They say "I love you,"
But how am I supposed to know when they do and when they don't?
Isn't loving someone
Like the sparkling starry nights,
Like the mama birds returning to their nests with food for their little ones at night,
Like the old man who combs his wife's hair in the daylight,
Like the newborn's attachment to its mother,
Like the flying bird in cold weather,
Determined to find its partner.
Like the buds that grow to be a rose,
To be given to someone to propose.
Like the young couple’s fights and frowns.
How his sadness is hers, and they're each other's everything else.

But how does the love we try to find
Turn into the love we make, and it’s all about it?
Is it just the physical touch,
Or something deeper we can't fake?
Something so unbelievably magical,
Like riding unicorns with glittery wings
Through clouds named nine.

Where I can take him to be mine,
From where he can't leave like all the others did or (like fate forever entwined).
I haven't found him yet, but I will.
And even if I don't,
I have myself to love me still.

But oh, how I’d love to grow old with him,
Watching our little ones run around here and there,
Who are half me and half him.
In the home we create and build it with love.
Talking about the things that made us laugh
While we have no teeth.
Telling the coming generations about the love we had, saying we love each other still.

And when our time has passed,
May our love story be the guiding light—
The answers we searched for in our darkest nights.
A testament to the purest kind.

May they never feel alone, and see
The single thread weaving all around:
The stitches, the patterns it has been making.
The invisible string tying everything together beyond time.

For in the end, it’s not what we find,
But what we nurture inside, deep within our minds.

But how am I supposed to know it’s time
To nurture love for someone who may or may not be mine?

What does it mean to be real truly?
May be to get up elsewise each morning?
Or drink my coffee elsewise all the time?
To hush elsewise or sound for something?

To be real… What does it mean truly?
To meet rules, fashion or weather folly?
Or may be befit you? No love, no suffer, no joy,
No tenderness  - all’s a waste as an ice-lolly.

Don’t think about the sea while watching the sunset?
Don’t dream about the forest while listening to birds?
Don’t walk in the rain and don’t drip with wet?
And don’t have any feelings? No afterwords.

No. I decided one day to be real truly.
But I didn’t break myself while making the same.
I continue to walk in the rain, to drink my coffee.
And I will never tell a lie to myself again.

The clouds came down from the sky
They rolled over the hills
And decimated cities,
When the derecho came.

I want to feel something
Not just the blade upon my arm
I want to love someone
That won’t do me any harm
I don't want to cry anymore
I want more than just my blood on the floor
I want to know more
Than just my tears
I want to reach for something
Not just run from my fears
I want to feel like I’m enough
Am I enough?
I want to enjoy life with no strings attached
I don't want to dread being attacked
I don't want to feel alone anymore
I want to know what I’m living for
I want to end it all
But I’m still scared to fall
I don't want anymore scars
I’m not asking for the stars
I want to be worth anything
I want death to stop calling
I want to be loved
I want to rise above
This pain
I want the lies to stop replaying
I want to stop cutting
I don't want to find myself in the mirror
I want the truth to become clearer
I want to eat and not force myself to throw up
I don't want to grow up
I want to stop skipping meals
I never want anyone to know how it feels
I want him to come back
I want him to leave
I want to be on track
I want to believe
There is anything good about me
I want to stop feeling this self pity
But I’m done
I want to run
Am I good enough?
Am I worthy?

Be careful who you trust
Nothing more deadly
Than good intentions
Dipped in blindness
Nothing more dangerous than
Care without wisdom

The evil intent hides within the platitudes of the unaware
It hides like lions
Secretly in long grass
The archetypal wolf
In sheep’s clothing

They prey on your weakness
Their favourite victims
Are the young
The silent assassin
Predators creeping through the night
They Stealthily stalk your soul

The thief slowly strangling you whole
They seek to carve your soul
With knives like butchers
Hidden in friendly gestures

With the soft threads
Of a spider’s lair
They build a sticky prison
Laced with poetic thorn

The worst of all
They ask
Abandoned self
And we will love you more

As weak men
Love to shepherd
The strong
To quench their unconscious jealous

As some people wish to steer your choices
Because you trigger their own
As sme people wish to crush your ambition
Because they buried their own
A conqueror's hidden fear

But let your inner guide shine
Let the Lord God guide us home
To a promised land
Where there's no
Guilt, fear, or shame

As I push back
Not to hate
But to love
Love for self
As my soul whispers
With a silent growl
NO

A deadly stare
That can see into night
I pierce falsehood with soft glare
Not to fright
But to say I am here

Like a leopards spots
The more they rub
The more I shine
As I stand in truth
My real
Authentic self

