There’s nothing wrong

I call myself a people person, but if I’m being honest, I think it’s just out of necessity because I’m good with people.

Is this normal for my age? To prefer the company of my books and my cats and my laptop and the inside of my own head to that of most people? Maybe I’ve seen too much, done too much, loved too many, been hurt too many times.

Maybe because of this my soul is ten times older than my chronological age, and it just wants to fucking rest already. It scares me a little. But maybe that doesn’t mean I’m not okay.

P. S. It’s funny how when I posted this in instagram, I got messages saying I should not be a loner. There’s a big difference between being alone and being lonely.

Good news

I want to be the sort of scripture that
you are not afraid to call Good News.
I’d like to be the verses that
sink through your blood stream
and anchor themselves to your pulses
when you are unsure of this world.

I don’t want you to worship the
frayed binding of my spine, but
I want to be the reason you believe
in something bigger than the parables
etched in my skin like hymns.

The background music is the intro of the song 🎶 Hamari Adhuri Kahani 💔
Background artwork from the amazing gallery of @tanyashatseva, no copyright infringement intended

Memory is flawed.

It dredges up only the best and the worst of things, and never the uneventful and mundane. I’m sure we’ve had a lot more memories, yet I can’t remember mornings that were as simple as making a cup of coffee or just us sitting beside you in silence. I’m sure there were days where we fought just so we could passionately make up, and nights that ended blissfully, but they are buried deep beneath the darkness of the cracks that ended us.

I am sorry if the latter is all I can remember. Our legacy deserves better, but memory is flawed, and I have nothing.

*For Day 29, Our Poetry Journey Contest
January’s theme: abc’s Revenge


It’s ok not to be a rose. You may not be the pretty one or the crowd favorite, but that’s because you’re one of the wild ones. You blossom and grow in unexpected proportions. And when people finally notice you, they won’t recognize you or know your name, but damn they will feel you. They will fall in love with your uniqueness and finally see the beautiful ambiguity that you are.
Continue reading “Identity”