I find you in the margins of old school books,
in the cupboard where I keep my old notepads,
in the stories I’ve forgotten I’ve written.
It’s all scraps of myself in rounded letters,
uncanny because it looks like me,
sounds like me,
but it’s you and it is you
but it’s like me too.

I’m opening you (and me) back up and I hate you.
I hate you, but here we are,
in the mirror maze,
all these mes and yous
in the endless tunnel of mirrors,
back to back, side to side,
caught in ourselves at every angle.
We’re all the same: We’re all so different.
None of us are good.

I hate you.

I hate you at every age,

Then reality splays, sprawls flat out in front of me, exams, money, work, decisions, tight nooses that bind me to life. Get your head out of the clouds, girl  *(2012)

at every stage,

Big smiles, A stars, clever girl, the anomaly, dry compliments, sand paper against my skin. Locked in, not a word, just a mind gone grey, a growing mass of dust that swallows the light and only allows for glasses poured half empty* (2014)

at every moment,

I don’t fit in, never have done, never will. I’m always one step ahead or one step behind. I’m never quite there. But no one understands. They say they do but they don’t. I’m different and I don’t like it but I don’t want to change because this is who I am and whatever happens, I have to put up with it (2012)

all your hatred, you happiness, your ignorance and your sadness

The scab peels and leaks. Too soon to heal, too late to undo the fall. Tomorrow, you’ll trip again and your skin will bleed but this time you’ll know where to find the first aid kit. (2013)

You make me sick.

The world was blue today, a metaphorical wish wash of tears and a meagre ocean. Ice cream dripped in depression, picnic blankets snagged on pebbles and the kite committed suicide on the telephone lines. (2013)

I hate the scraps you’ve left behind

I put bits of you in the bin. I put you out for recycling.
I donate you to charity shops and so you live on and I can’t get rid of you.
There’s no way out of this mirror maze,
no way to avoid the mirrors at angles,
no way for me to escape you or for you to escape me.

There are so many of you and I literally want to beat you all to death.
Oh, I hate you. I hate you.
I don’t think I’ve ever hated anything more than I hate you.
I hate the tone of your words,
I hate your stupid sadness.
I hate your happiness.
I hate your hope.
I hate the memories of your laughter.
I hate the memories of your fun.
I hate you for all the things you’ve done and
never had time to feel bad for.
I hate you in the photographs,
in the words, in the schoolbooks,
in the poems that I’ve shared,
I hate, I hate, I hate.

I wish I could smash up this maze of mirrors and you,
but then I’d only be left with myself
and I hate her too.

In a hammock
On the eve of final exams
There is a scent of caffeine coursed bodies pacing
the distances of Starbucks and the library,
an unusual sight at eleven at night

There is peace
In the fraternity- I think begins with a Sigma-
running around playing a vicious thirty person game of tag
Yeah, I witnessed that wipeout and it was hilarious

There is heat condensed around the height of brains
Struggling to realize dreams that require
Busy work man! It's just like six hours of nonstop busy work
The guy on the bench behind me whined out cooling breath of brown leaves

There is energy in the fractal jungle above
The towering umbrellas of Palm trees which grant me the magic of hovering
I see through waving leaves Orion's Belt.
The light pollution overpowers his body but
he reminds me that there is more in the astral world

Ibis scour the ground
Some would read the tea leaves
that bravest of birds has crossed my path
And I will survive the tests that I allow to define possibilities in life

There is closure to my left
Two girls in a hammock, bodies combined like a turtle in a shell
Only they know what goes on inside,
and all I witness is the harmony that the trials that students go through that unites

Day and night I study for my exams
Draining out the might from my body
Tell me the use of tests
Which are like everyday pests

at first an unrelenting green covers everything:
the trees, the lawn, the hillsides, the marshes, the windbreaks,
everything is completely and totally green, the deepest, truest green,
so green you might even forget that it wasn't always green,
so green you might not stop to think that it won't always be green.
school children look out windows during their exams,
longing to be free amid all that greenness,
lovers sit in parks near the water, under perfectly green leaves,
listening to the wind, watching the stars come out
and making their wishes, forever joined with that unrelenting green.
artists dip their impressionistic brushes in the green and dab on canvas
pictures of people gathered at picnics in dappled, green shade,
joined with the greenness, enveloped and absorbed by it,
becoming green themselves. they paint pictures of leafy trees reaching beyond the canvas with patches of sky showing through, a perspective of endless summer that you have to look at a long time
to see and feel, but once you find it beyond the greenness, in the
blue beyond the hill, you will be part of it always: through the fading mid-summer and pale, yellowing late summer, even into the multi-
colored fall and the stark, grey-white winter, and you will know life, and hope and love,  and nothing will ever seem the same again

