Falling Apart and Burning


I am sitting in a burning room and all I can say is that I am fine. By the next few minutes, I would be buried with my ruins of my sanity. I am watching flames dance until everything becomes ashes along with my desire to live. Turned off my phone, my Wifi, and social life.  I do not need a public confession of what is spinning in my head. Even loneliness left me by midnight.

An Idiot’s Commentary


The idea of democracy
is dead
welcome to the age of idiocracy
our minds being penetrated
by ignorance
written by self-appointed
pretentious social media experts
typing statuses
that leave minds crippling
tweets saying rape isn’t heinous
isn’t considered a crime
how a woman should be thankful
that a man would fuck them
we are no longer in progress
we are walking backward
arguing ethics that are crystal clear
how are we still reading bullshit?
how are we still tolerating trolls
who live in the comments section
waiting for the next sentence
attacking the next user with a point
how can we
read such crap on our walls
vandalizing our scrolling
by then we’d have zero following
if we unfriended every stupid asshole
who says rape is sex
rape is not sex, sex is consent
no one should think rape is fine
rape is a crime
if only ignorance and stupidity is a crime
then we can put every troll in court
throw them behind bars
make this world a better place
rather than click “block”
so your timeline won’t be tarnished with their face

Cynical Hopeful


It’s easy to mistake the first time as love.
Because no one finds “the one” in the first try,
if so then you are a lucky bitch.
Others have to go through hell and meet
every single asshole in the dating pool
before finally meeting the 1% of people
where there are mutual interests.
Or you can play the waiting game
and see what fate will bring you.
Maybe you said you loved me too soon,
maybe you only think you love me
because I honestly see nothing
you could love about me.
I am broken, jagged pieces
and I’m not a puzzle
you could easily piece together.
How can you love someone damaged?
You have to constantly fix me
or try to at least
and then you’ll get tired.
You will get tired of my mess;
I’m this mess of a person you chose to love.
It’s not even love, I’m sure it’s not.
I’d like to believe it’s not love
because if it was it would be short lived
and depressing.
We have an expiration date trust me,
this won’t last forever.

but I’m an idiotic optimist
believing we’re the exception

Stars, Black Holes, and Vodka


she was once a star
until she can no longer shine
she was burned out
she is now darkness
empty and trying to find fulfillment
but even light couldn’t pass through
she walks on glitter
hoping she’d sparkle once more
but she’s too broken

while he was wonderful
simply amazing and innocent
he fell in love with this black hole
he kissed her lips
even if she tasted like vodka,
nicotine and bitter regrets
she was the definition of damaged
they told him he could never fix her

she lost her jagged pieces
that once made her whole
she wasn’t a puzzle
he could easily solve
instead he saw her and said
she deserved love
He made her feel
a little less scattered

Late Night Love


Tired city lights, lazy neon signs, and street lamps
people looking for bar stools, lonely eyes and a drink
Shmucks looking for love in a lust filled palace
a mix of desperate lovers and horny bastards
doing anything to get into someone’s pants
covering tanlines where wedding rings were supposed to be
There’s the lonely man walking up to the pretty girl,
his charming smile and witty pick-up lines
are compensating for his lousy skills in bed.
(that or any other tiny detail)
Then there’s the already beautiful girl trying so hard
to find her confidence in a man’s arms,
and then her insecurities will come creeping back
as soon as he leaves the next morning.

Pieces of Peace: Letters I Never Sent



We’ve gotten closer; we exchanged books and playlists which were equivalent to sharing pieces of our souls. We shared secrets that we never told anyone else and it was the first time anyone would raise a fist to protect me. You gave me a book and I saw it as a way to tell me that you cared more than you let on.

It was also during those six months I saw you crumble.

You were depressed, you were in a dark place and I didn’t know what to do for a while. I gave you the space and advice you needed. That was when I realized I knew you well like a routine, I made sure that I didn’t tick you off or reminded you of your crippling sadness. Instead I tried to get your smile and charisma back.

