Hope Is All Too Common An Ail

What’s going on with the world?

How is everybody at peace?

The depressed are sent to therapy,

But who make no sense are those that are happy.

Your unsuspecting well-wisher,

Wonder what they do, when you’re not around to hear.

Have you ever wondered what everybody thought?

The angel in your mind is someone else’s thot.

You ever try to make a change?

Made empty self promises to never be dubbed deranged?

You ever feel so proud?

Then watch your strength shatter as you’re shot down from that cloud?

Why try when you’re guaranteed to fail?

Hope is all too common an ail.

©️ Abirami

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The Self Proclaimed Loner

Even the middle of a mob can be a lonely place

To a self proclaimed misunderstood soul

Do I not know what to say?

My words seem to reach their ears

But all meaning simply echoes away.

Do they live a life so different from mine?

We all feel, bleed and heal

But somehow I feel less important pain.

It’s funny how,

When you’re dealt a bad hand,

And you’re looking for someone to blame,

The first victim is always on the other side of a mirror.

Its tragic how,

You give your all to someone,

And receive nothing in return but shame,

The expectant fate of an obedient giver.

In this particular lonely corner of a crowded room,

I ask myself,

Can a soul be so misunderstood it doesn’t understand itself?

©️ Abirami

Afraid

Afraid to love;

It is a tremendous burden to bear,

To have somebody.

Afraid to lose,

It is a pain unlike any other,

The soul’s malady.

Happiness is a precarious possession,

To a heart soon to be destitute of love.

For there is a fate worse than death

To live, but never whole again for another breath.

©️ Abirami

Makeup Routine

Every morning like clock work

With the rise of dawn

Arises my need,

The need to cover up.

A few strokes of brushes,

A few dabs of paints,

When I’m done and look in the mirror,

I wonder,

What did I spend all this time covering up?

Imperfections or my identity?

Too bad they don’t make concealer for your personality.

©️ Abirami

Obsessed

To all the writers out there:

It’s not real unless it’s obsessive.

We all dream. But, you don’t deserve it unless every minute of your life is somehow a journey towards it.

We all love. But you don’t belong together unless you share a passion that drives you insane.

You can write pretty words, think easy thoughts. It might even please the crowd. But you’re not really writing unless every word you write is a window to your soul. The truth is ugly. It doesn’t rhyme. Sometimes it doesn’t even make sense. But the moment you stop caring what others think, you will discover yourself. Maybe they’ll like it, maybe they won’t. At least, it will be real.

So darling, stay obsessed. Make every choice like there’s no consequence. Live every fucking moment like you’re about to breathe your last breath.

– The Obsessive Writer

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

Day and Night

A raging ball of fire slowly slips into the shadows. The darkness embraces the light, and gives birth to the night. The gold turns to silver, all the noises now merely a quiver.

I hear nothing.

I see no-one.

I am relieved.

Little by little the dark fades into lighter shades, the moon leaves to light the sun ablaze. The world comes to life and with it, it’s strife.

I hear lies.

I see liars.

I am betrayed.

© Abirami.

The Girl in Love

You wield your cold, steely eyes like a deadly weapon.

Each stare is a merciless stab to the heart.

As I bleed out from the gaping wound,

Nobody comes to rescue the girl in love.

Every touch sends chills down my spine,

You suffocate me with your smouldering smile,

As I pant out of breath,

Nobody comes to rescue the girl in love.

You are my ocean of endless trust,

In you I drown, with complete submission.

As I enslave my heart to you,

Nobody comes to rescue the girl in love.

© 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

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