Wordless

Blink. 

The bleariness

Away. 

The world comes into vision.

Alive.

Exhale. Blood thrums

Trepidly through my veins;

My heart despondently

Aches again.

Perfect

Everything is

As it should be,

More than I dreamt

I'd ever see

Yet here I lay

My lips mourn

A kiss they never felt

Tears roll from my eyes

At the absence of the nonexistent

Different

He said that we're too
Different, as if rain
Can't softly fall into
Sunlight's kiss.

Darling, I
Will miss you
Each day
In the same way

The sun's rays
Pour over the horizon;
In search of the clouds
That once gave it shelter.

Sketches

'Sketch me as I am'
She whispered.
His eyes burned
Into hers
Quietly searching
Before he nodded;
Revealing a
Blank page.

24/05/2014

Love, let me
Press my lips
To yours
May they tell you
In a kiss what
My words could not;
Cannot.

19/05/2014

She saw love as
Fresh & clean & pure
But love is raw
Ragged edged

Love is two souls,
Dusty, naked;
In vulnerability
More sacred.

Cherry Stained

He left a mark
With cherry stained lips
The colour of
Scarlet blood

Unravelled her
Twirling crimson
Ribbons around
His fingers

16/05/2014

14/05/2014

His brooding stare
Liquid black desire
Stirred memories of
Every raspy breath
Every reverent yet
Desperate kiss
Every arch,
Ache

Medicine.

She stared at her hands;
Hands that cradled
The delicate lives
Of others

Two hands to heal;
Two hands subject
To human error.

09/05/2014

I do not lie
Perhaps that's why
My eyes remain
On the ground

If I avoid your gaze
You won't see
The quietly broken
Pieces of me.

Suffocation

Writing to cut loose
The chokehold
Of life's noose
Blunt blade;
Strongly woven rope

And I can't
Get the
Words out
Fast enoug-

07/05/2014

Our eyes lock
In still silence
Yet each syllable
Of every
Unspoken word
Sounds clearly
From his gaze;
The naked truth.

05/05/2014

Each kiss
Left an invisible stain;
A trail of chaotic
Thought in its wake.

Indelibly marked
By his love;
Inside
Out.

Feather

I wish I could leap
And never touch
The ground;
Suspended
Floating
In eternal
Weightlessness.

02/05/2014

02/05/2014

Liquid anger drips
From furious eyes
I sharply exhale
The infernal rage
Fiercly burning
In my chest
Blocking out
Words
Images
Memories

Riptide

Abruptly caught in a riptide
The current drags me
Against my will
Gasping
I can barely
Breathe
Head beneath
The surface;

A drop ahead

01/05/2014

Living In Fear

Living inexplicably
In fear of a repeated error
Once I let go of hope
Too easily
Now I fear it
Being snatched from me.

Frameshift

I feel a change;
A transition.

An alteration
In the strength of my step.
A new emotion
Stains my tired eyes

They do not look away;
They do not falter.

A change in my persona?

Or has time
Bequeathed upon me
A new found
Yet age old wisdom?

Detached Memories

Warning: mind ramble.

---

There are certain moments in life we remember with clear precision. I remember these with a sense of detachment; seeing myself walking through each moment, unable to stop forthcoming events.

1. The day my nan - or naniji - died. I was young. I didn't know her well. My mother picked up the phone, cheerily greeting her sister in India. Then she went silent. I remember how the thud of the phone echoed through the house. How my father dropped the tools he was using to tile the bathroom floor, running to her.

I remember tip toeing down the stairs; watching through the gaps between the banisters. My father held her as she cried.

2. January 2014. Another phone call - one a friend received. We were sitting in a computer room during a free period. She laughed loudly initially as she spoke - normal. But her tone abruptly changed; her laughter tainted with fear. Adamant her friend was telling her a sick joke. Then her head bowed, resting on the table. She left the room. Her friend was dying.

She died the next day. 18 years old.
She was broken. Tears flooded down the face of the girl who was, and is the definition of strength. Herself, another & I in an empty bathroom. I wished I could do anything to stop her pain; to bring her friend back.

Later I realised we were almost the same age. She had left lasting memories and strong relationships. While I had lived every day in the hope of achieving my dreams on another. I had put off things with the justification that the future would bring them to me; trapped in the limbo of the waiting game. Why was life cruel to her? She had more than I; why was it snatched from her?

3. Another childhood memory. The day before my great aunt died - an aneurysm - she happily sat with us at a family gathering. Chair adjacent to the door. To this day I still remember her smile outlined in rouge lipstick. Her kind eyes.

