Counting Down

I’m counting down

The days

Till I’m right beside you

To watch crappy movies with you

But watch you, instead

Eat macaroons and ice-cream, with you by my side

Wishing that I could eat up

All the words that you speak

To go on lovely adventures,

Without our maps

Only to willingly get lost, in you.

And to always hear you talk about your dreams

But dream of you


🎶 The One – Kodaline 🎶



If only I’d met you

At the right time

We could have changed the world together

But here we are

Living life in different continents

(cursing our luck)

For showing us exactly what we were meant to be

Just not when we were meant to be.

🎶 Autopilot – Kodaline 🎶

// On Being Undermined

As an artist, I believe the worst thing that you can do to an artist is undermine what they create. In a lot of ways, everything a painter or a poet creates, and puts out for the world to see, is personal. To the shade of blue used to paint the curtains to the color of the sunset in the quatrain has some messed-up explanation. Every detail screams truths which are far from what the piece is even about.

Personally, the constant feeling of my writing never being ‘good enough’ engulfs me. There’s not a day which goes by in which I don’t feel the inexplicable urge to delete my blog, and pretend that it never existed in the first place. Every poem I write is so brutally truthful, that posting it feels like exposing my deepest, darkest secrets for the world to see. Yes, most of the time the pain is so deeply cloaked under the shadow of tiny details, that you probably can’t make sense of it, but that doesn’t make the fear go away.

Every morning, I’d look at the things I wrote the night before, and (for lack of a better word) feel stupid. There are honestly very few things I’ve written that I can say I’m actually proud of, and believe them to be something of value. The rest? The rest just seem like useless inklings, something anyone and everyone can write, and pretty much worthless.

You can ask my roommates the amount of times I’d pace around the room, fingers hovering over the ‘publish post’ button and the sheer number of times I’d close the tab, then reopen a minute later. So whenever someone says anything even remotely undermining about it, trust me, I’ve already said the same things to myself a million times. Probably even worse. Most of the published posts on here have been in my drafts for weeks before I gathered the courage to finally put them up.

Yes, art is subjective. Which is what makes it even more difficult to believe in yourself, because there’ll always be someone who’ll think of your art as junk. There’s no avoiding that. I’m not uptight, I’m always up for some constructive criticism. But there’s a very, very thin line between criticism and mockery. Criticism can very easily turn into insult, and nothing can feel worse.

So my point here is simple: you’re not going to like every single piece of writing I put out, but that doesn’t make it bad. It doesn’t give you the right to be cruel about it. I’m always up for helpful tips, but think twice before sending a message, as every poem is like my baby, and you have to regard it as such, too.

Here’s to spreading a bit more positivity, eh?


I faintly remember

You arriving at my doorstep, a year later

“You make me complete.”

You’d said.

But I’m much too complete by myself, you know?

I have no room for you.

// On Changes

This month has been full of changes; and I don’t know any other way to deal with it other than write it down. I won’t bore you with the details, but those close to me know what exactly went down, and that’s how I wish to keep it.

Ever since I was 13, I had my own identity, an idea of who I was as a person. And now, almost 5 years later, it’s changed completely. Scary doesn’t even begin to describe it. I believed so much in who I was and what I wanted to be; and when everything just shatters around you in a fraction of a second, you suddenly feel so lost and vulnerable. Heck, I don’t know who I am anymore.

It’s not a bad thing, whatever happened. It did because I wanted it to. But these incidents are the exact of opposite of what I stand for, the exact opposite of who I am as a person.

The past few weeks, I kept telling myself to not overthink it, and to do whatever my brain told me to. I decided to just ‘go with the flow’ and not worry about ‘labels’ and ‘tags’. Everyone I knew agreed that this was probably the correct thing to do, anyway.

The best piece of advice I got was: “Don’t take too much stress over it, and don’t force yourself to act a certain way. Let whatever you do be natural. Hard advice to follow, trust me. Take your time to see what you’re comfortable with. Don’t limit yourself to what you might do. It’s okay to do something uncharacteristic, don’t stop yourself from doing something because you have a preconceived notion.”

So I think I need a few more weeks which pass relatively normally, and figure out who I actually am as a person. I think I need everyone to give me some time, I swear I’ll come around. I always do. As for the people who’ve stood by me through this, I can’t thank you all enough.


You painted my skies

Red, blue and purple

Filled my lonely dark nights

With staccato bursts of color

As if you were the sun

To the sunflowers in my cold, dark heart


You left me in the wild, and

The wolves became my friends

They taught me how to hunt

The lioness saw me as an equal

She showed me how to rule

The tigress, for once

Swallowed her pride

When in front of my own.

And now?

I’m more powerful,

More ruthless

More fearless

Than the demons in your worst nightmares.

🎶 Mississippi – Train 🎶