Anonymous Poet

A sleeker, thinner one than before.

A better-looking, better-working model,

An upgrade, and so much more....

"I bet you must be happy!"

I bet I am.

But why is it so hard to reset

The memories held in my hand?

My old phone, which is now lying

Across my bed, is ready to die.

It's just me still holding on

And I am unable to let go...but why?

I have transferred everything,

Every picture, every video, every small thing.

Yet I am unable to feel the familiarity

I felt with my old thing.

Maybe it's because

My new phone just doesn't fit right

In my hands yet.

Or maybe it's because I am too familiar

With the one I held before

And I just refuse to bend my grip

To the shape of the new phone.

The one I hold now

Slips off my grip as i type

And I cannot help but miss

How stable and right

The one I lived with

For so long

I don't think so.

It's the brown

That shines in your eyes

Whenever I look at you.

It's the blue

You gifted me,

And I cherish it to this day.

It's the green

Of the fields where we played

When we were kids.

It's the purple

Of the lilies

You watered for me

Growing by the old fence.

It's the pink

You never liked,

Yet wore anyway

Because it was my favourite.

It's the yellow

That spilled through your window

Early in the morning,

When we secretly watched

Each other across the balcony.

Love never wore the colour red

In our case.

It kept changing

To match every place

We ever called ours.

I wouldn't be alive

If nature didn't exist,

Didn't breathe, didn't thrive.

Imagine a place

Only of concrete,

Steel and stone,

No flowers,

No grass, no air,

No stars,

No streams

With that sound so serene,

And no mountains,

No forests, no pretty little

Honey bees

Buzzing by the deck,

Where I could sit

And spend each breath

Until I die,

Which, too, I'd choose

To do beneath the trees.

If only nature could hear me,

I would confess how

It healed,

The parts I kept concealed.

It has a beauty as such,

I cannot even express,

Because a single language

Could never be enough.

Being bright and blue

Just because

Clouds arrive uninvited.

Happiness, I think,

Is something like that.

My default feeling

Has always been happiness.

But just sometimes, I think

The universe likes to disturb

The peaceful state because

It cannot let me live

A life so monotonous.

So I am not complaining.

I am fine with a little sadness,

And I guess it's necessary too.

For living isn't truly living

Without a storm or two.

But just so you know,

Joy is not my default setting alone.

It was the first gift

The universe gave us all.

You have to just step up and see

Amidst the hurricane of other feelings

That somewhere light still stays,

Or else you wouldn't have come so far,

Of My

Heart

Why is it that

When we were kids,

We could love the colours,

Blue, green, and pink?

When we were kids,

Every colour fit.

Then teenage came,

And joy suddenly

Seemed embarrassing.

If I wanted

To seem so cool

Among the people

Inside my school,

I had to pretend

To hate green, pink, and blue,

(But how could I ever hate them?

When they always

made my young heart bloom)

Black then came into view

And became the anthem of them.

I don't hate black though.

In fact, I love it.

But I could never wear it

Everywhere,

Where blue, green, and pink

Were meant to be.

The colours never changed.

But we sure did.

Or perhaps

We learned to call

Colours of joy childish

And your ears.

And stop for a moment,

And think to yourself,

Will it matter

What they say?

One day,

You'll lie still,

Unable to answer,

Unable to hear.

Yet they'll speak again.

They always will.

So if they'll talk

Even then,

Why surrender your peace

💙🩵💜🤎💛🧡💚🩷

And since ur a poet u probably read, so im curious what are your top 5 best books that u can recommend to me.

♥️

Stoppp 😭 you don't have to call yourself a fan, that's so sweet...Thank you so much 💗💗

So like, Most of my inspiration comes from life itself. Random conversations, films, songs, things I notice, and emotions that stick with me. As for books... I don't actually have a top 5 because I don't read many full books, but I do love reading poetry from writers like John Keats, Mary Oliver, Ocean Vuong, Sylvia Plath, and Rupi Kaur and many more.

Oh I forgot to add, I am not a poet,

My life is a movie,

and I am the director.

Somewhere along the way,

I began to doubt

whether I will be able to carve

A story

that will last longer

than me.

I am afraid of living

a life that amounts to nothing.

A movie with no audience,

no recognition,

just another name

rolling past in the credits.

Fairy tales taught me

that no story

could end in despair.

