Love Yourself

So many people rant about self-love, and I don’t know about you, but I often wonder things like, “They’re just saying that because they have someone” you know? I’m skeptical to people who have millions of loving people in their lives who talk about self-love being the only love that “matters”. And then there are those perfect, flat stomached, curvy girls who say looks don’t matter so don’t hate your body. Love it for what it is.

We all are in this journey in life to find someone to complete us. Some of think we already found them, some of us never stop looking and some of us hate our lives because we don’t have that someone. What is this someone for, you ask? It is to help bury all those insecurities. Am I pretty enough? Am I skinny enough? Am I funny enough? Am I lovable? Am I fun to be around? We want someone who’s going to answer all those questions in a positive way for the rest of our lives to feed our growing insecurities.

What if you’ve already got that person and you’ve no idea? What if I told you I know who completes you?

It’s you.

Yes, I’m starting to sound like those people who talk about self-love too, aren’t I? Well times have changed and I’ve had some growing up to do. It’s not just one or two but almost everyone who loves themselves seems to have a lot of people who love them. Everyone who feels confident about how they look is often perceived as beautiful and gorgeous. Are you seeing the common denominator here?

Be that person who sits on the bed with yourself and hold your own hand and stop those tears. Learn to cheer yourself up. You were born as a whole and you don’t need someone to complete you. Once you’ve reached that stage where you love yourself whether you lose that 10 kilos or not, those petty things won’t matter. And when you’re around people you’ll start thinking about how they make you feel rather than panicking about whether they like you or not. That’s the day you’ll find love, and friends and people who accept you for who you are. And that’s the day you’ll feel beautiful inside out.

– The Obsessive Writer

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Anger Management

I don’t understand how a certain group of people are categorised as impulsive. How are only some people that way? Is it not human to feel an impulse? If it were up to me there would only be two categories. People who are alive, and those who are dead.

But I’ve been told recently that I couldn’t always say or do what I liked. And that being “impulsive” is not the right way to deal with things. That right course of action is apparently to carefully think about it and agonise over it until you’re too numb to want to do something about how you’re feeling.

Like if you’re at work and a co-worker undermines you, or you’re at school and someone takes credit for your work or belittles you. Would you just walk away? That is the society we live in. There’s so much importance to conforming to social norms and “decency”, that the line between right and wrong is so blurry these days.

If you’re able to bottle up your feelings when someone stabs you in the back, or outright insults you, then good for you. I cannot live a lie like that. And I won’t. To hell with your opinions. I will remain impulsive for as long as I have a pulse.

– The Obsessive Writer

Inside Out

I write away my sorrow

It is the only way I know.

Spilling ink thicker than blood.

Leaving behind words in place of scars.

They said, Be the change and the world will follow.

I pretend to be reborn.

I tell myself that I am the change.

And the world did follow,

On Instagram to mock at my expense.

Some people see a few familiar faces and call it home.

What if I need to look at hearts and not faces?

When I look through those chunks of rock

Will I still be able to tell them apart?

This mind of mine colourfully black and white,

Scatters them into piles of two

They all judge me for my depth

Some look at my pockets and some my poetry.

© Abirami

MOONCHILD

Would you think I was crazy

If I said the dark gave me peace?

There are no blaring lights,

In these calming nights.

No one can really see,

The dark offers a lot of privacy.

To just be, to exist.

Live a life unnoticed.

What goes unnoticed, remains untouched.

I’d like to be that unbruised flower.

The one you water every day in your garden of dreams.

For when the morning comes,

So does all the hate.

I am more than how the light falls on me.

I am more than what they see.

They teach us to beware of the monsters under our bed.

Whilst they hide in plain sight, all the demons in their head.

© Abirami

7 Cheats to having a Perfect Day 

  1. Wake up on the right side of your bed. Apparently there is a wrong side, so the other one must be the right side.
  2. Better yet, don’t wake up. Sleep in all day. It’s fool proof. Not a thing can go wrong when you’re asleep.
  3. If you have been forced to wake up, start off with some yum grub. Food is the next best thing after sleep.
  4. Go on a long walk. Maybe even run. Running from your problems is a really effective way to stay happy. I’d know! I’ve been doing it for 19 years.
  5. Take a nice long shower while contemplating cruel ways to punish those who dare to annoy you.
  6. When you’re choosing what to wear, make sure your clothes are of idiot repellent fabric. If there are chances of a shower of stupidity in the daily forecast, you don’t want to get any on you.
  7. Before you leave the house make sure you grab some tolerance and ignorance. It has to be of the right balance other wise it won’t work. Then wrap it up with a sense of humour so that it lasts all day!

– The Obsessive Writer.

What kind of a writer am I? 

What kind of a writer am I,

If all I can write about is love or hate.

What kind of a writer am I,

If rhymes are the deciding factor of my fate.

What kind of a writer am I,

If truth is my prominent style.

What kind of a writer am I,

If nothing I write makes it seem worthwhile.

What kind of a writer am I,

If my choices are the roads less travelled by

What kind of a writer am I,

If I knew the darkest corners of the world but had to ask you,

“Who am I?”

– The Obsessive writer.

© Abirami

The Life of a Writer.

A life on clouds made of what could have beens, where obvious thoughts always seem out of reach but conjuring up new worlds is as easy as breathing. A passion fully driven by the fear of censure and miniscule hopes of recognition. What was reality yesterday fades out of memory today and comes uncalled tomorrow. Determination that turns into procrastination after sudden fits of inadvertency as the goal is never permanent. A convenient oscillation between accomplishment and pleasure which once started out as the same thing. It is a life of delusional captivity.. a delusion that seems real enough to believe in, letting loose the grasp of reality.

© Abirami