Taken. I feel like I was taken from me
And took away from others too
Most people didn't care to see past
The vague smile of productivity
Until it wasn't there either
But others knew right from the start
And it crushed them like I am

Crushed by the weight of others
That they place on themselves
Or don't even recognize are there
Just so I can feel it too- all alone.
Deeper than they ever felt
The weight of their emotions

So why is it that people think
I don't feel anything normal
And by that assertion to mean nothing
Rather than the flooding
Weight of emotions felt more
Than any one of them could imagine

Well except for you, if only
There was trust in our mutual burden
Shared in ability but not scope
Makes for uncertainties

In a field of landmines eager
To go off on me or on you
It's all the same to them

The scars that left you wanting
But unable to accept, in whole

Let me help us heal

​I wonder why I do not weep,
though I have so many tears inside.
The truth I carry is this:
reality cannot make me cry.
​But brittle emotions compel me
to shed the tears I want to conceal.
And I don't want to replace them
with my digital tears.

In silent depths, my heart beats for you,
A love so strong, yet unspoken, true.
Every thought, a whispered promise made,
To give you happiness, in every shade.
When we first met, my soul took flight,
In that instant, you became my light.
Responsibilities and goals faded away,
As my heart surrendered, without a say.
You're my first priority, my guiding star,
The one I yearn to be with, near and far.
I dream of marriage, of love that's real,
Of giving you joy, and making your heart feel.
But alas, you don't see the love I hold,
The devotion that makes my heart unfold.
I know I'm not perfect, flawed and weak,
But my love for you is pure, unique.
Like Laila and Majnu, my love's a flame,
Burning bright, though often in pain.
A strong man, yet your indifference makes me fear,
Leaves me scared, and my heart does tear.
In your eyes, I see a distant shore,
A love that's not returned, I'm searching for more.
Still, I'll hold on to the love I feel,
And hope that someday, you'll see it's real.

What is it to be a poet?
Oh, I wish that I knew,
how do I paint the sky in words?
Without calling it blue?

As a poet can see,
what is blind to many eyes.
How they see through the fog,
of a world full of lies.

Oh, to be a poet,
is a blessing in disguise.
How do I write my heart ?
When it's plotting my demise.

A poet's life, is a life filled with pain,
bearing a burden they can't explain,
so they sit alone and write a verse,
and wonder, if poetry is a curse.

Oh I wish to be a poet,
allow my heart to feel it's pain,
to use curse of poetry,
to mend my heart again.

I can’t eat undercooked eggs with runny yolks,
Maybe that’s why I always end up frying them a little too much.
I can’t give only a little of myself to someone,
Maybe that’s why I end up losing all of myself to failed relationships.

But I can always learn.
To like runny yolks and give only as much as I get.

~Gunnika

You and I are the only ones here
There is no awkward silence
It is just you
I am invisible
Your peripheral vision obscured by abhorrence
There is no anger, no willingness to invoke, yell or fight
Just a vicious battle within myself to convince you I am human

Life feels like:
a grand and tragical
theatrical performance,
in which,
I'm the leading lady.
Despite the fact,
I did not audition,
and I know not the lines.

Red is anger,
a fire
under my skin.
Lava flowing
like a river
through my every vein.

Yellow is hope and joy,
laying on a field of flowers
on a hot and sunny day,
but that dream
never lasts long
before it starts to rain.

Blue is sadness,
salty raindrops
rolling down my cheek.
Red eyes,
but I see so much blue
I could drown
in my own ocean.

Green is jealousy,
poison ivy growing
and wrapping around me.
Now all I see
is green.

Purple is when all these colors
get too much.
Dark clouds of thunder set in,
lightning strikes,
things catch on fire,
chaos is all that's left.

Black is emptiness.
All colors drained,
black and white
is forever
all I see.

writing these are dumb.

stupid even.

no one my age writes!
i feel so out of place.
alone,
drowning in my feelings almost.

i cant breathe.
being the odd one out
is already enough.
not this dumb nerdy trait too.

"she writes whenever she feels"

"uh oh! be careful she might write about you"

so what?
i can't exist now?

fine.

ill stop.
on the account of my anxiety
getting worse --
my attendance too.
my friends leave me slowly.

i grow distant from the world
when i get anxious
and my writing helps me with that.

yeah, let's stop writing
and let that happen.