I do not write the poem
the poem writes me
I just open up the connection
I never wanted to love
never needed it
but love tapped me on the shoulder
and say, please let me in...
and at that time, I was bored enough
to try everything
even love.
no plans I make pans out
so I stopped planning
and started trusting
and floating
along.
I have more questions than answers
I have more traumas than happiness
I rather be distracted
than connected
I do not know why
because I know distraction is a lie
in the screen of my phone
instead of being present in my life
why
why
I know it is a lie.
Am I really too tired to give it another try?
have I really tired all the options,
except to die?
and why do I surrender to the lie...?
maybe I am more tired of the question
than the lie
maybe I wish there was a way -
that I could defend what happened between you and I...
maybe words hurt too
and I can't stand to see the tears in your eyes
your pain stabs me like a knife
still I bled out the words
still I try
no words can dry, those tearful eyes
no words can amend, everything that went wrong between you and I
your pain haunts my life