Something

The somethings that you say to someones,
And sometimes the desperate anythings,
Do you think it’s to avoid that no one
Would be there to share your everythings?

It’s ok. We all do some things some times
That make us cringe and wish for anything else,
But it’s fine as long as it’s not every time.
Nothing lasts forever, anyways.

Just make sure that nothing makes you forget
That no one deserves you give your everything.
Until someone can handle anything of you,
Let this little something be a reminder to you.

The most amazing person

‘The most amazing person’

Is the hardest and easiest title to gain.

There isn’t, and there never will be

A test broad enough to encompass

All the skills and talents and traits,

Compress them on the same hybrid scale

And compare one person with the next.

‘Amazing’ is, has been and will be

So fundamentally subjective

That the only way to decide it

Is looking through the speaker’s eyes.

So you may contradict me all you like

But my thinking you are amazing

Is the only condition necessary

For you to actually become.

It may be only to me – but it always

Has been supposed to be to me only,

That you are exactly that –

The most amazing person I have ever met.

All the luck in the world

All the luck in the world

Can sometimes mean nothing.

Even genies have conditions –

Luck is easier sometime,

No number of wishes to fit into,

But it’s got its own restrictions.

If you’re lucky, your prince charming

Might spare you the second glance,

But it’s equally powerless –

Changing one’s feelings

And changing the world

Might as well be the same thing.

Luck gives you opportunities,

But wasted chances do nothing

To change the final result.

It’s up to you how you use

What luck has offered.

And there are, of course,

Opportunities that even

All the luck in the world

Couldn’t possibly give you.

There’s no going back,

No erasing the past,

No raising the dead.

When you think about it, actually

Luck doesn’t do much, does it?

So how about we assume

That we already have, each of us

All the luck in the world

And see what opportunities

It’s already given us.

For my gratitude

It’s so much easier to notice

The things that go wrong –

They have this obstinate ability

To dig their claws into you

And command your attention.

Thoughts of good things, of luck,

Are instead slippery, finicky,

Exhausting to tackle and hold down.

And it’s understandable.

Gratitude is a strange process.

How do you know who to be thankful to?

Do you thank God? Which one? Is there any?

Fate? Should you thank for predestination?

Karma? But then isn’t it deserved?

Isn’t this becoming a little like

Thanking for receiving thanks?

The universe? The time? The world?

Are you grateful to yourself?

That would feel quite odd.

Maybe some of the choices

Would be quite brilliant,

Feeding back into themselves

In a spiral of virtues, contentment.

But I never could managed that,

Being polite to an abstract.

So I will be using you instead.

No, don’t look like that.

Don’t shrug your shoulders.

I’m not that far gone as to assume

That you hold the bridles of the universe.

I’m aware that I’m sowing discord,

Pushing you up on that golden pedestal.

But please understand

That you’re just a convenient icon

For forces that I don’t understand,

That might just as well not exist.

So let me be in my happy heresy,

Let me make you into the greatest god,

So I have a reason to bow at your feet

And find all the reasons

For which I should be thankful.

It’s the only way that I know

To cheat at this game of life

And always remember that I am happy.

But I can wish

The sound of the rail. Mind the gap.

Faces coming and going on the tube map.

We travel that road so many times,

My laughter so loud to cover the signs.

I wish I would find the courage in me

To make you notice when I bump your knee,

To let my fingers linger in your hair,

And not make up reasons to seem I don’t care.

I want to put my palm on your cheek,

Turn you so you hold my gaze when we speak,

And dare lean forward, licking my lips,

Just in case you’ll let me leave our scripts.

You won’t. I know that. Makes me terrified.

So I stay a coward and I hide.

I can’t do it, put myself on that line

But I can wish, only wish, that you were mine.

Letter across time

Imagine two points in time,
A past and a future,
A younger and an older you.
You are allowed to send one letter
But only in one direction.
Which do you choose?
Funny enough, I think I’d rather
Do the one that doesn’t
Contradict the laws of nature.
I’d rather hear from my past
Than have to write to it.
What would I write, anyway?
I can’t tell her my accomplishments –
The path one should follow
Is not a decision you are allowed
To take from someone, even yourself.
I’d rather, instead, listen
To the way I used to think,
Have the glasses to look at the world
In such a way as to make it
Make a different kind of sense.
I change every day,
And I want to remember
How exactly I used to be and why,
To chuckle at my naivety
And breathe in the melancholy
Of all the road that’s already passed.
Whichever direction it goes, though
I think there’s only one thing
That I’d absolutely need to hear.
‘It’s fine. You’re happy.
I’m proud of who you are.’
Because even across time,
Past the limit of my memory,
Or glimpsing into a distant future,
I know this is the case.
Because it’s up to me to be.

 

Which way would you rather your letter go?

The 6 stages

There are six stages that I can tell.
Not sure what to call the first but an S –
A Slip, a Slide, or maybe
A Slow descent for some, sometime.
Then comes I for Ignore, when
It’s not that we pretend nothing is wrong
But genuinely ignore the simple possibility
That something might be amiss and go.
The third is the Acknowledgement,
A sweet momentary relief, not unlike
Being moody for a few long days
Until you have that Ah moment and realize
What time of the month it is,
And don’t feel quite so absurd anymore.
And in the rare lucky cases,
It also provides a solution to the pain,
In the same chocolate-y form.
The relief doesn’t last long enough though,
And on its heels comes swift Revolt,
A raging at the world and desperate search
For the misplaced cure that you once used.
It’s at least better than the
Blind stumble into disaster without cause,
And blaming someone gives you something to do.
Then comes Acceptance. Sweet and peaceful
As you remember the cure is only time,
And you finally allow it to yourself,
And instead of fixing things
You find make-do solutions
And relearn to work with what you have,
With a shorter fuse, an emptier canister
And only ever one day at a time.
I never managed to pinpoint Recovery
Despite its most obvious existence.
It’s impossibly gradual and fast at once,
And one day you just realize
That you look back and see yourself
At the top of that abysmally long trek up
And your smiles come easy once again.
That’s the process for me. S-I-A-R-A-R.
‘Seerer’, I suppose, it could be pronounced.
Not the most inspired acronym perhaps
But then again, maybe it was meant to be,
Because you need more seer(-er) powers
Than any possible oracle in mythology
To even remember there is ever an end
When you’re in the throes of that descent.

 

A/N: Some of you might have noticed lately from the subjects of my poems I seemed a bit down. I’m happy to say I’ve had a very quick A-R-A ark and am now much better. Thank you so much for your support and for always reading and commenting despite my changing moods. Love you all.

What do you guys think? Ever gone through this? Are your recovery stages the same when you go through a darker period, or are you doing things differently?