She isn't the easiest girl to Love. She has this bad habit of over thinking, she tends to overeact more than she should, and she gets a little insecure every. once in a while. She isn't capable of fully trusting you, she doesn't know when to stop fighting with you even if she's wrong, and she has no problem pushing you away if she feels like you're close to hurt her. She'll be needy for your attention, she'll want to literally take up all your time, & she'll require a lot of reassurance. Loving her means you get to see her at her worst and most vulnerable and that is something.. that you'll have to be strong enough to handle because she needs someone who's patient enough to understand why she is, who she is today. It's not gonna be an easy relationship with her. But if she is in love with you, then she can promise that you'll be loved with such passion and intensity that you'll forget what life felt like before she came along because she'll always be there to put your heart back together. Maybe she's not the best at being loved, but she's pretty amazing at Loving.
I was so afraid of losing you..until I realized you never really belonged to me in the first place. Because even though my heart was with you, yours was with everything and everyone else. So instead of being afraid to lose you, I sat back and watched YOU lose me.
Sensitive people should be treasured. They love deeply and think deeply about life. They are loyal, honest, and true. The simple things sometimes. mean the most to them. They don't need to change or harden. Their purity makes them who they are.
You came running to hold the hands of stumbled me but I let loose the grip for I never want to hold something that was not really mine... let me stumble and fall not for you but for my own sake Let me break my back until I stand on own two feet...
When you practice gratitude it makes you look at things in a better way. Leaves will rumble when the wind is gusty, wilted ones too. And who says that a dead leaf isn't beautiful. Grey is always associated with Gloomy mood, I have great reverence for people who have decoded what grey is. I have great reverence for people who are resilient. Not everyone can tolerate and not break, but you don't have to tolerate when you have a mouth to speak, you should. Anger, sadness won't subside if you won't treat it. Silence could be an antidote but the hurt won't fade if you won't talk about it. When the grey clouds gather up in the sky they protect you from heat, sometimes the drops are forgiveness for your sins, sometimes the drops sting like nudges from Scissorhands. Many of us are not what we tell others, we picturise how we want to be perceived by others. Many of us don't talk about how we were bad to others but won't stop for a minute if someone does the same. When you get happier, you forget these things. It's so liberating to forget things, to forget how people looked, how they sounded, how they had lit up your day once and how they ended up ruining you.
As I have already said, a poet is a poet only when he is writing a poem. I will be a human again as I go back to have lunch and forget about what I had written.
Her eyes look like, Unheard stories That the skies wrote On lunar-eclipses While the auroras rest on her sclera She paints a cosmos in her iris With lost stains of a crude sunset She wanders in a field of may-flowers Writing epistles to fallen petals She's an ardent florist Who makes mogras bloom in dead soil Her collarbones are shelter to catastrophes While she muses them on her fingertips She's a blend of elation and greys And on days My skylines are at stake She sends me hope in pixels I haven't traced her sacred skin In atoms and molecules But I've touched her soul The texture of whose Is like the petals of daisys And Wordsworth's poetries Her hair falls like advent of a night Like stream of waterfall That washes away my lassitude She's so much beauty That my quill shies away She's 17 fields of mayhem At a summer's edge She's eternity burning the brightest She's my home In hurricanes My soulmate, Till my last breath.
There's a river flowing Loud and fertile within me, My epidermis is a fossil Of engraved touches I've preserved all over The years; my insides are a Bloodshed of flowers I have Always tried to stuff into my Bones: I am not a single entity Mostly I feel like I am Composed of fragile things Found on earth, My overgrown roots overspread Trying to grasp in Whatever my palms could hold of, I have knees covered in weeds, And bruises, from falling over and over, My hands are little branches, Which birds perch upon, The colour of peace is enveloped over my body, Sunshine plays with my hair, Sometimes I collect tragic thunderstorms and pin them over my braids My womb bears young ones With colours of my roof, That changes every moment, Tenderly I nurture them, Along the birds, But I've to let them all go, Some sooner, some a little early. I'm trapped in deep Tunnels of thoughts, Whilst my hands are cut, As my torso falls on Inconsolable carcasses of My hair, and Corpses of my children, Motionless, I lay there, My heart still pounding, Not silent, but loud Like the river flowing Inside me, within and without.