Those poor, misunderstood teachers,
Counting down days till retirement.
Like grunts in The Nam,
Waiting for a reprieve like it was a
Papal dispensation or a Presidential pardon, or
Last minute stay of execution from the Governor.
Teachers: dying a slow death
On the same lame stage day after day,
Performing amateur comedy,
Hosting their very own Karaoke Club;
Filling barely enough seats in the joint
To crack their daily job satisfaction nut.
The kids who do show up for class are too bored,
Or too apathetic to stay awake,
Heckle you or walk out.
Most teachers hate their jobs.
So many teachers, so many miserable mooks
Wishing they had some other job, any other job,
Like plumber or astronaut,
Mortgage broker or CIA assassin,
The last two with similar personality & career profiles
On The Myers Briggs Type Indicator MBTI® Step I Interpretive Report. Anything’s got to be better than being
Trapped in a 40 by 40 foot box all day,
Stuck in some Dungeons & Dragons classroom
All day with 40 chaotic, evil, teenage
Gary Gygax-ed kids, used to entertainment
Of higher quality and sparkle.
The cardinal sin of teaching:  Thou shalt not be boring!

Teachers complain constantly about how bad the money is,
Having to work almost 185 days a year,
Whining about only getting 8 weeks off in the summer &
Every freaking holiday on earth known to man.
Snap out of it: you get paid what may be one of
The last livable, middle class salaries in America,
Not to mention health and defined retirement benefits, &
You’re still kvetching.
Meanwhile, Good Teachers—
Those deliriously happy few,
That small rare band of subversives,
Maybe you can count them on one hand &
Still feel lucky you had that many—
I’m talking about the good teachers,
Who view teaching as an art form,
Atypical teachers with both brains and heart.
These are the teachers that make the difference.
These are the vital early role models we need
To encounter when we first leave home as toddlers.

I can still hear you, Mr. Feeny:
“I want you to go home this afternoon and open a book! I don’t care what you had otherwise planned, I order you, nay, I command you. Go home and open a book.”
Books are sine qua non.
Good teachers start out by reading a lot of books—
That’s the brain stuff.
It is life lessons of the heart, however,
That really counts,
Stuff they’ve learned the hard way,
The pain they’ve felt personally,
Particularly while young themselves.
That’s where the heart comes from.
And for **** sure they never read about it
In whatever passes for textbooks in
Most graduate schools of education,
Largely lame crap masquerading as academic rigor
In the diploma mills serving the education profession these days.
I taught in 15 high schools across the American southwest &
I’ve known some really breathtakingly dumb,
Essentially illiterate teachers.
Even at the highest institutions of higher learning,
The average educator of teachers is
Rarely known for intellectualism.
With the possible exception of Diane Ravitch,
Jonathan Kozol, Paulo “The Brazilian” Freire--&
Maybe that Marxist hold-out, Eric “Rico” Gutstein--
Instructional staff at most university
Graduate Schools of Education are not
Taken seriously by the rest of the academic faculty.
What was your source of heart, Mr.Kotter?
I can assure you, it was not something you
Picked up at a teacher in-service, Gabe, &
Welcome back, by the way.

If you remember one thing about
Teacher licensing, remember this:
Albert Einstein, at the height of his fame &
Intellectual prowess, could not walk in
Off the street from out-of-state, or
Anywhere else in the universe, &
Qualify for a secondary single subject
Preliminary license to teach physics.
Not in any public high school classroom in
California or in the state of New Mexico.
He simply lacked the requisite education,
Hadn’t taken the plenitude of pedagogic courses,
Expensive college credits in such vital subjects as:
Methods of Teaching Science for Dummies;
Educational Technology for Idiots;
Band Aids & First Aid;
Tae Kwan Do for the Inner City;
Teaching & Testing the Test Takers;
Touchy-Feely 101, 201 & 301;
Understanding Special Kids:
Gifted Kids, Not-so Gifted Kids,
Kids with Attitude & Kids with ADD;
Curriculum Simulacrum;
ELL/Cross-Cultural Learning;
Self-Esteem for the Worthless; &
Last but not least, Foundations of Education:
Sarcasm & Humiliation for Fun & Profit.
And I didn’t even mention taking & passing
That sublimely subtle CBEST or NMTA/NES,
Teacher licensure tests,
Essentially 8th Grade literacy exams
Quite a few applicants take 3 or 4 times
Before earning a passing score.