4. August 2013. Shadowing a junior doctor in a hospital in Cardiology. Seeing a dying man. Chesnut ward. His skin was tainted with jaundice. He panted for breath. His eyes stricken with pain. The pain of incapability clung to my chest - I hated not being able to help. Standing on the sidelines as a man was slowly dying. I can't imagine how he must have felt. Surrounded by the faces of strangers on your deathbed.

I think that's what frightens me the most about Medicine - not being able to save someone. And being the last person they see before they die. What gives someone that right? What can you say?

5. Bristol.

Thinking of the word makes me grit my teeth. Being borderline - being an almost grates on my nerves beyond measure. Images of every single MMI station constantly flash in my mind. Every simple error makes me clench my fists. Waiting list. Borderline.

Nonetheless, I am grateful. Being in the 1000 interviewees out of 5000 total applicants was something I never imagined possible. Besides, anger is good revision fuel. Whenever I lose hope, I pick up the Bristol prospectus, glare at the cover, shout a few profanities, before returning to work again.

Life is odd.

Lost

Lost;
Drowning
In a chasm of thought

Asphyxiated
My feet pound
Against the pavement

Desperately searching
For a glimpse
Of you

#poetheme

Black Waves

Walls of ink;
Black waves
Hurl her frail body
To and fro.

She lunges at the sky
To escape
The depths
That would consume her

Prose lifted her lips
Into a smile.
Music made her believe
In love, life and justice.

Like an artist spills emotions
In psychedelic splashes of acrylic paint
Like firewood tossed into a roaring flame
Each syllable that rolled off a worn book page
Each word cried from the mouth of a bitter musician
Resonated within her

But when she left her house
Stepping out into the violent daylight
Things were different.

Blinking, realisation filtered
Into her mind
As the sun's warmth washed
Across her surroundings

Her dearest writers wrote
Of what they wished would be
But who spoke
Of reality?

Sleep Paralysis

This describes the worst experience I've had with sleep paralysis. I'm not much of a writer, but because I'm too much of a  thinker, writing is a necessary trade off.

With sleep paralysis, I can't describe it - it's like a series of sharp pulses, heavy in sensation. Not the pain of a migraine - it's painless in all honesty. But more forceful; more potent. And all while this happens, you can't move. You simply must wait for it to end. It's not horrific per sé - but when you experience it, it's really not something you want to remain in.
---

Another late night studying
I sigh, crawling into bed
Preparing to experience
The daily onslaught that I dread

It gradually descends
Heavy, but painless
Like a ten tonne weight
Is being hooked
On my mind

Descending slowly
And thickly
Like black tar
Across a tattered road

Chloroform's twisted sibling
Rendering my mind aware;
My body chained.

I try and fight it
But who am I kidding?
Half asleep; fully exhausted
5.00 AM, I surrender.

Suddenly my
Limbs are locked;
Paralysed
All I see is black and
God I'm terrified

Like a wave it oscillates;
Briefly I'm free
But it returns, striking sharp;
I lay helplessly

The door appears to open
A heap of clothes
Resembles a demon
I tell myself it's not real
But my body still fails to feel

My mind drifts
But I remember too late
I should have stopped it;
Patiently wait

Faces appear
A child cries
A hoarse voice whispers
"You're going to die."

I tell myself it'll be over
But the faces laugh, knowing better

Inside I silently scream
Shut up
Shut up
Shut up
I've been here before
It will end
It will stop

Emprisoned in my own body
The one time I wish time to fly
It is infinite; a cruel mockery
Sick continuum,
Forbidden even to cry

Worse than any nightmare
I could conjure
Because I'm living a nightmare
I can't simply wake up from

If I could run
I'd sprint like Bolt
My lips would violently tremble
But I'm still at a halt

Slowly it ebbs away
But fear runs thick in my veins

I breathe;
It's finally over

But the wave crashes once again

Deathly Silence

Seeing those four words
The room suddenly went deathly quiet
No distant birdsong heard
No tears were shed.

How can one cry,
When countless hours before were spent
Crying in fear of seeing
Those very words?

Instead, here I sit.
Feeling nothing.
My body
My brain
My emotions
Under quarantine.

Typing
Meaningless words
So that my brain won't dwell
On meaningful ones.

I'm calmer than I thought I'd be.
Just cold. Shivering. Maybe it's the weather.
Unashamed. Not saddened.
Just annoyed at how I spent the last five weeks.

I won't cry;
I've wasted enough time.
I won't get mad
Even though I want to.

Most importantly? I will not become
The girl who almost got in.
I am still the girl who got an offer.
I don't want or need self pity.

Now is the time
To prove to
Every
Single
Motherfucker
Who questioned my potential
That they were wrong.

That's all.

I will get my head down
And get my grades

Their loss.

