Yack it out.

The fine art of talking has always eluded me. It has made me land in deep shit, sound rude when all I meant was a joke, sound over indulgent, sound over friendly and has led to create a lot of misconceptions about me and of course at times made me look too available.

But the thing that I don't get is, whats wrong? And whatever is wrong, is it wrong with me or the way people think? Am I blameworthy in the statues of the world?

I sometimes blame the place I was educated in. 

Sometimes myself for being carefree.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm a helpless desperate asshole of some kind.

What ever the scenario, I have just realized that my thinking capacity is not at the level where I think it should be. 

The fault actually I think lies with the trauma that I was born too lively. And the liveliness that's a part of me is giving me loads of trouble keeping off people and things. 

I just fuckin' don't seem to get how to be formal and friendly and warm at the same time not make myself look like a wannabe bitch.

I really wish time teaches me how to talk. And behave myself. And conduct myself properly, so that I dont embarrass the ones I represent in society. The beautiful people in my life I cherish should not be lost to me for this...
O God. Please.

Peace.

I know why the Caged Bird sings.

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hillfor the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom. 

-Maya Angelou

And Then.

I wish there was that one person in my life I could simply take for granted. I could be the unthinking bitch speaking out things in the crudest rawest terms and the person would take it all and still be there with me.

I always wish I could sell what ever I have, and go back to that day and age when one anna was a luxury.
I won't have to work and toil.
I won't be stricken by the advent of the temptations of this globalized day and age.

I wish there was an actual escape from the harsh realities in the world.
That secret haven to find solace and rest, something not as permanent as death.
The haven where I could come back from. And feel the rejuvenation.

I wish I could make you happy, be the one who completes you. Be the one you are content with. Be the one who's your haven.

I do wonder...if it's too much to be asking for. Too much to want. Too much to need.

The answer is always 'no'.
I'm just wanting a Grecian symmetry to life. A harmony, with nothing wrong.

I'm just, in my own way, seeking happiness , in the way I see happiness.

and then, it also occurs, "Perfect" is too much to ask for.

Confused Affairs.

There are many dumb ways in which people behave when confronted with the one person they want to have in their lives. They could blush furiously, become as tongue tied as the earphones that come out of your pocket, or just blabber.

But, I had the the opportunity to meet a girl, who when confronted by her Mr. Perfect, makes him feel like the biggest burden in her life, the one hurdle she wants to walk over, the one person she does not want to see, when everything she feels for him is exact opposite.

She will go to great lengths to achieve the feat. She won't talk, or even look at the guy. He, who is the cause of the biggest absent mindedness of her life would become the one guy who'd feel that he would give away anything to be anywhere else!
And it does not stop there! She would, and she will take a flight the moment she sees him approach. The most recent one being that she liked a guy, to whom she made known her feelings, with the very finality that she won't meet him again (beat that). And as fate would have it, she did see him a year later in the most unexpected circumstances. I had difficulty digesting what she did next...she took of the heels she was wearing, and ran. Right in front of his eyes!

Now the narrative is not to poke fun at anybody. But just a wondering thought, that if everything is planned in the sub-conscience, then are we actually using that part of our senses to bring misery into our lives?

Why in hell's name would one want to antagonize the person one loves?

And why the hell do we more often than not consider ourselves not worthy for the person we love?

And some questions that always haunt me are that why are we so complicated? Why can't we just tell some people that we love them and be done with it and not care what happens next? Why do we have to be such egoistic fiends and care about the outcomes and the blow to our pride it will cause?

Why can't life simply be perfect?

And then the answer that always comes to me is, predictability is so very dull. Don't you think?

Smeared. But hoping.

To be in pain,
To hear the words you do not wish to,
The voice inside then says, "I hope I could disappear, and when I come back it will be perfect again."
Wondering, thinking, What the hell's to be done.


To hear that to have you is a loss,
To console even through the pain,
And then to hear them abuse your care saying, "Stop acting like you care."

To be unable to talk when things can be made right.
To be unable to say the right things.
To wish the person would calm down so you can talk,
And when they do, to be blamed for the silence too.


And still hoping,
Through the stabbing pain,
That,  "I'll somehow make it okay."
I will try again.

And I shall Return.

No matter how hurt I am.
No matter how much pride I claim, Whenever I break,
You will be my solace, To whom I shall return.


When I see myself surrounded by those,
Who have made me doubt my very integrity,
When I start questioning my inbuilt strength,
You, my guiding light, to you I shall return.

When I feel the darkness of despair,
Engulf me, in and around me,
When I feel no power to move on,
With every belief you're there waiting,
My strength, to You I shall return.


But when I find that,
You my love, are no longer there to hold me,
when I find myself being curbed,
When  my weakness gives way,
When I'll feel my knees wobble,
in the weight of pain being thrashed at me,
Then, in my memories of your arms around me,
To them, I shall return.

And I'm sure,
It will sustain me.

And to them I shall return. 

Uncertainties.

They lurk behind the scenes.
 We run. Run far away.
 Escape them for a transient moment.
 Moment enough to take a deep breath.
 It's all fine. All fine till the moment we breathe out.

 And then they reappear again.
 Making us wonder what we've done,going to do, might do.
 Logic says, "It's either yes or no."
 Love is there or its not.
Either you're dead or alive.
Either you want or you don't.

 But the uncertainties still lurk behind the scenes.
 Making us human. Teaching us lessons. Helping us survive.


 And then, we make the choice.
 And life goes on.

 And yet! Yet the uncertainties lurking in the shadows causes within me fear unwarranted for.
I can't run from it.
I can't face it.
I can't stand it.
Just can't live with it.

 But it persists.
And then, life goes on.