I had stopped seeing poetry 

in everything a long time back

Stopped seeing words floating 

mid air when I walked down the

street, stopped feeling excited

when I looked at the sky.

Before, everything used to

be a poem waiting to happen, 

until nothing was, until

I forgot what I was writing about.

And I know I’m just a cliché

surviving on unrealistic

romantic ideals, and I know 

there are no princes in real

life, but everytime I look

at you I see a poem waiting 

to happen. I have been mapping

out your gestures for far

longer than I realised, and 

I’ve been running out of

syllables every time I look at

you- I had almost forgotten 

what poetry looked like when

it could breathe. when it could

keep me awake at 2am, when

it laughed and smiled- I had almost

forgotten what poetry looked

like, till I looked at you.


You. You

Should’ve never

Done what you did.

You used to feel like a

Cry for help at first, until

You felt like a car crash- you

Brought my life to an abrupt halt

And you still haven’t apologized for it,

Maybe I should be the one apologizing, apologizing

For this myriad of delusions, these mighty

Expectations that you obviously find

Ridiculous. I guess you thought

I would just move on, like

You never did what you

Did, like you didn’t

Say what you

Said; I guess

You were



This entire week, I’ve

been holding knives against my wrist

daring myself to make a cut.

This entire week, I’ve 

been staring at my reflection, wondering 

when it’ll change it to something better.

This entire week, I’ve

been telling myself pretty lies,

but I never quite managed to swallow them.

This entire week, I’ve 

been waiting for a sign that 

I’m better than I think I am, but

this entire week has passed,

and I’m still seeing in shades of blue.


Four years later, 

I still walk into this home 

expecting you to be here.

Four years later, 

and I still shake everytime 

I see a cigarette or hear a cough.

Four years later, 

I don’t even know whether 

I can trust my memories of you


It’s been four years, and 

I still remember how I found out,

still remember what I wore to

the funeral, still remember the

book I was reading, still

remember trying not to cry

trying not to cry

trying not to cry- I

remember the car I went in. 

Remember seeing my friend

outside my house, wondering 

if his shock mirrored my own, and

I still remember every



of that day

but I can barely remember your voice.

I barely remember you, 

barely remember anything- 

what we talked about, what you 

teased me about, what

made me know that as long 

As you were around, I was safe;

I just don’t remember anymore.

And I’m not sure how to.

Not sure how to

keep what little I have of you

from disappearing.

23/full circle 

She asked me if I really liked 

you, and I didn’t even try to

deny it, because what’s the point 

of denying something that’s inked 

on every single part of 

me? What’s the point of denying 

something that I write about too 

much anyway? What’s the point of 

hiding from these feelings when it’s

obvious they’re persistent as 

hell (patiently knocking on my 

heart no matter how many times 

I tell them I don’t want them, I 

don’t want you), and she asks me if 

I’ll stick around long enough to 

give you a shot and I say I 

still don’t know. I say my heart is 

fickle and mostly frozen, and

I’m not sure it can thaw in just

four months. She says, yes but it’s been 

four years of waiting for you to 

come full circle, waiting for you

to find your way back to him, but

I tell her just because we love 

each other doesn’t mean it works,

or that I’m any different. 

Doesn’t mean I’m any better.