Blame society?
Blame the parents?
Blame the politicians?
No, teachers:
Blame yourselves.

i miss you, still
no longer in a deep, aching way,
but rather in the dull hum of my car radio

i hope you smiled today

and while you’re getting swept up
in the excitement and mystery and
passion of this confusing, intriguing,
heartbreaking, beautiful life,

i hope you never forget what is most important

i hope you remember that
it’s not about finding someone to complete
and write sappy poems about,
it’s not about listening to soft music on repeat
with your eyes closed,
wishing you were somewhere else
or someone else,
and it’s not about doing well on exams,
or traveling the world,
or always being artificial sunshine
instead of being real

because it’s okay to have sad days,
and a number in the corner of a page
can’t give you lasting satisfaction,
and you can’t be everyone’s prince charming,
and while music stirs up something
so beautiful inside of us,
you can’t hide in your melancholy world
of D minor, forever

every night i pray that you’re not lost,
that you’re somehow finding your way,
and although
i can’t speak these words to you directly,
i hope you know
i’ll always care

I'm
terrified...
There's so many things that could go wrong
The exams, the grades
college, jobs
Life
Love, friends,
rich, poor
Terrified
Why can't I just stay young forever?
Why do we have to stop being naive children?
This life
Based on either athletic abilities or smarts
The society that pushes us to be what they want us to be
I'm
t e r r i f i e d

Depression - My Story

I suffered in silence. For months, I felt like I was making excuses for myself and being lazy. The once bright, smart, cheerful me disappeared a bit at a time. With each wave, I'd feel more exhausted than I already did before. I felt tired, hopeless and dead on the inside for as long as I can remember. I started losing interest in some of my favorite things and even basic things like eating and showering had drained the living daylight out of me.

And then I tried to reach out to my friends. My head was telling me that I needed help, I couldn't do it on my own anymore. My body was reluctant but there were only two obvious options - help, or death. I tried therapy once, I gave up. Soon, everything kept *******. My life was out of order. I couldn't get out of bed for days, I was self-harming. I saw myself get into substance abuse and was counting on alcohol to get me through my days.

My grades suffered too, I could no longer focus on anything at all. I couldn't sit through a 2 hour movie, I couldn't pay attention to a one hour lecture, I couldn't finish a novel for over 6 months and I still haven't ( I'm the kind of person who finishes at 400 page novel in 2 days, mind you ), I couldn't hold conversations without zoning out. My sleep schedule was altered terribly and all I thought about was death. I was numb, emotionally empty and gone. I had lost my willingness to live and through all of that, I kept pushing myself to achieve good grades just to prove that I could do it. That, being my biggest mistake.

Each time I felt like I had won the battle in my head, it would last a week at most. I would then find myself falling into the same black hole and crawling, choking, gasping for air and trying to find my way out of it. I felt like I was doomed into eternal damnation and that was it for me. My life was over.

And then, came hope.

I think I finally accepted how terrible things were  after my numerous suicide attempts, and soon I had no choice but to leave my Pre-University course and seek for help, and this time quitting was not an option. I will always remember the day my parents and I decided that I would pack my things and leave college immediately. Two of my closest friends sat on my bed, we held hands and exchanged prayers for my recovery. These are the very friends who opened their home for me every time I had an episode. The very friends who rush from class with food for me every time I am too tired to get out of bed. The same friends who cook dinner for me, wake me up each morning. Send me messages of encouragement, and most of all - constantly pray for me. The same friends who saved my life, time and over again. And through it all, chose to love me without ever complaining.

Order still isn't restored, I still have my ugly days. I still see my psychiatrist, I'm still on antidepressants. But now, I know that my life isn't over. As a matter of fact, my life has just begun; and I have a purpose. One of my greatest dreams is to inspire people and so, I want my story to make a difference to anyone who feels like they are alone. To anyone who feels like the answer to all your suffering and pain is suicide, to anyone who feels like depression has taken over their lives and to anyone, who feels like no one understands. To anyone who feels like it is over.