Questioning Everything

Lying on the floor
Why? I'm not quite sure
Simply letting my mind explore
Staring at the open door.

I laugh as my mind makes connections
Bitterly (of course)
Probably didnt elaborate on the perks of prosection
In my attempt to get on the course.

A door that was once open
My fault it's now closed
Perhaps slammed in my face would be more accurate
After all, this is a pity party in prose.

Worst part? It was in my hands
The consequence of which I cannot stand
Is there no reprimand?
No simpler alternative demand?

---

I've decided this will remain incomplete. I do not wish to waste any more time dwelling on a dilute tragedy, and I cannot simply delete it and erase it from my memory.

Ironically (or tragically) this was written the day before I heard. I generally get a sense of these things. Like St George's. When I visited the university, I had such a good feeling about it - and it worked out.

Anyway, time to move on.

(Running Advisable)

Short fused temper
Do not push me aside
You'll only strike a match
That lights a fire in my eyes

Acidic words? They corrode
Your own defence
Torment and shove? Well
You are a creature devoid of sense.

So continue to prattle
Just don't be surprised
The day you push me too far
I will rise;

Smiling,
Hand in hand
With a shovel.

Undefined.

Pseudonymous existence
Living a life of hopes
Fragile motivation
Sceptically pursed lips

Looking up at those
Ubiquitous cotton wool clouds
Floating in spring's
Pastel blue sky

I wonder what
Life is like
Elsewhere.

Speculating,
Whether at that very moment
Another looked up
And had the same thought.

Can't Say Yes.

Being stubborn is both a blessing and a glorious character defect.

Seconds away from tossing my economics textbook out of the window, my mother enters my room, telling me to sleep and stop working.

Without thinking, I automatically reply "No."

She smiles knowingly, and closes my door. I simply glared at my textbook, and continued stu(dying).

I don't know if she knows what she did, but I'm grateful nonetheless.

some dreams should remain dreams

I dreamt I couldn't save him.

He died before me.

Polite Smiles

Carefully sculpting her words
She constructs a wall
Plastering a smile on her face
To hold the bricks together.

Sometimes a crack forms
At the surface of her demeanour
Curious eyes peek through
To get a glimpse

She hurls the light elsewhere
Attention unwanted
Hiding under a blanket of darkness
Lips upcurling into a wry smile

All the while
They to understand
When she doesn't even understand herself
A person; undefined.

Patience Should Not Be A Virtue

Someone shackle my wrists
I'm addicted to getting my hopes up
Typing in meaningless letters
Every hour I log into my inbox

Hoping I see a little blue line
Hoping I don't see a little blue line
Seeing?
Nothing but grey.

Ironic. Most my age
Hope to see
a little blue line on
a test for pregnancy

I laugh, because
I could only tell you
About the immobilised monoclonal antibodies in it.

Guess I'm not your typical wayward teen
Who gets drunk and high at parties
Waking up with a mysteriously damaged spleen
Giving it up to any guitar wielding Lothario.

But I'm okay with me.
Only dependent on green tea
Getting by as a blip on the radar;
An anomale.

Arranged

I fear the day, 5-7 years or so away, when I come home from work

...to a family of Singhs, happily sitting on the sofa. Prodigal son (IT technician you see) between his prune-skinned grandmother with tufts of white hair, and his overweight father with a beard that required two glances to confirm that it was actually a beard (resembled furry road kill).

I'd blink in confusion and turn to my mother, glaring.

She'd grin, explaining "This is the nice family I told you about, here to see you - remember?"

I'd continue to glare as she cheerily lied through her teeth.

And before I know it, I'd be dragged away, given a scarf to cover my hair and shoved back into the room juggling Indian sweets and a tray of chai (made by the budding daughter in law to be of course).

I'm proud of my culture and heritage - don't get me wrong, but certain aspects of tradition irritate me beyond measure.

Violent Daylight

Violent daylight
Ultraviolet rays
Warm to the touch
Cancerous soirée.

Ultraviolet

He was ultraviolet;
Splitting simple words into
Propagating radicals
Of endless thought

Trapped

Trapped forever
In the web of his memory
Lavished by the kisses of
His false promises

Waiting
For the day
A lie
Becomes the truth.

Across The City

The sun splays
Across the city
Splashing rays of
Buttery warmth

Sky's lantern
Lighting a path
For morning
To follow

Morning Melody

I don't wish to hear
The morning melody
Signifying night's end

Prefer the timelessness of dark
Don't make mistakes here
I disappear

Day of Reckoning

It's soon
My day of reckoning
How I pray
I'm not another
Statistical casualty;
A faceless
set of grades.

When I Am Weak

The thought of you gives me strength.

