Figures

Sometimes I'm not myself


Sometimes,
I'm just a pair of eyes
behind glasses,
staring at the screen
at 12 a.m.

Sometimes,
I just sit,
and watch my fingers
bleed on the keys.

The music
just tumbles
through my ears.

When I look up,
and see the sleeping
figure next to me
I remember
that I'm a person,

not just a string of words,

not just my thoughts

not the time wasted







I'm so much more






and I'm just figuring myself out.

Inertia

I wish you knew how much you meant to me. How deep I loved you. What your smile awakened in me. 

But it’s too late. Some feelings have an expiration date.

—  D.M.

I realised that 

even emotions

have inertia. 

The way we talked 

and connected had 

a momentum. 

It was an actual moment of sparks flying 

combusting in our own hopes and dreams 

and the better versions that we could be

of ourselves, for the other.

I told you everytime 

"I love you"

because it's something bigger

than me or my conscience can handle

I'm always left wanting 

a little more of you.

We gained momentum 

from the first moment,

built it up day-by-day.

Time seemed to be confused

because it couldn't constraint us;

we transcended it's ability.

We played with it, 

stole a second from everybody we knew 

and gave it to the the other

so our lives went by slower

while others sped about.

Creating time loops of memories in my head 

Memories of your laughter,

of your smiles,

of our battles with sleep,

of the seconds you would look at me intently 

Then one day, 

we lost control 

and crashed.

All the momentum lost

The way a car jerks to a halt and 

you're thrown forward without your

better knowledge

Time pushed us forward

without our better knowledge

and the crash hurt

well at least, it hurt me.

Because even if 

you're wearing a seatbelt, 

the crash still hurts.

I try to pick myself up,

try to find out who I am 

in the world where time is ruthless 

to my existence.

One day, 

I couldn't take the silence

and wrote my last letter to you.

I never gave it to you, 

though I carried it around 

with me in false hopes.

I burnt it a week later

because sometimes

you let your words turn to ashes

because you don't mean them anymore.

because sometimes,

it's too late for somethings to be understood 

because sometimes,

things are better left unsaid

and because sometimes

I'm just a shitty poet. 

Lights

I saw you again today

For the umpteenth time

Though your beauty will never fade from my eyes

Tragically, I will always find you beautiful

Though you now seem to pretend I'm invisible
and you do a great job at it.

I was standing next to you,
reading poetry

My fingers always seemed to turn pages which reminded me of you

You moved away, to a more active audience,
One which was undead, unlike me.

The bitter smell of your favourite chocolate drafts around me
Reminding me of my miniature failures

You leave without giving me a second glance,
I can't blame you though,
I pretend that I'm invisible.

I go up to the rooftop
I stand there and write these strings of word
Admiring the view that you promised to share with me once

The street lights in the distance,
glimmer in the dusk
like fairies
guiding the lost in the forest

I hope they guide me as well
through these woods
that I often seem
to get stuck in

And I hope
I will see you
on the other side.

I Want To Know

You tell me
I calm you down,
but
I want to make you
uncomfortable.

I want to know
what it's like
to trap you
between my arms
and the elevator walls.

I want to know
what it's like
to watch you squirm
in the confined space.

I want to know
what it's like
when you realise
what I can do
as I finally
move away from you.

But,

I want to know
how your skin feels like
against mine.

I want to know
how your fingers will look
wrapped around mine.

I want to know
what it would be like
to hold your face in my palms
as you stare up at me.

I want to know,
what it would be like
to kiss you,
without hesitation,
without compromise.

Do your lips taste as soft as they look?

Would our teeth clash as our tongues meet?

Would your hands roam my body?

Would they clasp the back of my neck?

Would my arms pick you up?

Would they pull you closer by the waist?

Will we come up for air?

Would we intoxicate ourselves a little longer?

These are trivial and adolescent questions
Nothing more than that.

But

I want to know

Will you be mine?

Because I will always be yours

at least some part of me

No matter what.

Dreams

You told me I'm a dream come true,
but do you know that I dream of you?

Dreams are just a different form of hope,
piled on top of one another.

A big mess of hopes is our dreamland.

Our last hope is that they all come true.

Nightmares are a different form of anxiety

the kind that likes to find its comfort in our stomachs

while we lose our own (comfort).

You told me that I'm a dream come true,
but you sounded like you were in the arms of sleep.

Dreams are not always a reality,
they don't come true.

We just find something similar.

Therefore dreams are replaceable.

Hence I, too, am replaceable.

You told me that I'm a dream come true,
but you dream when you're asleep.

So, my love,

I'm sorry to be the bearer of appalling news

but one day,

you will wake up

and I will be nothing more than a thought

collecting dust in your memory

So, wake up,

wake up

and start a new day;

where you and I

are anything but grey

Let me be a better version of myself

One that doesn't see the fault between

You and I