Depression isn't just the lack of love, it isn't just the loss of a loved one. Not just how you feel after a broken relationship or when you fail your exams. I had more love that I ever deserved, I had all the support in the world. I had amazing people around me who more than anything - wanted me to survive. I'm not there yet, but I know that some day, I will be.

My depression does not define me. My scars carry more stories than my heart ever will, and my smile, it carries stories of how recovery; like I once said, isn't a myth. It is possible.

Through it all, I owe my greatest thank you's to my family, friends, lecturers and psychologists for never once giving up on me, even when I did. To the people I barely even knew who reached out to me every time I was starting to sound suicidal on my social media accounts. For never complaining, for being my rock. I love each and every one of you so much.

A little note to you, reader.

Hey you,

First, I want to tell you that you have nothing to prove. You live for yourself and every single one of us has a different journey. I want you to know that things will get better. It sounds clichè, I know. Everyone says the same **** thing, I know that too. But I promise you, the sun will rise again and the storm will pass. Darkness will evaporate and light will surround you. The weight of the world will be lifted off your shoulders, and life will restart. You will live, you will get through this. I am with you. Now, and always.

Dear reader,

This is not a poem. This is not a letter. This is not really much of anything, for that matter. I hope you'll continue reading because it kind of helps knowing that someone somewhere out there is reading what I'm going to say next. I just hope you, my dear reader can benefit from my story.

It's merely 3.41AM and I am feeling empty. It's not the kind of emptiness that overwhelms you in tsunamis of water, neither is it splashes of water. It just didn't seem to have a place, it wasn't really anywhere, it was kinda just there. Haunting me.

I had just finished my O level examinations, and where I come from, it's one of the most major exams in my life. It determined my future. So like any other schooling teenager in this country, I studied for it. Not just the kind of studying where you listen in class or read the textbook and do your homework. The kind of study where I could go on without sleep for days or taking shot after shot of expresso just to keep myself going or regurgitating word for word an entire essay. All because I knew how important this was to me and my family and my future. Every day of the week was dedicated towards memorizing, every minute of the day was devoted towards practicing, and every second of the minute was committed towards reading. Basically, every millisecond was crucial. And this was something I abided by religiously. But despite my efforts, I was still struggling. I simply couldn't do well. And when you put your heart and soul into something and it just doesn't go how it's supposed to, you get really broken, destroyed. You never know what went wrong and you question many things about yourself and you start running in circles, thinking and digging. The failure I was faced with consumed me with defeatism and self hate. I broke down more often than I should as the days to my exam drew closer, and I grew more anxious and scared. So ******* scared of the future.

Bear with me, please.

Anyway, the week of my exams came quickly. Despite my efforts to slow down time, time had done just the opposite. It was the most painful and suffocating weeks of my life. And although I am one to say that lightly, this easily took the crown. I have never, ever in my life felt this close off the ledge. And there were many times were I have came very close off the ledge. My exams lasted for around 3 weeks, and each morning I had to have at least a triple shot expresso and each night I before I went to sleep, there would be these images and thoughts telling me that I didn't deserved to sleep and I shouldn't even think about it. But when I did catch some sleep, the constant fears in my day had took over my nights. I would always dream about failing the exam, or being late for the exam, or forgetting to bring something to the exam, or killing myself before the exam. It was impossibly horrible and I could actually feel my soul getting depleted by the minute. Like the 'me' in my body was slipping away and there would soon be nothing harboring my body. I often find myself crying to sleep, and waking up in tears. I couldn't stand being so weak and vulnerable, but I felt absolutely defenseless against everything around me. Even the ones that loved me couldn't make me feel human, I felt like I was already dead and my body was still alive. I felt like I was constantly suffocating and nobody could see it. Each day felt so purposeless, ironically. (It being my exams week) Waking up each and every day was draining and having to face my eminent fate was painful. A physical kind of pain where you felt lightheaded and spinning but yet caged and choked. It's hard to describe.