When my will wavers
And my hope hides
I imagine your hand
Holds mine.

I picture you whispering
Three words
"It'll be okay."
Arms encircling my waist.

When I am
Rock bottom
Motivational crash
I know you'd wipe away
My tears.

Cliché
But I don't care
Because I love you
All of you.

Decisions

I can't believe how soon I'll hear from Bristol. I've never been more terrified. Of the outcome of their decision. And more importantly, how I'll react.

If it's positive, I'll be overwhelmed in every sense of the word with complete and utter joy. I never even thought I'd get an interview. I'd cry with happiness. Tears would freely flow, unashamed. I'd crack my knuckles and return to revision with the sole aim of obtaining three A*s. I'd live and breathe A level revision until results day.

If it's negative?

That. That's my fear. It'll crush me of course. I'll feel like a disappointment to myself; my family. All that effort; that day off. Sleepless nights. Weeks of preparation. I'll remain grateful for St George's - but I hope I'd be strong enough to focus on exams; not dwell on it for long.

I'm so scared. I almost don't want to hear from them.

Dear God, give me strength.

Satin Stream

I never was a morning person
But then I woke in his arms
To a satin stream
Soft yellow sunlight
Now I'm morning's stalkerish fan

#heartsoup

As Night Falls

Night falls
He wonders
If she's awake
Face illuminated by
His messages

He wishes
She lay
In the moonlight
Seeping through
His window.

Walking on Water

I close my eyes,
Ignoring how
They call it fake.
Faith keeps my
Feet moving;
My will won't break

Walking on water
I will not drown.

Painting In The Dark

Painting in the dark
Whispering words of crimson
Hands interlock, bathed
In midnight's hue
Lips exploring
The dark unknown

The Voice

A murmured voice;
Echo in the abyss
Reaches out like
Gnarled branches
To the sky

A lost cry
The requiem
Of her goodbye

---

I'm so overwhelmed by all of the RTs and stars I've been getting from the twitter community - in a week! I'm very grateful to receive such support from such wonderful people - it's nice to know that others find meaning in my poetic attempts.

Priya.

PS: you can find me at @peoplepuzzleme.

PS2: to clarify - I keep my twitter poetry here so that all of my words are in one place.

That Ubiquitous Fight Against Time.

The moon's cyan glow
filters through blinds
She works through the night;
Racing with stars

Battling against
Her dream's
expiry date

Speech

Will there ever be a day
When my lips are unbound and free?
Emancipated from the rusty shackles
Of social anxiety.

Danger of Reality

The danger of reality?
We spend too long
Contemplating how
Things could go wrong

Oblivious to
True beauty
Life's complex
simplicity

Canvas

Poetry;
Illustration of
The mind's
Canvas.

New Life

She watches her past
Slowly burn
Until only
Embers remain

New life ahead
Forbidden to look back
Her patchwork heart
Would only crack

Oak & Whiskey

Her memory is jolted by
The scent of aged oak & whiskey
Reminder of the love
That'd never replace

His bitter muse
43% ethanol.

Literary Antidotes

Poetry; an antidote
for the overthinker.

Morning

Sleep calls
When birds
Begin to sing;
Melodies
Warm and
Welcoming

Morning is nigh.

#micropoetry #productivenight

Moonlit Madness

We live for moments of
Moonlit madness
For wholehearted smiles;
Unequivocal sadness.

Searching for he who
Sets your sky ablaze.

Russian Roulette

His words evading
But his lips so serenading

his hand
hovering over
the trigger.

Russian roulette
Stupidly mistaken for love

Cloak of stars

I wrap his memory
In a cloak of stars
By day, hidden away
From my sanity

Sun out of sight
it unravels by night
No sleep for me.

Fire

Flames of anger soar
And rise; indignant cries in
The fire of her eyes.

#haiku #micropoetry

The Doctor

Hello sir! What
Troubles you today?
Says the doctor
It's often this way

A smile at the
Surface, but beneath
Clear as ice:
One simple mistake and
The patient pays the price.

---

This is what scares me the most about medicine. Knowing that the lives of others will be in my hands. I don't want to do accidental wrong. Heck, I don't want to do wrong, period.

But I'm only human. And humans make mistakes.

Perhaps I should pray to delay the onset of such humanity.

5 am fancies

5 am
Nears again
My brain whirs
Mechnically
I still remain

Faced with the dark
Eyes wide open
Searching
Foolishly
For answers

#micropoetry

3 am thoughts

Unsurprisingly
He makes
A grand entrance
Into my 3 am thoughts

I'm annoyed (of course).

Sigh

She doesn't remember
How I held
Her wrinkled hands
When she lay unwell.

