The beautiful thing about being ugly is that you can only surprise...

You're beautiful.

In the oddest way.

Like acquired taste.

Like Caviar.

Bitter at first, and you can't see what the fuss is about.

Never certain whether you like the taste,

You keep coming back.

Keeps you guessing.

I never know what you'll say next.

I never know what to expect.

Sometimes it stings, sometimes it burns.

But I do it anyway for the some sometimes

When you make me smile in that queer way

That makes everyone look our way.

And wonder.

You're beautiful.

In the scariest way.

I don't know any cause for your cryptic beauty.

I just can't get my mind around it.

So that way, it can never fade.

If you never knew which shade

It was, to start with.

When things go bitter,

And things go wrong,

I tune right out.

I turn it off...

Oddball, we're ugly.

You and I.

But the beautiful thing about being ugly is that you can only surprise.

You're brilliant. Uh-huh?

If.
And with thirty days to go, it has been reduced to such a tiny, miniscule if.
If.
I was to completely, wholly and perfectly screw up.
Then…?

I will regret it, right?
I will think of the hours and hours invested on twitter, facebook and msn.
I will think of how my phone had come to seem like an appendage, how I had talked for hours and hours.
I’ll be stumped for something to say.
I’ll feel stupid.
I will end up going to college with mediocre intellects like me who were either too mediocre to make it, or too arrogant to work for it.

It’s not like I don’t want to get into college. I do. Just not as much the next kid is all.
My reasons for working are so superficial I don’t have a chance.

I want to be able to say that I go to so and so place.
I want to soak in the intellectual arrogance of knowing that I creamed another 2 lakh applicants to get in.

That’s it.
I want to be able to write better, learn more… But in my head institutionalized education has become synonymous with illiteracy.

But hey, that’s my favorite excuse. The word excuse is a joke. If you admit its an excuse, its not an excuse any more, and the truth becomes a warped contraption wrought in your head. Ha, Rot in your head.

Someone recently told me I was brilliant.

Now, it made me feel happy at first, and then it burst and I felt hollow. And stupid. And gullible.

Why was I being told I was brilliant?
I had nothing to show for it.
Brilliant? If that’s the case, I’m clearly letting it rust and waste away.

Or it was just smug reassurance. Notice how the people on top are so quick to reassure, “Don’t worry, I know you can. You’re brilliant; you just need to work harder.”

First, the fact that I need reassurance implies I’m not really that brilliant.
Second, why do I always fall for it?

THIRD, if I’m so brilliant, then why do I have to work harder?

I don’t want to work.
I want to be brilliant.
Effortlessly.

If I screw up.

Then the system will dump me in the corner dustbin.

And I will not owe it anything any more.

If there I grow, the harvest is my own.

Drag queen, I'll go if its what you need.

Love of

Touch and go

What other kinds

Do you know?

Tearing at the seams,

Hanging on paper thin promises,

Cradled by the membrane

Of lie or leave.

So judgmental,

What other kinds do you know?

Catch fire when you step too close,

Disappear if you dare walk too far at night.

Shooting stars

Have dates to keep.

Another time and place to be.

Half a mind,

Half a glance

Is all you can ask.

Hearts?

Never stood a chance

Against

Love and its fleas.

Highway drag queen,

Shun me if you will…

But hey, tell me once,

One other kind you know.

A bit, a piece, a part, the world apart.

You can't imagine what you've done
How much you changed,
You made the world
Shift its tectonic
Platonic plates

Don't believe me when I say,
I wish I'd never met you.
Cause I don't wish that.
Not even close.
Not nearly far enough.

You turned the world on its head,
And found the blood rushing
Upto your head.

You didn't understand.
Will you ever?
You can't imagine
How much it hurt to know you.

And further still but deeper down,
I know
In my tiny, insignificant
Collosal
Vague
Untelling way,
I'm glad I met you.

Someday you'll understand,
And figure out that its about you.

A bit of me hopes you never do.

The Stories Left To Tell...

When the world has spun around,
And every fool’s had his turn,
And every story to tell
Has been told time and time again…

When someone else stole the words in your head,
When someone else captured a moment of your intend,
Cause we play by turns,
Or not at all.

When the silence seems to slow the world,
And your mind searches for
stories left to tell,
And comes up with nothing,
The evening trails off…

More stories to make,
Other people to tell.

Its then
That you find stories
Can’t be told again.
And other people don’t understand,
And when you’ve left the world behind,
Or been put aside
That the only stories worth telling
Are the ones left to tell.

That’s when you see
That the stories left to tell
Are for you...
You chase to capture
The old life…

The Stories Left To Tell…
Refuse to unfold.
The stories left to tell
Make no sense at all,
Or much too different a sense from out intend..
Without the stories that have gone by.

They mean well,
But they don’t know…

You chase, and chase some more…
To find the ones that do.
But the world has spun around,
You forgot…
We play by turns.
Or not at all.

Moth-Eaten

I have nothing to say.

No inspiration to give away.

No knowledge to boast.

No solution to dispel your fears

I have not one intelligent thing to say

No original thought

Nothing different today

No genuine feeling

No stand to make

I have nothing to offer you

Nothing at all

My friends tell me I’m seventeen

I’m not to have it all

Figured out.

I wish I could save you

I feel like I ought to

Like I should know

Like I should be able to turn this around on its head

Shake it out for some long forgotten pennies

I’m asleep in my head

I have nothing today

No clever thing to lighten the grey

No poetic thrust to hide the cliché

Nothing to bring you back to life

We sit here,

Two juveniles

No answer in sight

A moth-eaten girl,

And her failed respite.

(:

"Dream like you'll live forever, live like you'll die today."
James Dean <3