I desperately wanted you happy even though I wasted so much of my time and energy trying to make that happen.


It was an unrequited sort of situation. Such a masochistic form of love, loving someone but not doing anything about it instead you’re just there at a near distance. Looking at you is like looking at a literal what if, what can happen but I was too afraid to lose it.

You were my Achilles’ heel, the only exception and the reason for my cowardice. I had so many chances to say how I felt however none of them felt right. Most of the time I’m too late to reveal anything. Other times I try to move on only to find myself with assholes.

You were the mistake I couldn’t afford to make.


Summer rolled in.

I spent three months drunk, loud and sober and then mooned over another boy who had a fascination with my legs. I tasted freedom, vodka and lips of a few regrets. But I did forget about you every moment I was in somebody else’s bed or arms.


When I wrote “I never minded chasing you” I was referring to you and not him.


We are compatible in personality and interests but it wasn’t fate that let us meet. It was random coincidences that lead us to each other. No destiny working there because I’m pretty sure the universe has better plans than trying to get us together.


It’s weird that it took me this long to write about us when there was never an “us” to begin with. You were the idea I fell in love with, you were the friend I trusted and now we’re co-existing.

Maybe in five years’ time we will talk again. We would mature by then. We would be different people by then and maybe just maybe I stopped writing poetry about you.


There’s this Jesse McCartney song from 2006 that applies so well to what I’m feeling at the moment.

Letter Eight:

I like him. I love you. I really like him. I loved you. Past tense.


He’s wonderful, he’s great and then I’ll say “he’s not you.”

Which is the best part because why would I want another you?


Thanks for not ignoring me.


To the Boy with the Blue Guitar


I placed you on a pedestal
No, I made you a throne to sit on
However my efforts were wasted
I promise this is my last piece
I promise this is the last time
you will ever be mentioned in my poetry
Because I am tired of revisiting old conversations
Same old metaphors all referring to you.
We are compatible in personality and interests
But that doesn’t make us soulmates
Fate and destiny had nothing to do with this
It was random coincidences that lead us to each other
I’m pretty sure the universe has better plans
Than trying to get us together

So here we are
Learning to co-exist

Museum of Broken Relationships

Hey you, I like you and it’s weird that you like me too
How you like someone so damaged baffles me because I can’t see what you see
But I would like to welcome you here, where every single one of my relationships came to die
Oh they’re all still alive; they just decided they were better off living without me
Though there are moments where I was the one that cut the chords
However I rather not explain moments or misinterpreted words
That led to our demise without going into detail
Instead let me introduce to you the pieces I mention in all of my poems
Actual pieces, things they gave before deciding to call it quits
Before one of us grew tired of the other and before one of us chose someone else
Let’s start shall we?


There’s this shirt he gave me, it’s still in my closet buried beneath most of my other clothes
Its red, his favourite colour and it was mine too for a brief time
Because I was fourteen and forcing myself to believe we were soul mates
He gave me that shirt because I spilled coke all over the polo of my uniform
He said I looked better in his clothes than he did
And then three days later he called me crazy and we broke up after fighting for the nth time.


And now the next piece is a cliché, the usual gift for your first month together
It’s a teddy bear; I cuddled it as much as we did
It’s still on my desk because it fits the aesthetics
The only time I remember how I got it is when I’m drunk and thinking of him
Because we haven’t spoken in what? Four years now.
I wonder if he thought of me as often as I thought of him
Thinking how we left things, I was apologizing and I forgot what for
But I do remember him leaving me in the cafe because he didn’t want to fight anymore


Then there’s this, it’s a book, a pretty good one too
I never actually finished it but i always tell people it’s my favourite
When in fact it’s not, I think the only lines I’ve re-read over and over
Were the ones he wrote on the front page hoping that I’d love his gift
I did for a moment because I was so in love with him that I associated my feelings with the book
And the only reason why it’s still on my shelf is because even if he didn’t stay
Doesn’t mean the book has to pay the price for his stupid mistakes