A hollow shell
Melancholic reminder
Of she who once
Knew me so well

Haven

He finds shelter
In the haven of her hair; in
Mahogany wisps and
Cinnamon curls.

Realising, the
infinite delicacy
of a simple moment.

Tomorrow

I fear
what tomorrow
brings
every day.

I wonder
if it'll justify
me behaving
This way.

Side note: I've decided to feed my fixation with poetry by setting up a twitter account - who knew a community of poets existed here? You can find me at @peoplepuzzleme

I'll be posting some of my twitter creations here also (like this).

I Write

I write to replace
The woes of my mind
With the spark of dreams.

I write
To part from worries
And past troubles.

To breathe.

#micropoetry

Slipping

I can feel myself
beggining to fall back.

Conscious of it.
Wary of what it is.

My willpower wallows;
My motivation
Is gradually ebbing away,
Like flyaway grains of sand in an egg timer.

I want to stop myself; break the glass.
Before it's too late.
Before fearsome thoughts
Become unretractable actions.

Before I permanently imprint the errors of my lacking resolve on my life.

Dear God, help me prevail.

Still

Distance

If I don't stay away,
I'll be closer to and further away from you than before.
I, holding questions in my eyes, while
You merely glance in my direction.

And thus I draw a line under what I wished could be.

Fear

You've done all you can
Worked hard
Cried hard
Sweat hard.

Emailed people until they respond
Stressed endlessly
Learnt every detail needlessly
It made you grow stronger. Work harder.

Yet you can't help but bite your nails -
Knowing that you're in the unknown.

When all you've wanted is being held away from you at arm's length, all you can pray is that hard work pays off.

Because if it doesn't, then what does?

So close to reaching the final hurdle, it'd truly suck to get knocked down now.

The Tide.

At times like these I wish for him.
He'd kiss my cheek and hold me tight.
A lover's caress or
An arm around my shoulder.

When the yellow glare of tomorow
Binds my lips, makes me tremble.
He'd pull away the ribbons of fear
That cling to my very being.

When I'm dragged backwards,
Self branded a failure.
He'd soothe my wounds;
Ease my pain.

At times like these he'd guide me to clarity,
His hand gently placed in mine.
Through the hazy blur of everyday life
To the blanket-like warmth of being content.

Perhaps I Overthink

It is on this dull day,
That, I wonder:

What is on the mind of the wonderer?

Jewels? Treasures?
Surviving extreme measures?
Exotic escapades and delightful leisures?

Or perhaps not.
The wonderer possesses time; the thinker possesses reason.

But is reason always reasonable?

Aha! Is it is witchcraft, or sorcery?
Voodoo dolls and black magic?
Or maybe how their reality is truly tragic.

Oh, tragedy. Such a divine thing.

The thinker holds false rationality captive;
The wonderer ponders - watches and waits.
And waits. Until the right moment has arrived.
Waits, until their whole life has drifted into desolation.

Then head first, they plunge into the deep end.
Hoping, so desperately! So earnestly!
Yet never quite achieving.

Dreaming,
yet always fading into the dark,
- yet almighty -
abyss of their mind.

When Words Fail,

I let my piano do the talking.

Current obsession:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-3GIuIcCNiE&feature=youtube_gdata_player

[Insert Motivational Mug Here]

As exams are on the horizon, I wanted to blog about what success means to me - and I gained more clarity on this through watching various TED talks, one of which is: http://www.ted.com/talks/john_wooden_on_the_difference_between_winning_and_success?utm_source=t.co&awesm=on.ted.com_i05ED&utm_medium=on.ted.com-twitter&utm_content=awesm-publisher&utm_campaign=

Ultimately, I believe that trying your best makes a successful person, irrespective of the outcome. When you achieve your full personal potential and defy the expectations of others. When you fall repeatedly, yet get back up again each time, even when the odds are stacked against you - that takes strength and shows resilience; the building blocks of a successful individual.

After all, we are the masters of our fate, and God is our guide; our teacher. When you are tested, how you respond is in your hands.

Consequences of Sleeping At 3 AM

Sleep paralysis as usual. Visions when eyes closed.

Then I had a dream. About Jack - he had decided to come to England on a whim. He'd brought his simple black rectangular suitcase. Hadn't spoken a word of explanation to the people he'd left behind at home.

One moment, I couldn't find him inside the house. Looking outside, I saw the silhouette of his skinny figure standing in the rain, suitcase by his side. It was dark; the amber glow of a single streetlight illuminated his backdrop as rain fell unrelentlessly. His head was bowed; sadness emnating from every inch of his stance.

