Pills

Green ones for my head, 

Blue before I go to bed, 

The white one helps me see,

Yellow, keeps me buzzin like a bee. 

The black one, like my soul 

Has a stench so foul. 

All these pills inside,

They’ve got me bleary eyed. 

How much can they really do? 

But make you a little less you. 

© Abirami

Triggered

It’s not about what you say, 

Or the things you do

Every second you breathe 

I am triggered by you. 

It’s either loving or hating 

There’s no in between 

I can’t live with you, or without you 

How can you be so nice, yet mean?

You’ve got my heart jumping ropes

You toy with my hopes

Then you sweep me off my feet 

Making this circle repeat. 

© Abirami 

War

Heroes speak of battle scars,

Knives and bullets that seared their skin,

The blood they spilled,

And the lives they lost. 

Little do they know about 

The wounds that words can cause.

They don’t know of all the haters 

The cowards behind masks,

And the sordid whispers they wield.

Lately, the battlegrounds have shifted

And wars are camouflaged in civilisation. 

© Abirami

Writing

Not knowing what to say,

Not knowing what to write. 

It has never been the issue.

Having too much to pour out,

That endless train of musing, 

It goes on a journey 

From too much truth to heartache. 

Putting pen to paper is like,

A vacuum to the heart. 

In the end there’s a dirty bag of poetry, 

And a soul drained of all emotions. 

© Abirami 

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