I can stop if you want, because I already mentioned 3 out of five
And yes I’ve shortened the list for your benefit,
You do not need to know the others most of them are in the trash
You might want to walk away now before i get to the last two
Honestly i wouldn’t even blame you


So here’s our fourth stop, like it? It’s another cliché it’s his jacket
It’s too big for me; I don’t know why I still have it
I even washed it because i didn’t like the smell of beer and cigarettes
I thank God it doesn’t smell like him anymore because I see that jacket and i remember that night
He said he was drunk, but even if you drown enough bottles and had enough shots
You would know what your girlfriend looked like in a hazy state
I forgot to give it back because if I saw his face I might end up punching him again
But we’re all good; he said I could keep it now it’s just for display



And here we are now… our last stop, it’s a broken CD
It’s from him and I’m pretty sure you’ve heard about him
There isn’t anyone who doesn’t know about the feelings i had for him
They said that he and I are soul mates, meant to be and fate finally brought us to meet
And I broke the mix CD he gave me hoping it would shatter that image of us
It took around… three years until I decided we were better of co-existing
Rather than trying to stitch moments to be something we could’ve been
I said i loved him and he chose 6 months of constant avoidance
And then another three months of forced distance

That was the tour hope you enjoyed it
Do you still like me? Because I don’t want you to be part of this museum of faults
I do not want you to be with this mess of a person trying to figure her life out
I’m willing to give you an exit strategy, there’s a map in my pocket
That will lead you to the nearest exit

Letters You Left

There are writings on the wall
There are writings in the sky
There are writings in the places you’ve been
Your marks are the words you’ve said over and over
Laced in our memories because of constant repetition
Rehearsed stories worth more than one conversation

Some were told during drunken nights
Some were told during 3 am philosophical sessions
Some were told when we’re wide awake and sober
Some were told during endless refills of bad coffee

There were days you’d turn ramblings into poetry
There were days you’d intoxicate yourself to find inspiration
Because you believe that vodka helps writer’s block
You believe that after one smoke break you’d write a novel
But you never did finish chapter one yet you’re planning the second book

You were impulsive, stubborn and yet you cared about a rumour
You cared because you know it’s one thing you can’t control
You’ve said time and time again you’d tie their tongues in knots
if they will never learn when to shut up
But instead you turned their misimpression into humour
Because nothing says “fuck you” than diving into the skit

I miss trying to decipher your metaphors because they make no sense
I miss your napkin lyrics that you forget in your jean pockets
I miss screaming matches about fictional lives we think matter
I miss your anecdotes about exaggerated real life characters
I miss you and I still read the words you’ve left us

There are writings in everything you’ve touched
There are writings in the places we’ve been
These are the letters you’ve never sent but we’ll always keep

The One That Got Away


This is for the one that got away
You left before the apology
But I was the idiot whose pride
Was too big to swallow
But light enough not to drag my feet
As I walked away

You are the memories
I wish that never happened
But I will twist my sanity
If I ever forgot them
You were the happiness
I took for granted
The pain that turned me
Into a masochistic Mess

Whenever someone says your name
Because if they mention you
I will ask how you are
When I can’t ask you myself
And then I’ll spend days
On your Facebook wall
I’ll clear my browser history
To hide the fact I am missing you
Or use incognito mode
Because I am in denial of my own faults

If they ask me why you left
I have a script prepared
Spitting clichéd bullshit
Hoping they’d believe it
They do unless they ask you
I know you call me your biggest mistake
I’ve seen your tweets
They are aimed right at me

We are each other’s regrets
With different perspectives
You wish you’ve never met me
I wish you’re still here with me
You wish I said the words you needed to hear
I wish I can rewrite our conversations
Change everything I ever said
Because you ended up looking somewhere else

You wish you never fallen
And I wish you still were
This is for the one that got away
I miss you
Thank you for breaking my heart
Now we’re even
But yours healed
And mine is trying
To beat without you