I stepped outside, bare foot, and walked towards him, stopping when we were face to face, in the middle of the road. He looked straight at me, his gaze never faltering. I looked down, and gently took his icy hand in both of mine, trying to warm it.

"It'll be okay."

His other hand clasped ontop of mine. My eyes darted up to gage his expression - his gaze had softened; his lips upturned slightly.

"Thank you."

My own lips echoed his movement.

Suddenly I blinked and remembered where we stood - in the middle of a road, late at night, in heavy rain.

"Let's get you inside Mr." I grinned and began to walk him backwards, only to be held by his continuing grip on my hands.

"Jack?" I asked cautiously, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I really mean it - thank you. You never once questioned me when everything went pear shaped." He squeezed my hands. I simply smiled and stood on my tip toes; gently kissing his cold cheek.

During his visit he was quiet. I recall perceiving him as a child - even though in stature he stood taller than me. When we spoke he told me of how he was homesick, and of the cultural shock that he experienced. I understood more than he knew.

Glance

I wish that I wouldn't
And I wish that you would.

Perhaps it's best that you shouldn't
Because I pray that you could.

High Voltage In His Lips

Endless thoughts tainted
Red, with crimson promises
And scarlet kisses.

Surprisingly Thankful

A month ago, I found myself pondering about where my life would take me. I had three upcoming interviews to study Medicine, my notes were disorganised - I was generally a mess. But being where I am, in the state I am today, makes me surprised at how much an individual can change in such a short period of time.

A month ago, I blogged about my fear.

Today, I blog about my happiness.

Somehow, by the work of God, I have received an offer to study Medicine!! Thinking the interview went horrific, I even recall getting icecream for the train journey home, and solemnly consumed the calorific treat I would undoubtedly regret later. On that Tuesday, I felt as if all of my efforts to get to interview had been wasted - GCSEs, AS exams, piano exams, first aid courses, volunteering for a year, baking for charity, giving up half of my summer to shadow doctors, preparing and sitting the previously ominous UKCAT.

The following Monday however, at school, I went to the most hidden computer in the sixthform room to reluctantly check my email, half expecting the worst, and half expecting to see an empty imbox - the same inbox I'd faced the past few days.

But there, in my inbox, sat a blue line - a highlighted new email: St George's University of London.

In a panic, I immediately minimised it and gathered myself, before surveying my surroundings - nobody was close enough to see my screen. So, I clicked on the bar, and looked at the email once again. And blinked.

The title of the email: MBBS offer.

Ultimately, I feel incredibly grateful to be where I am. Almost like I don't deserve it. Several people I know didn't get a single interview, which angers me more than anything. I wish I could give them my other interviews. I hope that God gives them strength to try again, or find their path. I don't doubt that each and every one of my friends will be the masters of whatever career they pursue.

And now, me. I, have an offer to study Medicine; a chance to pursue my dream of becoming a doctor. It's really quite intimidating. But I've knuckled down, and buried my head in my books. I know that God will give me and my friends the strength to succeed and achieve our potential, and that fills me with determination. I still have yet to hear from UEA, and have an interview at Bristol ahead of me, in addition to exams, three months from tomorrow. But I feel mentally prepared for what I need to do, and I now how to do it this time round.

So, here I am. For once, behaving as the optimist that I frequently claim to be.

Einmal ist keinmal

Surprise

Just when you think everything is so wrong
You're at the brink of what you can handle;

Suddenly

It starts going so right.

Life really does work in strange, yet sometimes wonderful ways.

Hello My Old Heart

I'm crumbling before my own eyes;
My resolve torn between surviving and succumbing
To the darkness that waits patiently inside my soul.

That oh-so-familiar blackness,
Sitting smugly
Rearing its ugly head when
I least expect it,
When I least require it.

In my hour of weakness;
Time of reflection,
It'll whisper words into my mind -
Words that rapidly become fears.

Fear is an anchor.

My spirit plummets further than preconceived plausible.
I look around; I have been here before.
Taunted, reminded of mistakes buried in the past.
Haunted; what stops the past from repeating itself?

My fingers cross;
A cry to the patron saint of my fortune; my fate.
Inhale and exhale,
Breathing in dusty air.

I can't help but chuckle
at the action.
Dusty air bathes lungs
That have for long already gathered dust.
No words spoken; they were not necessary. My inner will has faded.
All I have left now is this blackness.

This blackness robs people of their spirits. Ironic, isn't it?

The only thing I have left will leave me with nothing.

I Wonder What You Think When I Cross Your Mind

It's a nice thought.
Someone thinking of you;
Missing you and your little quirks.

Your angry rants and awkward mumbles.
Off-key singing and apocalyptic stomach rumbles.

When you greet me with a single word; acknowledge me,
It may mean nothing to you.
But that one sylable; half a second of time
Lifts the corners of my lips from the blue.

