Spirits

His spirit was transparent.
His spirit was dark.
Camouflaged in dim lights,
muffled by screams louder than his own,
his spirit was stark.

It was his spirit that had convinced him,
that he could jump off great heights.
That he would land on his feet, and he had.
I wish coincidence wasn’t his ally so;
I wish he had fallen down, broken a bone,
and some more.

An artist like no other, he would sing for her;
an artist to no one but her, he could read her.
His spirit condemned, she once hid from him.
And I blame her still, for then
his spirit compelled him to hide from me.

His screams silent today, his songs an echo.
A forgotten memory, but are you really?
For ‘read more books’ weren’t
words by anyone famous.
Know that a decade later, I live by them;
they were words by my alcoholic anonymous.

My Two Cents

People are always on about living each day like you don’t have another. For about a decade now, I’ve been living like there’s no tomorrow. But it hasn’t been fun. It has been sad, really. Because at the end of the day, I wouldn’t have achieved my goals. I wouldn’t be sitting on a swing set in the clouds. And so I would cry. I wish someone had told me instead that the foreseeable future was a longer time frame than I thought it to be, and so wanted it to be.

I wish that for the past decade, I had waited for that one thing that I wanted, that one person that I wanted, for another six months. I wish someone had taught me patience. This year, I am going to be patient. And I’m going to preach patience.

I’m not old, but there’s always someone who’s going to be younger than me. To that person, this year, I’ll say this- wait. True, you only live once. But tomorrow is going to be a today too. And if you wait, it might just be a better today than today is. So be patient. Don’t wait for everything to come to you with the setting of the sun today. Instead, work towards it so that when it does come to you the next day, you can enjoy it. Breathe. Smile. And wait. Live. Live with patience and I promise you that that thing you wanted, will come. That person you wanted, they’re already on their way to you.

Stereotypes

I walk straight into stereotypes.
I cannot lift that heavy parcel.
I can’t parallel park too well, either.

I walk straight into stereotypes, for
my smartphone is no more than paperweight to me.
And speaking of weight, was that bread I just ate?
Late night Skype. Tears over my body type.

A literature student. I must hate Shakespeare, and I do.
Sue me. But first, why not have a conversation or two?
I walk straight into stereotypes, ghosts of reflections past.
A curse over my head, I was sleeping when this spell was cast.

I walk straight into stereotypes.
I live in a massive pink tent,
with teddy bears and pillows and a heart with a dent.
When I’m alone, I’m lonely; I want someone to hold me.
Only then do I think of you.

I walk straight into misunderstandings.
My humour is not a place where you want to thrive.
But my volatility is no excuse for you to hide.

I may walk into stereotypes,
but so do you, dear lover.
One thing that I should have done
is judge a book by its cover.