So, it isn't hard to tell that I wasn't in the right state of mind to take my exams. I just dragged myself through those past couple of weeks, doing what I could. Each breath felt labored and each thought in my head wore me down greatly. I broke down frequently before my papers, and there would always be this couple of schoolmates who say things like "You'll do fine, stop worrying." Or "Just do your best. Whatever will be, will be." My parents would even try to tell me to take it easy and "We'll be proud as long as you've tried your best." I know that they mean well. But no, you don't understand. I have worked too ******* long and too ******* hard to watch it all slip away from me just like that. It isn't just some national exam I have to study for, it was my godforsaken passport for the future. All that I have done for this exam, all that I have forsaken, all that I have gone through was for myself. It was the dedication of every ounce of strength that I had so that I could let myself believe that hope existed. And I had just watched it being snatched away from me, right before my own sunken in, swollen eyes. And it hurt like hell knowing that I've tried my best for it, and it is a reflection of what I've worked for. Nobody's going to look at C's and D's and see the reflection of an "overnight mugger", they'll see what comes to mind first: a lazy, complacent teen. And as the saying goes, "The lie, if repeated a hundred times, becomes the truth." All my hard work will be forgotten. And it will be like it never existed before.

Maybe some might think that all this is stupid. All this I go through for one exam, I know many of my schoolmates think that way. But the complex feelings that I experience for this exam isn't just because of my future. My life depends more than it should on this exam because it will prove to me that I am not a failure and I am not as stupid as I think I am. I want to know where my best truly is and where I stand. Because I have never worked for anything in my life but this exam has been the great exception. It was the key driving force of my life, it was what wore me down and spurred me on at the same time. I don't want people to tell me that I am capable and that I am smart, because I will never believe you. I need this exam to show me that I am capable and I am smart. I want to believe it too.

So I lie in bed at 4.17AM now feeling so afraid of the future. And I used to be the kid that depended on the prospect of a better day. I have yet to meet my impending doom, and if you are wondering, I collect my results next year in January. So now, I am lost and alone. And empty.

Thank you if you've read this far, I just hope that you, my dear reader, if you've ever felt useless, or not good enough or you're just hurting, know that you are not alone and there is someone that knows how you feel. I would tell you to be strong, but only you can do that for yourself. Just hang in there.

k.m.

That Moment..

When you are born to your parents,
When you open those twinkling eyes for the first time,
When you are first kissed by your mom and dad,
Or may be you are seen crying left near a rugged path,
When you are believed to be a blessing from God,
Or when you are cursed for being the blot,
When you grow up holding those strong fingers in your hand,
When you cry when anything goes wrong,
When you speak your first word,
When you learn the first letter A,
When you hold the pen with a might,
When you discover the person whom you call a teacher, a friend
When you fear the thing called exams,
When you get slapped for  doing wrong,
When you know what it is to laugh,
When you know what it is to cry,
When you know what is good or bad,
When you knoq who is good or bad,
When you fall for the first time,
When you win your first medal,
When you don't know where you will head next,
When you know you have a talent,
When you have the first day in college,
When you address crowd first time,
When you fight for what is right,
When you feel independent,
When you want pocket money,
When you have fun,
When you graduate,
When you grow older,
When you see your hard earned money,
When you love what you do,
When you love someone,
When you love your parents,
When you love yourself,
When you lose a close one,
When you say Good Bye,
When you have your first kiss,
When you get married,
When you know you have a lifepartner,
When you have a child,
When you see your parents with your child,
When your child has his own Moments,
When you grow more older,
When you lose your parents to God,
When you near your own death,
You feel all these moments come alive again,
When you know you will never live again,
When you know you will never love again,
When you know you will never have that Moment again!

That Moment!

The night makes me feel free and new and unmasked because it takes away the things I hide during the day, but it also makes me vulnerable and scared. I get this pit in my stomach, the kind that makes you want to rip out your intestines, and I have never been able to identify exactly what I feel. Maybe it doesn’t have a name; maybe it cannot be translated into words, but it rips and tears away at every piece of me until I am bursting and wasting away in the same instance, tears streaming down my face. It makes me so angry when I don’t know what to say.

I’m supposed to be the keeper of words -- I always have been, after all -- but now, more often than not, I find myself muttering “I don’t know” or getting frustrated because I can’t express something the way I want to. I didn’t even understand what an “existential crisis” was until a few days ago, but maybe this is part of the problem.

The aching in my head argues that I would do just fine staring at a wall for all of eternity, maybe contemplating some deep philosophical question, maybe just sitting there. I am one life out of seven billion human lives and the odds are against me here. It is more likely that I will amount to nothing than to anything at all, so why am I putting myself through Hell to keep getting nothing over and over again?

