Tag Archives: muse

A poem for the outcasts

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Dear You
Who has learned to stand still
With your back straight and your feet
Clenched to the ground
While the world keeps turning
From underneath
Do not let this break you
Hold on to your ground

Dear you
Who has always kept her head
Above the tides
Drowning means failure
Your thoughts become too loud
Up in your mind
Do not let this break you
Hold on to your shore

Dear you
The one that fell in love with breathing
As soon as you inhale
It quickly leaves
Promising to come again
As you exhale
Do not let this daunt you
Hold on to your love

Dear you
Who practices smiling every morning
In front of the mirror
Putting aside the turmoil within
A perfect pinned smile
In hopes that it would become real one day
Do not let this discourage you
Hold on to your hope

Dear you
The one who looks at the weather
Perfect blue sky
And a bright sun
Your inside is hurricane
Promising rain
Do not let this sadden you
Hold on to your umbrella

Dear you
Who learns all about sanity
And practices sane behavior
It’s okay to let yourself slip
In the oil slicked room
Of your insane mind
Do not clutch to their normal
Hold on to your weird

Dear you
The junkie
The dipsomaniac
The hypochondriac
The bipolar
The manic depressed
The psychotic
The schizophrenic
The pyromaniac
The narcissist
The compulsive liar
The megalomaniac

This poem is for you

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2=7

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This isn’t the type of poem
Where I say that I’m lost in the world
Hoping to be found
Or that the first person that comes to my mind when I’m blue
Can save me from my past demons

But, I will say this
Truth is, I’m not that lost as much as I’ve found myself
Being at a standstill is okay
Desperation and longing only fuel the fire
I’ll move when I’m ready to move

So, I have time till this life ends
God, knows how much I have left
But it is enough, i’ll pretend
2+2 isn’t 4
I think it is 7 and I’m allowed to be weird

People will crash into me
Or just pass me by
Some right things will go wrong
A lot of wrong things will just fit in right
I like to call this part “experience”, in my life

I can be 6 feet under
Or above the world
I’m allowed to walk into the room like a blizzard
Even become a gentle wave in someones life
I’m allowed and so are other people because we change

A friend taught me today
That what I may want
Might not want me
But, life is a game of charades
Either way it is fun to play

The voice in my head

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I keep having these fucking phases
Zoning into sadness
Being a happy little fuck
There lies no in between

I am happy one minute
Life is great and things work out
The very next day
I feel like the walls are crushing me

Suffocation
Anxiety
Sadness
Everything is on the ground

My mother tells me
To recite a prayer for my ill heart
But I don’t find it to be ill at all
I also don’t find it healthy

It is in between
Stuck in the rut of sadness
Jumping into happiness
And sleeping with an unjust desire to die

If I could then I would
Tell the world what happens in my mind
But words fall short
And sometimes I scare others with my thoughts

So I pen down what I think would suit
The world will eat up sadness as my muse
When it isn’t sadness at all
It is the voice in my head

A voice that is
Terrified
Happy
Sad
All at the same time that is all

About being Numb

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This was going to be a poem
About how two lovers meet
Or how strong you actually are
This was one of those rhymes
Where nothing was an induced haze
Clarity, joy and happiness

But this isn’t
It isn’t about despair
About remorse or guilt
It isn’t an ode to lost love
Or the walk towards a gradual demise
Not any of those emotions that I used to pen down

This poem became about being numb
About being oblivious
A reminder of how within lies less humanity
And the shame with which
I’ve begun to embrace my selfish solitude
How I turned into a God that worships the flesh

Tonight, I desire you!

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Under the myriad of stars, I stared at the north one.
Tonight, just for tonight I wanted to feel at home.
I needed my north star to guide me home.
A train, a bus, a plane or even a car, God! just take me where I feel like home.
Take me back in time.
Take me to the moment when I realized that I love you.
I want to relive it.
Again and again.
The pavements, the empty streets and our silent glances are untold dreams covered in stardust.
Your hand against mine, the nape of your neck and even the way I hold your face close to mine is a lot like happiness covered as bliss.

I have had it bad. I have imagined it far worse to be honest, being alone in the confinements of my own four walled prison but I have felt more dread surrounded by a hundred people and not being able to pour my soul out to, anyone.
I have a twinkling soul and you’re the constellation it twinkles for. I want to drain myself into you, my north star, you see?
I know you crave something big out of this small world, just like me. I see it in your eyes.
I have mine and you have yours,
ideas, destinations, dreams, hopes, home and endpoints or someplace where we will be at peace.
We both want to belong but not in here.
We both want to belong in world of our own.

Be my north star?
I will be your northern lights.
I know how hard it is to fall in love with people who have created barriers around them. I love taking down each wall as it crumbles to the ground. I love the pain but the pleasure of clawing into their zone and making a home.
You know how hard it is to be enchanted by the music the night plays but still love the silent echoes with two beats resonating in the air.

Do you worry?
Maybe, we will sit in the dark hoping for dawn to embrace us.
Maybe, you won’t be home and I would be a misguided seeker?

Life is not that way, my wicked love.
You might regret your acts in the morning
Or
Decisions made at 4 am
And we have our secrets deeply embedded in our hearts.
You will realize that you have made a big mistake, moments after you’ve committed to it. Forever, maybe? It isn’t erasable like many other you wipe out.
Maybe, it would not be a mistake at all.

So, I’m a traveler with wounded feet and a mind at war. I’m a seeker of truth and a prophet on a mission to separate truth from worldly fiction. I am my best in the moment and this moment, alone, with only a single desire tonight.

Tonight, I desire you!

-For her, who taught me how to love without conditions or intentions except to just be in love with the feeling of love.

People like us.

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Then there are people like us
Who are bathed in black and blue
People who walk away from the crowds
Who smile and nod at everyone, thinking
“I need to get the hell out of here!”

Then there are people like us
Who don’t run after others when abandoned
People who just let the world be
Who run towards fire and chaos, yelling
“Please, take me”

Then there are people like us
Who don’t care about money or fancy things to survive
People who will sit on the sidewalk to pass the time
Who watch as the truck goes down the road, imagining
“I would crash into this someday, I know.”

Then there are people like us
Who love with honesty and burning intensity
People who will give you their fucking heart, if you ask
Whose heart you break and they say
“Hmm, well I’m glad you did the honors because this won’t be my first or last.”

Then there are people like us
Who you see everyday in school or empty parking lots
People who daydream and write poetry on their arms
Who toss around words like they mean nothing at all, knowing
“If it makes someone happy then its worth it no matter how hard.”

Pretty and Broken-6

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They say that in your broken places, you are stronger than before. I disagree.
You are not stronger but decayed. Your are plagued and infested in those broken places with hate, hurt, agony and pain. Yes! You are not stronger but in those broken places, you are dying.

What in the world is more stronger than a dead person?

Simply, feeling nothing is a blessing. You are dead in those broken places and you give it a positive name, ‘strong’. You know the truth and so do I. Humans have optimism to cover the bitter reality of life.

It is said that if a person loves the places you are broken and dejected from? It is love. No, if a person loves parts of you dead then it is love.
It is difficult to love the dead for long and sooner we forget about them. It is easy to love the living for presence makes it possible.

Dead or living, we all hope that someone might love us. Someone might cherish us. The only difference is, the living hope that it will come true and stay forever.
The dead hope it will come true but rot into nothingness, like everything.