Soon

Some nights are beyond poetry

Some thoughts are beyond words

This tear-stained page is an ode

To that rupturing sob into the dark.

May you find peace soon.

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This is a sad one. I’d say bordering towards pathetic, but then again, the real question that will arise with that declaration is why do I think of crying as pathetic. At least I’m expressing myself, albeit privately.

I keep trying to write something these days, but I don’t want to bother anyone. This is me forcing myself out of that slump. I have a lot to say, I know I do, but I cannot see the point of it. It’s not that I think that others don’t value my opinion, I think that I don’t value my opinion anymore. What right do I have to be angry? I keep waiting for some tomorrow that will enable me to write about now with a sense of detachment. I crave retrospect. But to quote John Green, retrospect is a thing gained over time.

I try to write a poem about the sky and it’s angry. I’m angry. At the sky, at my friends, at my parents, mostly at myself. I am angry and I cry when I am angry. I’m angry at myself for crying all the time. When outside, I smile, but deep down, I’m angry at the universe for not being the way it should have been. I’m angry at the lemons I’ve been given. I’m angry because I’m not going to get to wear a saree to my farewell. I’m angry at my past self. I’m angry at my friend for not caring. I’m angry at my present self for caring. I’m angry that I have 3 back to back tuitions today. I’m angry at everyone for not noticing how angry I am.

I’m way too young to feel this old.

(On a lighter note, this is my 69th post. Nice.)