I can’t even ******* write about my problems, I can’t do anything except let them stew inside my head and poison my brain cells one by one because their complexity is beyond me, in numbers as large as the stars in the sky and the shards of glass in my heart.

Deadlines are catching up to me, and before I know it, I’ll be taking my summer school exams and getting my wisdom teeth out and starting school, and oh God, if I can’t survive in my own bedroom how am I supposed to make it in the pool of Great White Sharks? I’m not good enough for anything, especially not for my own standards, so it is easier to paint the works of Monet (the sunsets) on my forearms and across my thighs because there will never come a time when I will not be worthless. How am I supposed to write letters to my idols about how they helped me (they did, I promise you they did) when I’m still falling apart, when the rips in my seams and the holes in my skin keep getting bigger and bigger as days and weeks and months fly by. Why do I keep disappointing the people that love me -- I’m so sorry, I’ve always been a disappointment; I disappointed my workshop teacher when I told him my secrets, rushing out of me like the tide, but quickly withdrawing back into myself. When he told me he wanted me to get help, I was convinced that I would. And then I came home and realized that is so much simpler to take the pain and live with it instead of trying to explain it to others. I can’t even explain it to myself.

I want to know the cause, I want to know what made me this way. Was it genetics or my weight or some traumatic memory from my childhood or was it a small museum of relics donated by private families, collected over time until you could walk the halls of my suffering and drown yourself in me? What made me snap? When did I become so open-minded and when did I discover myself and why do I wish that this mental illness wasn’t just teenage hormones because I want to be special? I just want to be special. I want someone to hold me and comfort me and tell me they love me and I want a shoulder to cry on that can kiss me inside our blanket fort and I’m afraid I’ll get so tired of waiting for my soulmate that I’ll leave before they have a chance to find me. And I’m afraid of how far my dreams will take me before they are outpaced by money and power and glory in the race to the finish line and I am afraid of how I will take the loss. I discovered long ago that my dream was to live in San Francisco, by the bay, and own a bookstore/coffee shop, maybe with a record store, and live above it or in a townhouse near it with my husband and my four kids and maybe we wouldn’t be rich, but we would be happy and I could breathe in the sea salt air and finally feel like I am home instead of feeling like I am a misguided ghost trying to find my way back to my own graveyard.

Somethings never change, like the twisting feeling in my stomach as the clock moves closer to 3 am. I wish I knew how to stop it.

With every cycle the clock ticks
I escape the world from the back of the room
Through letters shaped as thoughts
Staring at where once was the moon

Seems pretty okay, right?
But you can’t write your sorrows on exams.
I would need the entire alphabet.
But I’m left with four bold letters at my hands

I began writing "I’m sorry" beside my name.
Answering questions with just because
I started leaving pages empty
I truly believed that’s what i’d become

When things came to an end,
I passed, but I failed to get better.
*- At least if i had actually failed, I would have gotten a second chance.

your the reason I wake up at night,
sipping coffee,
hands trembling,
the fear of failing,
has got me studying
preparing
preparing
PREPARING!!!
like a owl at night,
my eyes glued to the book,
the inevitable sight,
I have no choice,
but to go through these books,
past papers,
study notes,
last minute cramming,
untill I face the dreaded cold halls of my school,
to finally face you....

middle of the week.
a little further than Monday, a little closer to Friday.
in between all the school days.

I am so tired
tired in a Wednesday morning
I just want to get back
to bed and sleep til
Friday greets me

hell week.
the week approaching
the dreadful exams
the week where
students are tortured
and suffer
the week with no guarantee
of sleep and relaxation
but only stress.

I'm so fed up
with the things I'm
supposed to do
many things to be
nervous about
stressing about
complaining about
but it seems that Im
running out of care
to do them

I just want to get this
to get over with
Wednesday
please,
carry me to friday

In my life appears humiliation,
It always reminds my desperation,
Highly bitter is its compensation,
Found the real me, in its reflection.

Hello HUMILIATION!
A small thanksgiving conversation!

You slowly accelerate my life, as a catalyst,
Transform my life like an alchemist,
For successes you stand to assist,
From sorrows you help me resist.

In me, I introspect, I retrospect,
Who am I? Who am I?
Conducted tough exams with a sigh,
There came out a lesson on self-respect.


