was my heart,
It was always so full.
Almost overflowing
with sickening sweetness,
exasperating energy
and a sticky smile that was always there.

I would dance around, walk fast then slow
I would roll around, talk so loud then low.
It sickens me now.
Why was I like that ages ago?
What made me so excited about life?
To wake up every day and just....live?

It sickens me even more
That I can't have that again.
It also confuses me
because what is human life
if not a change after change after change?

I used to believe that in order to let love in,
you let in, in your heart, the people who carry it.
But today,
as I waved you goodbye,
and I let you go, let you go,
I realised.

Love also comes from people leaving.
Love also comes from letting go.

I used to believe that in order to let love in,
you share as much of it as you can,
with people you hold close
But today,
as I waved you goodbye,
and I let you go, let you go,
I realised.

Love also comes from not holding on
Love also comes when some people are gone

I put my pen to paper
as I leave half my worries behind

Vomited the words I once engulfed,
as I realised,
they were always mine.

The art of not caring does not come easily to me
I constantly think about who I am and who I ought to be
I could think all day about what was and what’s about to come
I have spent days stuck in my thoughts,
there have been days when I got nothing done

The art of not caring is hard to master
I just spent hours thinking if I’m too slow,
should I go faster?

I care a lot, I care too much
About things too trivial and things too big,
I think about everything.
The spots on my face, the shape of my teeth.
The dress I wear, the way I speak.

I am in the middle of caring as I write this,
I heard someone talk on the phone,
They got the best paying job, with the best team, with the best firm.
I saw someone else post a picture about a party
someone was out on lunch with a friend,
I see everyone finding someone who cares about them

I sit here caring about things wondering if it’ll ever be any different.  
I care about myself, I care about my friends and I care about the world
In exchange, I get a feeling that I might be a loser.
I paint things nobody sees, I write words nobody reads,

I dread what I do, I dread what I don’t
I feel like I am always falling behind, I don’t even know what I want
The art of not caring is something I should learn
I would be happy with a B, I don’t need an A
If I carry pieces of caring too much with me,
I would be okay.

As much as I care about if I care too much,
and I want to let that go,
As much as I want to care less,
As much as I want to be someone else,
I hold on to it,
I keep caring.
It has taken me this far, It has stuck by me.
Maybe I was born with the art of caring deeply,
Maybe it will take me places meant for me.
Maybe I will live differently.

What must it be like? To be
⋆｡°✩ A STAR ⋆｡°✩
Seated in the midst of excellence,
Beyond the every day's sub-par.
Shining.
Big, Bold, bright and golden.
I want to be one.

The subject of jealous eyes and deep desires.
⋆｡°✩⋆ A STAR ｡°✩
held high in sky and sparkling fires.
To live in richness and drenched in luxury,
The realisation of all the admiration,
a being of sheer fascination.
Born all adored and golden.
Shining light near and far.
One day. I want to be. I will be.  
                    ⋆｡°✩ THE STAR ⋆｡°✩

Your shadow and mine,
far apart in space,
far apart in time

Waiting by the edge of birch
waiting by the edge of the world
waiting for fate to end our search

Hello. Fair greetings, everyone.
I hope your day has been bright as the sun.

I am in need of a penny for your thoughts
All words and opinions good enough.

I have always wanted to send something I wrote
for publication
or in a competition.

I have finally plucked the courage
To open my eyes and step on the stage.
I will finally send something in,
But would you please read a few of my poems
To help me select, which one to send
and where to begin?

I made a list of the things I am afraid of.
On number three, I wrote a word, "Tomorrow".

Tomorrow comes second, first comes today.
Even light, which is the fastest thing we know of,
Cannot make it fast enough to skip today
and make it straight to tomorrow.

Tomorrow is clever.
Tomorrow is truly tricky.
Every today I live,
There's a new tomorrow waiting for me.
"Oh the agony."
"I don't know what the new tomorrow will bring for me."

Everybody's tomorrow's a different tale
And tomorrow shows up every day without fail.

A tomorrow's always there,
A tomorrow always comes,
Until it does not one day.
Maybe then I'd wished
That I'd lived today.

Am I the way I think, the way I dress,
Or the way I speak?
Or am I defined by the way
I broke my own heart through rotten adversities?

Am I kind, am I bitter, or am I stuck in between?
Does everyone remember the ways I hurt them
Or the ways I healed?
Am I shaped by my destiny
Or by the paths I carve myself?
Will I make a difference,
Or will my life just quietly pass?

Am I the things I hate, am I the things I love?
Am I the things I do, or the things I think of?
Am I the words I write or the scenes I paint?
What happens if I stay? What happens if I go?

When they look at me, do they see a face or a heart?
Am I the way I spurn or the way I laugh?

Am I this? Am I that?
I am a thousand things,
everything plays a part.