What If

What if I run out of ink, someday,
And I still haven’t written enough
To tell you just how much you mean to me?

What if the soles on my shoes eventually wear off
From walking to your doorstep but never knocking
And I still haven’t strolled down the park with you?

What if my last letter to you never gets delivered?

What if we put our hands up
Throw our hats in
Give up, completely?

What if I run out of pieces of myself
To give to you
To try and patch you up?

What if I never meet you in the after life
Or our next lives
Or the one after that life?

What if I never met you, altogether?

What if we continue to drift apart?

What if our times runs out?

What if all hope is lost?

What if love drains out?

What if I wasn’t me?

What if you weren’t you?

What then?

 

Sleep. Dream. Wake Up.

We’ve winked a hundred winks
Slept a hundred sleeps
And yet here we still are
Dreaming
Hoping for what seems to be a lost cause

Maybe we shouldn’t just be hoping
And dreaming in our little safe corner
Maybe we should open the door, the windows,
Our hearts, our minds.
Maybe we should let the light in
or go outside
And make our life better, ourselves.

Maybe it’s time for us to wake up
Time for us to stand up
And walk forward.

Hypocrite

For those who spend hours and hours in a coffee shop hoping to lock eyes with someone new…
For those who are holding on to a stagnant relationship…
For those who are sitting by the door at 3am, peering out the window every once and awhile…
For those who go to your ex’s house, drunk of libations and hope…
For those who keep on reading messages from 4 months ago…
For those who go back to the place where you used to hang out with someone…
For those who go over that box of letters from a beloved, every night, before you go to bed…
For those who can’t stop writing sad poems about how you lost someone..
For those who stay until the seasons change…
For those who are holding on to anorexic hope…
For those who wait…

Take it from someone who is thick enough to give this advice but can’t follow it herself

DON’T!

At the Palm of Your Hands

You’re that soft kind of roaring in my head;

That buzz I can’t seem to get rid of.

You need not do anything,

but lift a finger to make my world go up in smokes.

You nibble, you bite, you devour.

You take and take until there won’t be any of me left.

 

And perhaps it is a binding contract

that when I told myself, “you are my beloved”

I gave you the daggers that you’d soon stab me with.

Yours

I am yours for the night.

I am yours throughout the day.

I am yours through my actions.

I am yours when I speak.

I am yours when my thoughts gravitate towards you.

I am yours when our fingers intertwine as vines do.

I am yours when you kiss me;

when you take my breath away by doing so.

I am yours when you move your fingers through my hair.

I am yours when you give me a “Come hither” stare.

Through my sleep and when I’m awake, I am yours.

I am yours when you let me in your dreams.

I am yours when we make dreams of our own.

I am yours when you tell me you are mine,

and even when you are not mine, I am still yours.

I am yours when we stop to look at the waking sun,

when you stay with me as it sets.

I am yours, even when thoughts of me grow cold,

when memories seem to fade.

I am yours as we move towards the end.

as I cease to exist in your world, I am yours

My dear,

My darling,

My love,

I always have been and forever will be yours

 

Fragment no.3

I want to pour acid on my face and not mind the sting.
I want to shed no blood when you throw me daggers.
I want to not care when you batter me with words.
I want to look at you like I had no eyes, nor memory.
I want to run to the roof top, jump, and not feel the thump.

Enough being dumb

I want to be numb

Fragment no.2

Breathing each other’s breaths,
Touching each other’s skin,
Lying on one mattress,
Opening my soul, letting you in.

Underneath this simple moment,
Who would’ve thought we’d be broken by now? 

Fragment no.1

Not now,
Not yet,
Not when thoughts from my own seem more a stranger to me than the world’s,
Not when functionality is mere sophistry.
No,
Not inspiration,
Not those from another soul.

How will I aspire to touch lives,
When demons from my closet continue to haunt?

The Last Straw

Go ahead!

Scrape your knee.

Bump your head.

Pack your bags.

Leave this place.

Turn your back.

Slam the door.

Shatter your dreams.

Scatter your thoughts.

Take your knife out.

Get in brawls,

On the wrong side of the track.

Get sick ass drunk.

Shrivel your lungs.

Let the world down.

They owe you nothing.

Crash the car.

Make all the wrong choices.

I was there for you.,

All those years,

All those tears.

Well, not anymore.

You don’t need me?

I don’t need you.

Get lost.

Good bye.

Scratch that.

Good riddance.

You’ve done it once,

Maybe twice, thrice.

This is the last time.

No more.

No more.

I give up!

 

But do me one favor, will you?

Kill me before you kill yourself.

Irrelevant

I don’t need him.

Not his money,

Nor his polo shirts,

Or those trips outside the country.

I don’t need to see him.

And I don’t need to see him wear his tux

To every milestone in my life.

I don’t need to sit in a table for five,

With his significant other,

And those two little ones.

I don’t need to be told that I have his

Height, or his limbs, or hypertensive trait.

I don’t need him to sweet-talk me

Into believing his every word.

I don’t need his perfectly combed hair,

Nor that scent he wears,

The one that makes me weak.

No!

I don’t need his comforting hugs,

Nor his effort to make me feel happy.

I don’t need him to pick me up when I call for help.

I don’t need him to take my hand while we cross the street.

I don’t need him to wipe my tears,

Then let me keep his sweet smelling handkerchief.

Not his cigarette-stained lies,

Nor those bottle-slurred I LOVE YOU’s.

I don’t need him to call me “Baby Girl”

Every time he gets the chance to.

I don’t need him to compensate

For those countless years of absence.

I don’t need to be reminded that

He didn’t choose me. Us.

I don’t need to hear him say

“You are mine”.

I don’t need to miss him,

Nor kiss his cheek,

Nor get lost in his embrace.

I don’t need to break at the mention of his name,

at the sight of his torn up, virtual photograph.

 

I don’t need him.

No, I certainly don’t.

I’ll get by.

Somehow,

I will.