Deep down! Deep down!
Thankyou architect! My dream was sown,
You gifted a life lesson worth to protect
Every dog has its own self-respect.

Your lessons killed my sorrows,
Like a thunder turned by eyebrows,
I faced human minds, highly narrow
Trying to push me into a deadly burrow.

I knew you are a pinch of salt,
You never let me halt,
To all difficulties I gave back a jolt,
With you, I started to exalt.

Final exams start Thursday,
and it’s giving us all the feels.

Finals have a gravity of their own.
Are the papers worse than exams? Maybe.
The tension can be relentless and heavy.
“It’s finals week, see you on the other side.”

As for me, I’m almost packed up.
Time is an odd and unpredictable beast.
It’s hard to believe that in two weeks, I'll be a junior.
It’s an unimaginable prospect.

To work, for a long time at something that seemed impossible
- head down in concentration - then suddenly, like a passing,
cotton cloud somehow became a bunny - everything came into focus.

I’m halfway done. I’m going to make it. I got a chill.

I wanted to throw my lattice windows wide open and scream for joy
- but it might’ve been taken wrong. I’ve no time to give mental health advisors.

Next week might be a more plausible time for wooting.

Because when I was 4, my mom told me that I could not like blue because it was a 'boy' colour.  
Because when I was 5, the kids at kindergarten made fun of me for my 'boy' hairstyle.
Because when I was 6, dad refused to buy me a toy car because it is a 'boy' toy. He got me a Barbie doll. 'Good for girls,' he said.
Because when I was 7, my teacher scolded my for my 'boy' handwriting.
Because when I was 8,after a bad fall, my mom lamented that I would never be able to wear a skirt, instead of asking if I was ok.
Because when I was 9 I watched as my relatives mocked my male cousin for cooking. "Leave it to the women" they said.
Because when I was 10, I was told that I ran like a girl. 'But I am a girl', I said. They laughed at my innocence.
Because when I was 11, I was warned my my mother that I would be too fat to be loved. As though his love had to be spread all over my fats.
Because when I was 12, puberty started and the acne set in. It was my mom's worst nightmare.
Because when I was 13, my mom reemphasised that I was too fat to be loved. I felt like ****.
Because when I was 14, I starved myself so that I would be beautiful. I did look like a 'proper girl', my parents agreed.
Because when I was 15, the stress of impending national exams got to me and my hair started to fall out. My mom prayed for my soul, and my scalp.
Because when I was 16, in the car 37 minutes ago. My mom scolded me for my acne scars, saying that I was too scarred to ever get a job, or a husband. Most importantly a husband.
Because gender roles affect us all, male or female. Stop labelling people.

"This won't hurt."

"Maybe later, darling"
"Yes, we're nearly there."

"Nothing's going to change, it's just Daddy will live at his new house, and Mummy will stay living here."

"Things will be so much better when you get to secondary school."

"You'll definitely use what we learn in this lesson in future life."
"No, it's Daddy that doesn't want you to get your ears pierced, I'm fine with it."
"We'll be best friends forever, won't we?"
"No, I liked him before you liked him."

"I hate you."

"I love you"

"These exams are the most important things you've done so far."
"That haircut looks so good on you!"
"Of course I know how to pierce ears, who doesn't?!"

"These exams are the most important things you've done so far."
"Things will be so much better when you get to university."

"Nah, no-one's actually allergic to MDMA, I reckon it's a government conspiracy."
"Seven inches, swear down."
"Oh, that assignment? It's at home."

"No, honestly darling, I love your tattoo!"

"I love you."
"I won't be late."

"Now you're in the real world!"

Any sentence that starts with the words "When I was your age..."

"It's not that I don't like him..."
"Oh come on! It'll be fun."

"You're too young to be this sad."

"This won't hurt."

