I wish the nonchalance was an act

Nothing seems to catch my fancy

Anymore and nothing is as special

As it was supposed to be. The world

Enchants everyone else but me.

Oh what I would give to feel again

Even pain seems to be nothing

But the prick of a needle. It hurts

No more, and it’s quite the tragedy



The boy sitting in front of me always changes

I am the true constant, I say the same things

About how regular I am, and how my thoughts are

All vanilla, but even I know that’s untrue

And they say the same things too, like

“Oh, I’m this, I’m that, I have this, I have that”

Painting a picture of a lineage they’ve

Come to romanticize, for want of choice

They draw vivid sketches in the air

Of things they own and keep their heads

High, while holding that cigarette in

Their mouths. Uttering words that invoke

Some nausea, a very odd feeling. I

Notice that I’ve felt this before and

Heard all of this, only in permutations

And combinations that repeat themselves

And so the seat opposite me goes empty

I heave a sigh of relief, knowing what

I’ve escaped and how their presence

Could possibly imprison me and leave

Me, chained to things that I neither

Wanted nor desired nor craved for

I refuse to watch them from the

Sidelines, and break into applause

I’m determined. To not be that girl.


Love has always been a jigsaw

Puzzle, where adoration came in

The form of drops and weakly

Constructed texts only meant

To ravenously devour a body

That wasn’t earned, rather

Tampered with to make it a

Means towards an end. It

Left you desperate, wildly

Searching for a true light

To make up for half-beaten

Paths, taken to satiate selves

And stop being an excuse for

Someone else’s self-worth, to

Help you forget candles lit at

1 am, drives on roads that led

To nowhere, lunches that were

A ruse, and never an attempt

To give, only take and take

Words that were used to cut

Off from something that never

Saw a beginning and started

With an end, these parts only

Make the pieces come together

For you were never looking for

Poor short stories with no hero

In them, you were always on..

A hunt for the perfect novel



 How can you make reparations

For a soul that you destroyed

For a body that you shamed

For a heart that you broke

So brutally, how can you

Make reparations, for the

Promises that you didn’t keep

Those hands that you left

In the lurch, in a dark alley

For the hearts that you stepped

On, and how do you even

Compensate for the loss of

the sense of being, the pride

We take in being human beings

You cannot atone for these sins

You went too far and struck too

Low, there’s no way you can

Ask for forgiveness, for it cannot

Be given to someone like you