22

I never understood why you liked me. 

You’re the kind of person who enters

a room in a bid to light it up, while I like to

sit in the dark, shying away from any 

kind of spotlight, and you speak with the

ease of someone who’s seen enough to 

understand how conversation goes while

I stutter and stammer, getting tongue 

tied about the simplest of things; why did

you choose me? How did you decide

that the best companion of them all was

someone who is barely keeping it together?

Or is the truth just that you don’t know?
I like to think of us as something that’s 

never truly been shattered but that’s a lie-

the cracks of our past still prick me now and

then. I like to think of you as an integral

part of my life, but you were drowning 

and I didn’t even realise, didn’t even flinch.

So maybe the truth is much simpler than

a convoluted reason for this crush, maybe

the truth is one that you still haven’t found out;

crazy looks best in small doses after all,

so who am I to question this infatuation

when the truth is you don’t even know 

what you’re getting into.

21/apology to everyone, ever

I’m sorry if I’m hard to handle. I’m sorry if you thought you were getting to know a different person, one who wasn’t so anxious or worried, one who behaved like this only sometimes, only in a bid to be endearing-

Sorry if you thought this was an play I was putting on; Sorry if you thought I was just another girl acting like she needed a saviour, but that was never my intention.

The truth is some days every bone in my body aches and creaks like a house lived in too long, and some days I can almost see myself being stuck in this town for another fifteen years and not changing at all, but instead having my personality preserved in stone; I’m not sure what to do.

I’m just not that glad to be alive in this body, not that glad to be alive at this time, in this place, around these people; I’m slowly dissolving. So I’m sorry if this is not what you signed up for, sorry if you were expecting a better deal, because so was I.

And that’s why I’m apologising, because I understand the disappointment you carry; I’ve been carrying it my whole life. Now, I’m just ready to be a different version of myself.

20/chalk outline

Instead of writing about you, 

I write about everything else.

I circle my feelings for you like

they’re a chalk outline of a body

at a crime scene, and I gaze at

you like somewhere in your face 

I’ll find the answer to the puzzle

I’m feeling, but I never do.

So instead of writing another 

poem about not being able to 

understand what I want, I write 

about everything else I 

possibly can- I’m just

not ready to analyse this 

crime scene. I’m just not

prepared to follow this chalk

trail to the person I know it’ll

lead back to: you. you. you.

Nineteen/in fashion

​We love like it’s in fashion, like

a relationship is on discount 

this season, like romance is

a perfume we’ve worn so

long, its smell is a part of us,

like having another half is 

no longer special- it’s muscle memory. 

And I know I shouldn’t 

say this but maybe that’s what 

we’re doing; we treat this relationship 

like a rented garment,

slipping it on when we need it,

returning it the next morning-

and I’m not sure how much 

longer this will last, because 

at the end of the night, none  

of us are thinking of each other,

we’re just thinking of our next buy.

Eighteen/family

Sometimes family sounds a lot like screaming.

like a group of people brought up

too harsh

too worried 

too loud

like a group of people who somewhere,

somehow, 

forgot how to coexist.

Sometimes family sounds like embers,

too tired to burn.

We wait for a spark to set us alive, but

when it arrives we realise

that setting ourselves on fire 

never helps.

Instead, we just burn till we

can’t anymore.

Too exhausted to change.

Seventeen/pauses

​When I’m around you, I want to speak in pauses. Mostly because I want to emphasize how the world seems to stop tilting, or falling, or whatever you want to imagine it does when I see you. I mean, when I’m around you, all I can do is hear your voice.

I know, I know, it sounds crazy. But it’s the truth. It’s like for a second, my world shrinks till it contains just you, smiling at me. 

And I know, every time you look at me means nothing now, and everytime you talk to me means nothing now, but I wish it did. 

I just wish I could travel back to the past. I wish we could be on the same page, on the same line, on the same book.

But you haven’t read a book for four years, and I can’t blame you. I wouldn’t do something that reminded me of me either, but I just wish you did.

I wish you did.

Sixteen/apology

The apologies you give me seem

fragile (like your ego), they’re little

glass whispers ready to crack 

on contact, ready to make me 

bleed. They melt bitterly on my

tongue and now every word I say

is tinged with a bit of venom, with

a bit of you- I’m not sure how

much longer I can do is. I’m not 

how much longer I can be this

version of myself. My frustrations

blooms larger than your sins, your

apologies shadow every word I say

and now, now we’re stuck in this 

limbo, just like a glitch in time none

of us know how to escape. The 

apologies you used to give me 

are lingering behind me like 

they’re just waiting to pounce on

me, like they’re just waiting for

me to confess how guilty I feel, and

right now, I just want to escape 

from them. I just want to leave 

behind these honeysuckle words,

leave behind these venomous 

glares- carrying your personality 

around is weighing on my

shoulders; I’m not sure how much

longer I can stay upright.