Looking Up, I

can't help but think of where you are.

Ready?

Fists clenched,
Chin up,
No longer a test.

Jaw tight
Eyes wide
Have to be the best.

Day dreams
Night dreams
Led to a single moment

Some live for
And die for
Desires in the present.

Evening Walk

Clock

A ticking clock scares me.

Alone with my thoughts.

All I can think about is what will be. Where I will be in a month? Fear gnaws at my insides.

I can't help but feel terrified. For so many things. For so many people. The issue with me is that I care too much. When something bothers another person, I make it my personal mission to make sure they'll be okay.

I worry about my friends - will they get interviews? What if I waste opportunities that they could have had? I worry when they grieve a loss. I worry when they feel pessimistic.

I soak up the emotions of people who surround me like a sponge.

I worry for life. Who knew it was.so delicate? In two days, someone dear to my friend was taken from the world. 17. Young.

I worry for my parents; my grandparents. I can't disappoint them when they expect so much.

Ultimately, I don't want to fail. If I fail this year, I won't recover.

Scared.

But defiant. I will not accept the low opinions of others. Those opinions are tossed aside, like wood into a bonfire, until the only visible remnants are small glowing embers.

Wholly insignificant.

They fuel my anger. Make me strive to prove otherwise. And I will. Time will show them.

Untitled

Anger

It coarses through my veins
My blood boils.

My fingers itch for something
to pour out my frustration.
To empty out my worries
My fears.

Failure.
Disappointment.
Rejection.
Loneliness.

I don't want to think of these.
I don't want to - need to - think of these.

My hands long to cry on a piano;
To melodicaly thrash the ivories
Until I'm content.

Because I'm not.

I want to hold someone close
and punch someone in the face.

I want to be eternally silent
and shout until I'm satisfied.

But what I want isn't what I need.
And what I need?
Not what I get.

Perhaps I should stop expecting so much of people; of life.



Perhaps I should just stop expecting anything.

Deliberations

Shoved into the dark,
Blind faith my sole possession.
Simply awaiting
A single silverlining.

Answers

I'm out of the know;
In a new situation.

Effortlessly, they
flow; many conversations.

---

Not every question can be answered; some answers will always be unknown. Why you stopped talking to that person you held so highly. Why God took away someone you treasured from the world. Why someone thinks the way they think; why they do what they do.

These questions keep my overanalytical brain, well, overanalytical...and send me straight towards the kettle.

Dreams Of November

It was about a man; tall, pale skinned, coiffed brown hair, confined from its typical unruly state. A sleek black suit. Stubble dotted across his face; his jaw and hollow cheekbones.

He protected me. Sat by me in a black Mercedes.

I walked past the cemetry in Rochester, NYC, looking over the lonely tombstones. It was a cold night, my hands tucked inside my pockets. I breathed out clouds of steam that drifted past the glaring street lights, into the obsidian sky. I blinked, and the vapour had dissipated into the night.

Suddenly I was in his car. He was rushing me somewhere.

A restaurant. A flight of stairs; curved, going down. He grabbed my hand in his, pulling me with him.
Wrenched a white door on the right open, pushing us inside.

Lights off.

My hands pressed against his chest, which rose and fell in syncope with mine. No other sounds than our breathing, forced to be hushed. And then a sound. Outside, rapid footsteps. Someone sought but they would not find.

Onyx eyes looked down to meet my gaze. They held mine for a long period of time; in them I saw many of the emotions I held in my own. When his eyes darkened, I gently bit my lip.

He whispered my name.

His gaze wavering
between my eyes
and my
plum
lips.

He looked me in the eyes, his emotions conflicted.

His resolve shattered. Suddenly his lips pressed against mine, before stopping; moving away. Still partially paralysed in shock, my eyes only just opened to see him beginning to step back; insecure eyes seeking mine as an apology began to spill from his lips.

Before he spoke, tip toeing, I gently reciprocated. His hands fell to my waist, pulling me closer, his head tilted down towards me. And as we kissed, my hands raked through his thick, soft hair; our lips briefly parting before delicately touching again. He placed a kiss on the corner of my mouth; I felt his smile. My arms wrapped around his neck as I pressed my lips to his again.

They say a picture can speak a thousand words.

The beauty of moments like these is that words are no longer necessary.

Promise

Who am I darling, to you?

Hide and Seek

My eyes look
On and on
For a sign; something to spin
The cogs in my mind.

They seek; day in, day out.
For him; half a person.

Just like me.

The person who'll let me be.
And won't run screaming.
(Just kidding).

His imperfection would be his greatest quality.

