Empty rooms and empty chairs,
No one present here nor there.
Week by week I stand alone,
And when it ends is still unknown.

I fill the emptiness with puzzles and games,
And try my hardest to not blame.
But every single time I've tried,
I feel a darkness grow inside.

I loathe for this, I loathe for that,
I loathe myself for being fat.
I loathe my feeling so many things
That aren't grounded realities.

Things like thinking I no longer look nice,
All because he's stopped telling me every night.
And things like he just doesnt love me as much,
That he'd rather be far away and such.

A part of me knows that these things aren't true,
And that thinking they are is a certain miscue.
But it's hard to look up when I'm all by myself,
So I hide all my worries on a deep mental shelf.

And there on my shelf shall all my fears stay,
As I make myself live each and every day.
I put on a smile and don't let anyone know,
That deep down inside, I truly feel low.

Perhaps, I was a peasant in love,
a partly pleasant player
in the prose and poetry
that I present to thee
my cherished queen
of love laden dreams.

Perhaps, I was
the curious cockroach
crawling across
the curators
favorite canvass,
the portrait of our
beloved queen,
to be crushed
carelessly by
the callous king,
becoming a small stain
on the otherwise
unblemished
painting.

Perhaps,
before we past
parting ways,
pondering
old playdates
when we played,
I was your partner
in strange adventures
before my feelings
became too complicated,
before I became
the crestfallen fool,
the King’s favorite jester
who made you laugh
while I tore myself in half
for the sake of your wellbeing.

Now my twin wanders somewhere
out there
unburdened by the broken heart
and if you see him
send him back
so, I can be him
once again.

Is it perfect, did I get it right?
Missing pieces, relatable feels.
Sweaty palms, panic, fright.
Heart jumps back, chest reels.

Incomplete, forever it will be,
blinded by the daunting fear.
No one’s work, is mastery,
others judge it, don’t you see?

Self improvement guide’s,
our next steps towards,
the best self versions,
as we move forward.

Waiting for approval,
justified by the few,
who never truly,
understand you.

They say less is more,
but there is more in less,
so how do you choose your words?
To not be left with regret!

My words are for the amateurs,
critics step aside,
together our words will flourish,
together we realize.

Get it out the door, they
say you only live once.
Continue writing more,
go on inspire on!

.
She sits for most of the time,
in a metal chair with wheels.
Counting out the value of life
with an injury that never heals.

She waits for most of the time,
to confirm that she is really there.
But how many people notice her
sat down in her wheel-chair.

She's invisible for most of the time,
she is there but nobody spies.
So she spreads her tiny wings
and floats unnoticed to the skies.

She cried for most of the time,
always alone and lonely in a crowd.
Now flying free her spirit rises,
there's no discrimination in the clouds.


© Pagan Paul (25/12/16)