Nayi jagah thi, nayi silsile
Chord ke aaye the sare hum sare apne purana mele.
Pehli baat, mila hath,
Mene paya jese koi apna sath.
Din b din guzerte gaye,
Kal k anjan ab apne bangaye.
Per khusiya kaha rehti zyada din,
Risto me aaya tufan bhi.
Per kehte he wo dosti hi kya jo tik na sake,
Ha narazgi aayi thi dono taraf per itni bhi nahi ki dil mil na sake.
Me naraz, wo naraz,
Phir bhi jaha piche me chhut jati, teachers ki dictation me thodi dhil ** jati,
Wo pichese chup chap dekhti, aake nazdik jorse wahi dohrati,
Use pagal ko lagta me samaj nahi pati,
Kon bataye use, wo sunke mann mein me muskurati.
Per us din muje bhi kuch gehra samaj aaya,
Sachi dost bhale ** naraz, mene to phir bhi use apne pass paya

I want to have you by my side
To share with you every insight
Is that too much to ask of us?
I really wish that we will last.

I feel a creative flow,
And something I haven't yet explored,
With you,
We can have a strong foundation,
I feel there can be more than imagination.

Dullness from our daily lives,
Distance is not how relationships thrive,
Feeling connection with you,
Your smile is soo beautiful, too.

I wanna hide because I feel so seen,
My mind is going crazy in between,
I want to be the perfect one for you,
But seeking perfection is committing to doom.

Entangled in insecurity, ready to give everything,
To build a life I really want to live,
And a relationship full of love and belief.

A few really good friends,
Room for ideas,
Maybe animals, too,
One for me, one for you,

Mostly I just want peace,
Feeling warm exciting breeze,
On my skin, everyday,
Meeting every sun ray,

Holding hands, yours in mine,
Our hearts intertwined,
Happily walking home,
After the day is done.

A hero to me is not just a person who died for their country
or went inside a burning building or stuff like that.
A hero to me is a single mother who survives every day by herself,
A teenager against all odds getting through life,
An alcoholic walking into a rehab center,
A father being not just a father
but a friend, caregiver, supporter, a brick wall for his kids.
A friend, who no matter what or how wrong you are,
stands up for you and takes your side.
A hero, who no matter how hard they are being hit or pushed or beat down,
no matter how bad they are emotionally or physically or psychologically,
they stand up and keep going.
They push through the pain of life, love, kids, work, school, drugs,
sports, parents, heartbreak, alcohol; that to me is a hero.
A person who isn't just there, but is there living, breathing, and surviving.

She came to the counter for her bridal bouquet.
Things were everywhere and cluttered.
Her flowers were on the counter.
I ring her up.

“Can I get a bag?” she says.
She leaves.
She doesn’t say thank you or goodbye,
which I thought was strange.
Just another crazy momzilla, I thought.
Turns out I was right.

My next shift, I get called into a quiet room with my manager.
I sit in a swivel chair, sitting up straight,
trying to look “professional”—
whatever that means when you’re sixteen.

“There’s been a complaint,” she says.
My heart drops straight to the floor.

Her paper reads:

Attitude Complaint.

I have an attitude?

“We use vases, not sleeves,” she says.
I didn’t know that.
How was I supposed to know that?

I don’t even remember her.
She seemed normal.

“It’s been a lot,” I say.
“That’s what I was going to ask you,” she replies.

Why am I here?
I come here to escape.
I come here to make money.
Not cry.

“Is everything okay at home?”
“Are you seeing a therapist?”

What do I even say to something like that?

“Yes.”

And now here I am.
In a back room.
A basket case.
Crying uncontrollably.
Because one customer decided
I wasn’t good enough.

Now here we are.
She’s reading off a three-page list
about taking orders,
doing things
the right way—
her way.

“Be descriptive.”
“Be more positive.”
“Represent the floral department.”
“Treat them with care—not knowing who they’re grieving,
or what they’re going through.”

I’m going through something too.

What if in that single moment,
I didn’t want to talk to a customer
like they were a God-sent angel from the heavens?

Am I not the sweet girl people say I am?
Were they lying?

Why does this happen to me?

That customer didn’t know—
My dad is in rehab for alcohol addiction.
I haven’t heard from my friends in months.
I hate the way I look.
I feel like I’m not enough for anyone.
I feel fat.
I compare myself to everyone.
And I didn’t want to talk to her either.

But the complaint?
I didn’t smile.
And I put her ******* bouquets
in sleeves
and paper bags.

That’s it.

That was enough to ruin my career in this store.
The one I started the second I turned sixteen.
The one I started because I loved flowers.
The one I went to—to get away.
To distract myself.

But every day,
I’m expected to smile.
To serve.
To fold.

Everyone’s grieving something.
But let’s be honest
I’m not sorry.