Choice

People always say you have a choice.

That you can choose what happens.

If you don’t like the song,

change the CD.

If you don’t like a person,

stop talking to them, walk away.

If you don’t like a dish,

order another.

If you don’t like what you’re reading,

close the book, pick a new one.

The possibilities are endless,

but how do I explain?

My record player,

it’s broken, it’s stuck.

As for friends,

I have no other to talk to.

I just can’t afford,

another plate.

All the books I pick up,

they’re the same.

Do you see now?

I can’t choose.

I see everyone else choosing,

letting go.

They think I’m crazy

or that I love routine.

I wish they’d see.

I wish they’d help,

instead of yelling at me

to choose.

Stayed

It’s dark and gloomy outside.
I grab a pack of lights,
And wobble to the terrace,
Cacooned in blankets.
The wind stings my tear-stained face.
I light up and forget the world.
One…
Two…
Your face appears in front of me.
Three…
Four…
I hate you so much I want to kill you.
Five…
Six…
I begin to forget what you did to me.
I blew you out like smoke.

Years later in a hospital bed,
I realized
You had stayed.
Like cancer,
You had stayed.

Timeline

The start:
After the incipient thrill,
Of being loved
By someone as demented
As me,
You’ll leave.

After that languid caress
Of your ego, your pride
When I’ll call you mine,
You’ll leave.

After I’ll pour my
Puny heart’s infirmities
My sporadic dulcet moments
In your ears,
You’ll leave.

These days:
Your words are distant
Your smile, it doesn’t shine
Like it used to
Anymore.
You’re leaving.

My stories don’t intrigue
You anymore
My words to you
Are dull, drab.
You’re leaving.

You’re moving away
As I try to inch closer
You think I can’t see?
You’re leaving.

Today:
I sat for an hour
With you
But you didn’t look
Even for a second.
You’ve left.

My stories
You don’t want to hear
My words
You transgress.
You’ve left.

I walked away
You just sat there
I looked for
A hand to hold
You were so far away.
You’ve left.

Bygone

Your hands in my hair
Your blue eyes watching
my dark brown ones.
You sat there, mesmerized
By the poems I wrote
For you.
“I love you,”
You had whispered.
I still remember
As I sit here
Chopping off my jet black hair
Putting in coloured lenses
Burning all my notebooks.
I loved you
You left.
And the girl you loved
Is leaving too.

My Thoughts on Love

It’s 3:28 at night, and I need to start work on a bunch of stuff I’ve been procrastinating for weeks. Well, I guess I can wait another hour.

I’ve wanted to write about this forever, but I just couldn’t. I was either too happy to think rationally, or too sad. I guess I do work in extremes.

Love.

I’m scared to admit it, but deep inside, I’m a hopeless romantic. (I know, I don’t look or talk like it.) I love the concept of love. I love watching other people talk about love. I love hearing other people’s stories of love. Heck, I just love love. But in no way does this mean that I crave it, or need it. I just enjoy it from afar.

I guess we’re all mature enough to understand that love is so much more than what meets the eye. Love, is the deep-rooted answer to most of our worries, and yet is the most perplexing thing I’ve come across. (Yes, it surpasses Physics in terms of being confusing.)

When I ask teenagers of love, most blush and talk of their girlfriends/boyfriends, or the lack of them. I never believed love could be that simple, that easy to attain. I never believed love could be so common. I always thought love was so much more than stolen kisses or pompous dates. It’s something that each of us feels differently. If you judge by teen slang, I’ve never been in love. But I know that’s not true. I’ve been in love with so many people, in so many different ways.

In a way, I’m scared of ever falling in one of those all-consuming, life-changing kinds of love. I like being in control, of having the ability to plan my life exactly as I want to. I don’t want to ever have to keep someone else and their happiness in mind while making a huge decision. I’m selfish, yes. But it’s just a whole lot better this way.

I’ve now reached that point in the middle of my writing process where I have so many thoughts but so little words. Bear with me.

I was, and am, a teenager. I’ve watched movies, read books, had random crushes on the ‘popular and oh-so-hot’ boys of our school. But I never, even for a second, thought that was love. That couldn’t be, it was too drab. It was too meaningless. It was too easy to fake.

But now as time has passed, I’ve had some pretty amazing and some pretty horrific experiences in this entire ‘teen romance’ section of life (mostly horrific). I’m honestly over it now. I finally believe that I’m old enough and experienced enough to fully understand what love is and how to use it. I don’t need a ‘boyfriend’ to be truly, deeply in love.

The teens of today have so much power, so many dreams. And trust me on this, you don’t need someone to guide you along the way and to hold your hand through the journey. You don’t need someone else to make you feel good about yourself. YOU, and you alone, can dream. YOU, and you alone, can achieve it. Success is right in front of us, people. I can see it. So can you. Fight for what you want, and do it alone if you goddamn have to.

I have best friends whom I love from the bottom of my heart. I’ve people that I love now, and I don’t need to put an official label on the relationship to tell the world where we stand. If we’re happy, does it really even matter?

I love writing.

I love reading.

I love writing on the crisp, new and inviting pages of my poetry journal.

I love spending hours having meaningless Facebook chats with people who mean the world to me now.

I love carrying a blanket and hot chocolate to the balcony at night, and watching the stillness calm me.

I love that feeling of immense euphoria when I sit for 8 long hours in coaching classes and then solve an increasingly articulate equation in the end; then sharing a plate of totally unhealthy chilli potatoes with my friends while we all laugh about something funny our teacher might have said that day.

I love the feeling of returning home from classes at 10 with my friends and feeling the wind swish past our hair and ruffle our notes; and we all know we’re going back home and studying just a little bit more before calling it a fruitful day.

I love getting good grades on a test for which I had stayed up 3 nights in a row trying to attempt every single Chemistry question I could find in every single resource book.

My statement still stands.

I am a hopeless romantic.

I love love.

After

I’m the girl you’ll think of,
10 years from now
When your wife will leave you.
When your kids won’t call you ‘daddy’ anymore,
When you’ll drink all day
To forget your troubles.
I kept you sane.
I gave you all the love you needed.
But you never cared,
Too bad.

(fun fact: I wasn’t originally planning on posting this, I just dedicated it to someone for their birthday, someone who’s always appreciated my work. Well, that person insisted on me posting this. Happy birthday.)

365

January:
I saw you for the very first time.

Febuary:
I knew I was in love.

March:
You said I was beautiful. You secretly held my hand in class.

April:
You said you loved me too. You made me smile for the first time that year.

May:
You made me happy, made me feel good about myself.

June:
You seemed distant. Maybe I was getting paranoid. You re-assured me that you loved me.

July:
You started spending more time with her. You thought I wouldn’t find out.

August:
I let you go, it was for the best. You seemed relieved and didn’t shed a tear.

September:
I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I had never stopped loving you. But I never said a word.

October:
She broke your heart with another man. You got what you deserved.

November:
You told me you still loved me. I cried as I walked away silently.

December:
Neither of us ever smiled again.