A dysfunctional relationship. ( exam series)

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It’s like a relationship.
A very dysfunctional one at that.
You don’t get me, I don’t get you.

Still we slowly try to amend our differences.
I by reading you and learning.
You by being well you
Awkwardly uncooperative
Very distant.
And hiding secrets I don’t know
But yet we work together hand in hand.
To save our relationship from the failure.
You’ll never understand me l I’ll never understand you
Eleven years we’ve worked
At finding out the truth.
We shall work a couple of years more.
And maybe our efforts will bear fruit.

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Wounded Warrior. (Exam series)

Because I’ve been showing more interest in writing poetry than theories of psychology and what not I have decided to make this a series, What will I use the random snapchats of my books for otherwise?

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I’m a bruised up warrior,

This battle has hit me hard.

From all directions,

And I’m just ripped apart.

But I face you,

Another day.

With my headache,

And my tortured brain.

Fight against you with my green tea,

And my highlighters aplenty.

While you try to attack me,

With definitions and theories.

This isn’t just a exam,

This is world war three.

Between you and me books,

Consider me hooked.

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An ode to exams. (Exam Series)

In the midst of studying for my finals, I penned down this piece

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26 letters, as familiar as can be,

Come together to form something absurd.

Confuse me,

Terrorise me,

Make me rethink my decisions.

A couple of pages 200 or so,

Filled with the language I think I know.

Then why is it so confusing,

Mind changing,

bewildering.

As I let you suck my soul,

Mind and body whole.

Dying slowly in front of you,

Books I love, but not you.

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For valentines 2015

Your love was a lie,
So were your words.
So many scars you left,
On my mind and soul.

I’ll forever remember,
You as not the one to run.
But the one to do something,
For the sake of anything but fun.

And as I sit here I realise,
You never were the man for me.
Maybe a man is not who I want,
Maybe it’s girls for me.

And sometimes it hits me,
Being alone is what I want.
Away from love and the likes,
Away from the truth of it all.

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Life.

This is most probably the darkest poem I’ve ever written.

Hollow hearts,

Hollow heads,

Hollowed brains,

Filled with the death.

Devoid of love,

Devoid of thought,

Devoid of actions,

They turn to rot.

Empty stomachs,

Living on air,

As sad as it gets,

It’s only our minds that have to be fed

Dying while living,

Living while dead,

This is life baby,

A few days and we’re dead.

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It’s 11:51, and I’m guessing I can’t procastinate anymore. I have no clue what to write about today. It’s too confusing. So much that I’ll let be a blank space

And Happy Birthday T. Swift, To breaking hearts and records and well, good use of red lipstick.
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So, why didn’t i post yesterday? well because i slept off and I knew what exactly i wanted to post. This. The twelve days of Christmas with who?, well my favorite author. YAY!

To see previous posts,

Day 21

Day 20

Why my favorite sort of pot is potter. Harry potter.

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English is beautiful

wpid-screenshot_2014-12-11-20-22-24-1.pngI have an English UT tommorow  (yes I studied) and a good friend sent this picture on a group in reference to other friends. You know people who go on to tumblr for cool lines and rebuttals, They should open their English textbook.

For yesterdays post, Day 21

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A book with character and history.

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The book has a lot of history behind it. Previously owned by two very smart students (one of them being a blogger) everypage has little bits of extra info and caricature. I remember spending an entire day just reading through the book and laughing at the memories left behind.

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A confined girl in a free world.

She was born in a country,

Where the people were free.

She had the choice to blossom,

And breathe in the fresh breeze.

Her parents were liberal,

The wanted what she wanted.

To experience nature, culture and traditions

Of the lands around she.

But then if she did step out,

To see what she wanted.

A million stares was she the subject of,

In the bus, in the car, in the train, even on the roads!

Heckling became a part of her life,

And pepper spray her bae.

It wasn’t what she wore, be it a kurta or jeans,

The stares and looks were part of her daily routine.

 

In the metro, in the bus,

It was like a daily massage,

A massage she did not enjoy,

But she had to bear.

Her parents were worried,

Their child had to be safe.

Safe from the dangerous world,

Of what is called society.

People blamed it on her,

It was her fault.

Why be a women and give,

Impressions to all.

Why step out when not needed,

Why go out with boys,

That’s evil.

You brought it on yourself,Living in this place.

Throw away your mobile phone!,

It causes rape.

 

In a society were girls are killed right before they are born,

In a society were girls are judged before they can stand tall.

In a society were girls are judged on what they wear,

In a society were its her fault, she shouldn’t have been born

Will we see equality at all?

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