He'll look after me, but let me take care of him.
Hold me, to give me an excuse to hold him.
It'll be unconditional; never temporary.
No end nor beginning.

Not a typical guy. He'd see the world in his own perspective.
Not obsessed with attaining wealth, money, fame, women.
Caring, compassionate. Witty, intelligent.

Most importantly, he'd be loyal. So that I wouldn't fear coming home,
To an unexpected other.

He wouldn't complete me; he'd make me better than I am.

Question is: where is he?

Hopefully not confined to my mind.

Why

Don't know why
I'm so badly affected;
Infected.

Stumbling across your presence,
my consciousness chokes. Logic ceases.

Don't know why
I can't stop glancing at you. You've said not a word;
Only played your guitar. Sung of daydreams.

I can't focus. My thoughts permeated by your angry croon.
I can't think. Go away. My window was open, and now it is shut. Pad locked.

I waited, but you never came.

Don't know why
Nothing makes sense anymore. My head throbs.

Fuck it. I don't want to make sense of this anyway. Do the honourable thing; piss off.

Longing

It's such a disgusting feeling, longing. That yearning that pulls at your insides when you want something seemingly unattainable.

It makes me want it even more.

On Judgement.

I walk through life calm and collected, taking each day at its face value. I spend more time with my thoughts than I do with people; peacefully empty, my words bound in shackles behind my lips.

I smile and nod when appropriate, look away when I don't know what to do. Connections are hard to form when you're as awkward as I. Knowing others, and others knowing me leaves me vulnerable; exposed.

Judgement of character. It leaves me frowning. As if knowing one small piece of information, hearing one sentence or seeing one act entitles us to make conclusions about a character.

Wrong. It does not.

Regardless of how good or bad a person, deriving immediate conclusions and making false assumptions about individuals often brings nothing but conflict. You, a human, do not know their intentions, their past and their present, their dreams and fears, nor can you read their mind.

Judgement on an individual's bad actions is not justifiable either; that individual, like any other, has the potential to change. A person is not defined by a moment of their weakness.

If an individual does seem to be going astray, onto the wrong path, rather than criticising or mocking, you must guide them back to the correct path. Violence needn't be used. Compassion, respect and kindness are essential for the sustenance of goodness.

Changes

He noticed. Me - 1, Invisibility- 1.

Salty Leave.

Hands clammy. Lips parted. Eyes squeezed shut.
I'm terrified.
Looking around at the rest of the room, I see reflections of myself in the people surrouding me. Anxious; fingers strumming, feet restlessly tapping, eyebrows furrowed. Sitting in beige plasic chairs in a long white corridoor. Eyes frequently flit back and forth between the floor and the coal black door. Someone in there is changing their fate.
We may be different, but today unites us - it's the day that determines what path we take. What we do in the next thirty minutes will decide whether we are successful. All that we've done; all of our achivements have guided us here.
Success is a hair's breadth away.

Photographs

Odd dream. Sitting in audiences of a talent show. People I know - but am not the slightest bit close to - who are on stage call me, telling me to hurry up. My parents' expressions reflect mine; their brows definitively raised.

I hesitantly get on stage, randomly standing behind one of the dance troop members.

"Not there," one of them whispers harsly, somehow managing to maintain her perfect smile as she looked towards the audience. I quickly shuffle to the right.

...

After the performance and the departure of the audience, we needed our photos to be taken. A lanky figure entered, brown hair framing his face. His eyes peeked up from behind his chesnut locks, scanning over the ensemble before pausing briefly.

Our eyes locked.

In one smooth motion, he raised his expensive looking camera that dangled from his neck and snapped a picture.

---

The Perfect Dream (Reality).

Laying in bed, my mind is briefly purged of yesterday's worries. I press my face into the white linen, snuggling in an almost cat like manner before two strong arms encircle my waist; a firm body gently lays behind me. His lips upcurl into a smile as they press against my neck; a greeting kiss.

My own lips echo his movement. I turn in his arms to face him; we're exceptionally close to eachother. I'm overwhelmed by a hundred emotions at once; existing in this moment was something I'd only dreamt of.

"Hey," I whisper with a smile, which quickly becomes wicked as my hands lift to playfully muss his disarray of hair. My laughter turns into a scream as his fingers tickle my ribs, his dark brown eyes alight. I quickly turn us over, his eyes now visibly panicked; knowing that he awaits the doom of an onslaught of tickling.

Seeing his expression however; his lazy smile, long wisps of dark brown hair framing his eyes, his plump raspberry lips pouted in protest - I simply couldn't do anything but press my lips to his.

In this moment, it was simply him and I, in our little bubble. We were emancipated from reality's troubles; finally free from the weight of everyday life.