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

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

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

Word vomit 

The words our souls bleed, bandaged every day. For the world would be too quick to judge anything you had to say. It’s a free world, without freedom of expression or thought. And a life that rhymes with irony more often than not. 

© Abirami

What’s your story? 

It could be another common tale, or unequivocally one of a kind. However, it is important that you have a story. 
Of course! you’re probably on your bed right now, coming up with the best plan. A plan that will change everything. But, plans are for tomorrow. What about today? 

We’re all dreamers. But very few of us, chase those dreams. What good is dreaming when you can’t make it a reality? 

At the end of a bad day, instead of cussing the universe, I’d rather pat myself on the back for having made it through and dust myself off for a new day. A new chance to get things right. 

– The Obsessive Writer. 

THE THINGS WE DO FOR LOVE. 

We have all fallen victim to, and indulged in the delivery of some cheesy lines. We do this sort of thing. Make promises of forever. It’s not much of an exaggeration as it something we say in the heat of the moment. But when push comes to shove, what would you really do for your loved one? How far would you go?

Most of these promises we make, are about situations we’d most likely not encounter in daily life. I’m not a soldier, I don’t think I’ll ever have to take a bullet for anyone. I don’t think I’ll be scaling mountains for anyone any time soon, seeing as I’m not an avid trekker. 

When I think about all the things I’d do for love, I guess the first and foremost thing would be to make real promises, about real things, you’d do for them in – yes you guessed it! -REAL situations.

I promise to be there for every little thing, because when it’s you, nothing is little. I promise to put your feelings above mine when we fight, because you matter more. I promise to shower you with love, whenever you’re sad so that you always have a reason to smile. Life will be hard. There’s no denying that. But, I promise to stay by you no matter how hard it gets.

– Abirami.

Why?

A tiny speck of dust, I, float in measureless oceans of space. All I am is a vacant stare amidst a seemingly sophisticated world where I will never belong. Lost in a trance in a crowd doing the happy dance. Will faking a smile earn me an offer to stay? I never think twice about the price I’ve had to pay. Yes there was once a time when I would have liked to be understood. The time when I gave up reality for delusion, endorsing a new attitude and a made up passion. You see, the safety of monotony can mask the missing happiness.

© Abirami