But now that I've seen

what real life

can hand me,

I wonder whether

the good ending

I keep waiting for,

Will ever be granted to me.

It's not the final scene

That i am afraid of.

What I fear is that

someone will switch off

the theatre lights

before the movie

Reaches its best scene.

But then I remind myself,

not every movie

gets a good ending.

Because if they all did,

there would be no flops,

no forgotten films,

no stories

people walked away from

Halfway through

And I can't help but wonder...

what if mine

is one of them

I lost another friend today

Nope, she did not die

Just stepped out of my life

As she found her new friends

And I realized

That we were now distanced.

It's my fault to get attached

Because ofcourse we never

Signed a con-tract

To have this relation forever.

(I am losing friends like pokemon cards, wow.)

I was good at studies,

but my name never stood

at the very top.

I was good at poetry,

yet my words

Were never found in a book.

I was good at singing

Until I learned

The voices of others

That could carry something greater

Much greater than what I had.

I loved volleyball,

Good enough to stand out

Within a small group of people

but never stood out

For playing nationals.

I could draw,

but my sketches

never resembled enough

With the reference pic I held.

I was good at running,

until I watched others

disappear way ahead of me

Leaving me with their trailing foot steps.

I was good at skating,

until I saw

people flying through the air,

calling them flips

while I still clung

to the ground.

I was good,

really good,

at so many things

I never bothered to count.

But somewhere along the way,

"good"

began to sound

like another word

for "not enough."

No matter how hard I tried,

there was always

someone faster,

someone brighter,

someone better.

And I wonder...

Is there a place

for the ones

who never become

the greatest?

Or are we simply remembered

as people

who could do

a little bit of everything,

yet never enough

to become

someone's example

of excellence.

(Fine I'll go back to studying now

Because, of course, I cannot

Sit here mourning the fact

It never happened dramatically

But slowly you stopped looking for me

And I had no other choice

but to do the same

You stopped asking for me

And I had to too.

I still remember the day

We promised to graduate together

Now I am finally so close to it

But you are not with me.

Funny how you said

"You'll be the cool aunt to my kids"

Now even if I pass by them in future,

I'll be just an old acquaintance

Of yours according to them.

Even if I were to hold on,

It would have been impossible.

You drifted away like wind

So how could I stop and stand?

When there was no hope

Of you returning back.

I won't blame you for what happened

Because it just happened somehow.

We weren't talking like we did,

And somehow we never tried to do better.

You found new friends

And so did I,

You didn't need me anymore

And I had to pretend I was fine

By myself, and didn't need you

But maybe, my friend

I cherished our friendship so much

I still miss you.

Now I do sound like a yearning ex

But if I get a chance to live that

Day in past where

You and I were laughing

At something so stupid

So random in the middle of the class

I would pay with whatever I have

And live that day once again.

I am crying now at night

Because my emotions?

Even foolish then I already am.

I do hate myself for shedding tears

When you have already gone

Without even turning back.

It's sad, No, I am Sad.

Life kept different doors open for us

So how could we hold hands?

And walk in one together,

I never was

But there was a time

When I atleast was

Seen, looked at

Which now seems foreign

I am barely an adult

Yet i have thin hair now

My eyes should be glowing

But they are drowning in dark circles now

My skin is not as smooth

As the magazine insists it should.

My lips are chapped

Even when I put on lib balm

I am trying to fit right

In the body types

That are marked on your pages

As if shrinking could make me enough.

It feels useless

Cause in the end I am still the same

I am trying to change

Everything.

I wanna be looked at too

Not in pity but in awe

I sound insecure don't i?

The 12 year old me never was

But the day you pointed 'em out

I can't unsee it anymore.

So maybe it's better to conclude

I am not pretty at all.

And maybe I never was.

Will i ever be the ideal she?

Will that day ever come?

I fear it may not

Cause everything feels so surreal.

Am I really sleeping?

Cause it's impossible for this to be real.

Am I really dreaming?

Cause now it's so hard to stand

Am I really sleeping?

Cause I hate myself for landing

In such a desert where

Everything is a mirage

Even if I wish for me to

come to senses

I just simply cannot!

So I am trying to open my eyes

But they already seem to be

Then why am I still standing

Amidst a hurricane, wild and free?

This can't be real

It's not supposed to be.

So now I just wait and wish

To wake up and see