An Ode for the Troubled

 

Raise your glass to the anxious one,

The one who battles their silence

Aching to participate in the conversations

But always keeping their words to themselves.

The one who dreads every change in the winds,

The one who never feels complete,

The one who struggles to express what bothers them,

The one ready to endure instead of facing the demons ahead.

Raise your glass to the people-pleaser,

The one who feels small every time they try to explain what is in their mind,

The one who is always scared to draw the line,

The one who always feels unloved if they don’t serve,

The one who is always drained from the people they love,

The one who is never valued for what they are.

Raise your glass to the second best,

The one who is always there when the main friend is somewhere else,

The replacement with the good advice,

The one always happy to help yet often left on read.

The one who cherish the wrong crowd,

The one who is deafen when they try to take control,

The one who is never included when the plan is made.

Raise your glass to the second-guesser,

The who always doubt what choice should they take,

The one who never knows what is to take control,

The one who troubles with a firm stand,

The one who fears the consequences,

The one who is fighting with themselves yet unable to win the match,

The one willing to watch from the side lines.

Raise your glass to the fatalist,

The one who made peace with what is about to come,

The one whose battles are always lost,

The one unwilling to take the blame for what when wrong.

The one who is secretly scared if they take the reins and wind by chance,

The one who never learnt accountability when not deciding what to do

Is actually a choice – the worst of them all.

Raise your class for the mind-racer,

The one who craves control yet unable to put his mind on a simple task.

The one whose coping mechanism is the unvoluntary switch of thoughts,

The one who never felt what stability means,

The one who survives on short-term ideas often left incomplete.

The one who is often overwhelmed yet lacks the tools to center their inner monologue.

The one who has never taught how to process their surroundings,

The one whose mental clutter rival the absence of the mind.

The one who always feel the world is always falling behind,

The restless one who craves to stop at last.

…

Raise your glass to the many troubled never mentioned in the lines above,

I might write about you in the future poems.

I want to tell you - you are not alone, always forgotten, left in the footer note.

I salute your endurance often unnoticed by the normal ones,

You are not undeserving – you are simply different, not hard to love.

You have hidden resilience; your brain is knitted with the darker yarns.

Be proud of who you are and if the life feels hard in the darkness of the night

Ask for help, don’t be shy.

Your efforts always lurk in the shadows - never spoken, never shared.

There is my second ode for the outlander of the nous,

I feel your pain; I sense your presence – you and I are so alike in many ways.

Toast to the Invisible

 

Raise your glass to the perfectionist,

The one who plays with the chaos surrounding his thoughts,

The one who tries to navigate the unpredictability

With the precise calculation of when and what to do.

Raise your glass to the overthinker,

The one who needs to reply every conversation to the smallest detail,

Endless monologue with possibilities in his head.

The one who still cringes at night for moment happened when they were only 10,

The one who will solve every problem with fading smile.

Raise your glass to the dreamer,

The one who escapes reality with such an ease,

The one who make the fantasy into reality,

The one who is not afraid of the unknown,

The one carrying the clouds as crawn,

The one who shapes their world while they sleep.

Raise your glass to the worrier,

The one who attracts the scariest storms inside their head,

The one who map their future out,

The one who never enjoys the smallest joy,

The one who always bears hurricanes in their eyes.

Raise your glass to the insomniac,

The one who never knows the rest,

The one who fights the darkest hours in the bed alone,

The one who still trying to hold on to the slipping sanity,

The one who promised to take the magic pill

And yet is unable to find their will.

Raise your glass to the observer,

The often left unseen,

The one who struggles with the unprocessed feelings,

The ready to fight when they feel the danger,

The one unable to prevent the patterns,

The one circling in never-ending shame.

And last but not least, raise your glass to the survivor,

The one burnt in thousand flames,

The one drowned in hundred floods,

The one who never stops moving

Even when the situation feels like a dead-end.

The one who chooses to trust even though they are wounded to the core,

The who not only saves themselves, but saves us all.

The Cycle of the Flesh

 

“On a crossroad I stand in the middle of the night
To keep walking the lonely walk or to burn like a candle one more time.”

…

These lessons I am never going to learn,

I am crawling back for more – this feeling of undoing me

Like a drug is running through my veins,

I cannot get you out of my system – you are endless.

I swore I am done; I needed to pull myself back from your trap

And yet my body got a mind of its own – my worst enemy.

One of those special gazes and every little sense I had is stripped away.

One smile and I am running back you – I beg you for one last time.

When it comes to you, all I have is self-destruction, so feral in my desire

To be tamed by the coldness of your hands - you mold me like a clay.

Every whisper of my name is like a sweet melody - so hypnotic – tear me down, I don’t mind.

You are my weakness; you are the curse I cannot escape.

Tear my spirit like you tore the clothes on me – I don’t look for reasons to stay away,

Your bitterness wakes those nasty desires one by one.

With the burning touch of your fingers I sing our song,

I am not a predator; I have turned into the prey.

These visits are not for love; they are dressed in sins;

This hunger overpowers every sane thought,

This taste is all I think every night I spent with myself

And I am giving in repeatedly, no excuses left.

…

You claim you can withstand this yearning

Yet you run toward me like I am going to escape,

Broken and ruined, united as one.

Your grip says it all – you call it devotion; I call it emotional havoc.

Succumb to the darkness hidden deep within.

…

This inner betrayals won’t stop until we are exhausted,

Until the vail of the night swallows us whole.

I need us to stay like this – no one touches my mind the way you do

Quitting you feels like dying – cannot overcome this withdrawal again.

…

And here we are on the same crossroad, step back from the progress we have made.

We vowed it was for the last time, blind to this usual lie.

We cannot live without our love scars – we cannot flee unscaved.

We know we are each other’s ending- yet we are attracted to what we create when no one is around.

One is born sinner; the other is turned to one – we survive on each other’s flavour.

Why we are so seduced by our venomous dance?

And yet every time each of us leave scarred and damaged to the core.

What is this unconventional game – we bleed from our greedy cravings.

Stubbornly, tomorrow we will return for another round,

We are so helpless when our bodies got language of their own.

The life comes in cycles and we feed the worst of them – the one who destroys us the most

Yet it is the only chaos our demons call home.