Fifteen/night

‚ÄčThe night sky seems to almost fold in on itself till it bleeds hue’s so dark they contain every colour,

and as I sit and stare at this messy stain of a sky, it nearly seems to acknowledge my presence by showering me with droplets of rain.

I never thought I would be here, sitting in the middle of this withered garden, sitting and watching the sky bleed as it whimpers at me, as it makes me complicit in its dark thoughts; I feel so small. 

Who am I compared to the world around me? Who am I to even be compared?

So instead of trying to wrap my head around how little I truly matter,or trying to understand how large everything around me is, I just sit.

I sit, and absorb the air like its something I’ve never felt before, like the world isn’t the same one I shrink from every single day- I guess that’s one way to look at the night sky.

Like at night our world slowly shrinks till it just contains us, like at night, everything is magical and every raindrop that hits our face isn’t just normal, it’s an occurrence. 

It’s a whisper. It’s a battlecry of vulnerability.

So as I sit there, I don’t do anything.

I just bask in the strangeness of the night, I just bask as the sky  weeps around me- I just sit.

I just sit. 

Fourteen/ softness

‚ÄčI wear my vulnerability like a knife

I’m crying my eyes out

on stairways, I’m constantly in a state of strife,

I’m drowning, drowning in this pool of doubt

and I wish you could come back.

You were the loudest feeling I have ever seen,

and now I’m left feeling like an amnesiac,

waving a knife around, crying till I feel clean,

building my soft into an armor,

building my voice into a disguise;

I’m still hiding from us- you were a charmer 

and I loved you, but you’ll be my demise

so here I am- wearing my vulnerability as

a knife, my softness as a disguise, slowly

morphing into someone who has

never known your eyes, someone who’s so pious, her holy

heart would never catch your eye, yes

I have changed- I’m so soft now that I’ll never know your caress,

I’ll never again be in this mess, 

I’m so soft now- I’ll never feel distress.

Thirteen/ not in love.

I’m not in love with you. 

Atleast, I’m not in love with

the kindness you give away like 

it costs nothing, not

in love with your bashful 

smile when you catch

someone looking, not in love

with the way you feel a 

little bit like home; I’m not 

in love with you.

But sometimes, I get a bit

dizzy when I look at you,

thinking of all the 

possibilities we’ve always 

had, that I’ve always

discarded, sometimes I feel

a bit at ease when I talk

to you, like just for a second

the sky isn’t falling anymore,

but I’m not in love with you.

No, not at all.

Twelve/ 2016.

Hi guys, happy new year!!! I know this post is late, sorry! I’ve had exams pretty much non stop, so I haven’t had a lot of time to write lately. 

Usually, I would be writing a year-end poem, but this year, that didn’t really work out. 2016 has been a confusing year. So instead of one poem summarising the year that I used to write, here’s (the first segment of?) a new tradition:

THINGS I LEARNT IN 2016:

1. Love isn’t always larger than life.

Sometimes, it’s quiet,

A whisper that lasts for a second,

for a week.

Love is sometimes infatuation, 

sometimes a thrill that lasts for just a while, and then

Love ends, but it

doesn’t make excuses, instead it 

accepts the truth with

sad smile and

walks away.

2. Being true to yourself feels

better than you ever thought it would, and

even when it pricks, and even

when it hurts, it’s 

better than living in a cage, no matter

How beautiful it is.

3. There are some problems you

can’t solve, and it’ll

feel like a gaping wound in the fabric

of your life; you’ll wonder how 

you went from feeling on top of the world, to 

being smaller than you could’ve imagined, 

but then you’ll realise you don’t have to

sit in a closet full of other people’s skeletons,

too scared to breathe;

instead you can watch as people you love finally

find the strength to cast away

the ashes of their own monsters.

4. Time flows like a river in flood,

rushing over  everything in its

path, and just when you

find your footing, time will

pull the rug from under you, 

and you’ll be left on your back, wondering

how you could’ve ever thought

the calm would’ve lasted.