Be kinder than necessary until there is no reason left for you to be kind; do NOT let yourself become a doormat that people can wipe the **** off their shoes with.
Shower often to wash the weight of the day off your delicate skin.
Floss; it makes your mom proud of your dental exams.
Study only when you need it.
Learn to do your own laundry.
Go to your friend's performances and games when you can.
Keep your room clean.
Say please and thank you regularly.
Stare harshly between someone's brows to make them stop staring at you.
Smile at people in public, but only with a closed mouth.
Carry extra tampons and pads to give to people who may need it.
Plan your day before you go to sleep.
Offer help when you see someone struggling,
But don't offer help if you need help yourself

In the final selection under funeral direction
I shall lay at my rest
Hopefully dressed in my best
Because I want to look good when I'm laid out in the wood.
At my wake some of you may wonder why you came
Some of you will not even remember my name
But that's alright it's just a part of the game.
Then as the vicar says his bit and the fires are lit
I wish I could sit upright to give you a fright.
Alas I am finished and gone and soon I'll be ash
Don't worry about splitting my cash
There is none.
When I reached fifty nine I decided to have a whale of a time
I fed all my needs and paid a lot for those deeds.
And now I'm not just dead I'm broke
But oh,
I died such a happy bloke.

Everyone is exciting at first.  New attention.  New flirting. Love is what comes after the excitement.  After the giddiness and nervousness.  The hurt.  The overflow of unexplained emotions constantly pouring out.  And being in love is what makes you stay.  Being in love is the voice you hear in the back of your head, during an argument, telling you to calm down.  Be more empathetic, listen.  Being in love is knowing there will be storms, but knowing your love will remain safe.  It's whispering, "I love you" in your sleep.  It's finding comfort in another person and feeling safe with them.  The invincibility.  That's a word I always used to describe us.  We thought we would last forever and now I'm left here begging you to let me come over.  Being in love is wondering how your exams go.  It's pushing you to study instead of binge watching netflix.  Love is easy.  Being in love is what's hard.  You can love 1000 people throughout your life, all for different reasons.  But being in love, having a person that feels like home, that is rare.  You don't wake up and decide you are in love.  You decide you're in love when you first see their flaws.  Their emotional baggage.  And you choose to stay.  It is always seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.  It's praying, no, pleading to someone you hope is real in hopes that they can bring the other person back.  Being in love takes patience. Forgiveness.  Selflessness.  It's wanting the last piece of pizza, but offering it to them because you know they haven't ate today.  It's making memories on a silly car ride. It's being strong for the other person because they need you.  In time, you will need them to do this for you.  It's finding other people attractive and leaving it at that.  There are no desires to pursue anything.  Being in love is all about being yourself, unapologetically, and being loved for all the things you are.  It's about loving a person for who they are and not what they are not.  Being in love is knowing you can live without this person, but wondering you would ever want or need to.  And darling, if you couldn't tell, I am madly in love with you

Well
I accepted for the sake of your exams,
That i am a bad human,
A fake human,
One into emotional drama,
One who's life is fake..  Fake.. And fake..

Fake fake fake and fake...
Your lover did use this word so easily,
I still feel the cuts in me..

I accept what i am not for you Oh best friend,
I accepted the fakeness... And did put it to the end..
Am just so free,  for everybody...


I remember my words...
I won't ever talk to you,
Oh best friend...
I can't put into words how much it hurts,
Am sorry that i was so " fake"....
I never knew I was..
Don't Know why does she think so....


You are my support..
And look,  we are never going to talk to each other...
Well you have your support...
But what about mine?
I feel so Terrible about myself..
I feel like dying...

Oh best friend, am such a useless best friend,
Who's phone number is not even worth trying..

You have done bundles of favors for me,
But your girl has always left me crying...

Just one wish from you oh friend,
Kiss the forehead of my corpse,
The day i be dead...

And whisper what had been my fault in my ear...
Oh friend so dear....

You will not believe this:
The uniform peeping out of the cupboard
Giving way for the cockroach to tread past the wardrobe.
The drapes shut on one side and undone on another,
For which even the squirrel on the window-sill sat in wonder!
The wet towel on top of the chair
And the filthy clothes smelling the air.
The books lying at all angles of the table,
Liable to tumble on a shake!
Glasses of water near the crib-
Half poured and some lingering for the next kick!
The timetable stuck on the wall,
Amid its spare glue inviting the obnoxious dust.
The calendar showing the last year
Besides the pen stand stuffed with unusable markers.
The school bag flung over the bed
Coupled with its stuff swarming past its outlet.
The carpet twisted tall,
Before the door slammed against the wall.
And a girl snoozing in the bed
With a book on her face-
Her finger pressing the snooze button in relentless pace,
And her feet kept over the computer maze!
You tell it is me-
A room encompassing horrid stuff during Read more →exams—
Yeah! It seemed familiar!!!