To be the Chosen One

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How does it feel to be the chosen one?
When I see people who are sure of each other
I wonder,
How does it feel to be the chosen one?

To never feel the cruelty of replacement
To be chosen for you
The surety of a love that’s not forced.

I am a definitely
Probably a maybe
Perhaps an almost
But,
Not a chosen one.

The future could be a mess
Past is all forgotten
The present is all we’ve got
In a world full of people ready to take the bare minimum
to feel something like love
Tell me,
How does it feel to be chosen one
Not afraid of what the future holds?
I wonder,
How does it feel to be the chosen one?

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Hey fellow readers, I recited this poem on my Instagram; I would love it if you could check it out. Adding the link here: The chosen one

Escape

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the vermilion streaks of sunset
caressed her face
making her weary eyes shine
she longed for a respite
from the tiring cruel world
the world that tore her kind-heart
a million times without a second thought
she wasn’t sure how long she could
keep the masquerade of success
none cared to know her wild thoughts
thwacking her with depression
all that she lost and all yet to lose
a homage to the girl
that she will never show the world she is
’cause she learnt it the hard way
removing the mask of pretence
stabbed her heart so many times
she didn’t want to lose
the little kindness that’s left in her.

Lost childhood

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A childhood so brutally taken
In the presence of so-called parents
They’re there, yet distant and lost in thought
Desperate for love, ignored like a mere tantrum
Children strive for attention, seeking affection
But often met with cold dismissals and harsh rebuffs
They grow restless, choosing to rebel and break free
Living life on their own terms, seeking happiness and glee
Then the accusatory questions come, tearing them apart
“We gave up everything for you, this is the thanks we get from your heart?”
The children seethe with anger, recalling the past
A stolen childhood, with parents who couldn’t make it last.

Discovery

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She was a hurricane storm, but she didn’t know,
She only knew the gentle breeze that she owned.
She was strong, but she didn’t know,
She only manifested the vulnerable her.
She could pretend feelings, but she didn’t know,
She thought only being real melted hearts.
She was a bad bitch, but she didn’t know,
She cared for others’ feelings more than hers.
She was beautiful and pretty; she didn’t know,
She heard and accepted only what society told her about beauty standards.
She could be anything
She is everything
And nobody’s validation estimates the hurricane or gentle breeze
that she is or whatever she will ever be.

Almost

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She almost found “the one.”
He almost made her happy.
They were almost a couple, almost in love
They almost had each other
Their embrace almost felt like home
They almost had a future
She almost had a happily ever after
One day, however, she realized that almost wasn’t enough.
In a way, he was hers, but he wasn’t.
It drove her crazy
She could no longer be an almost.
For a moment, an epiphany occurred:
Their story should have been rewritten without the almosts’.

A Hopeless Romantic

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she didn’t know love could take
forms to deceive someone.
’cause the stories she knew were always magical,
“a hopeless romantic”, – others teased her.
but she hopelessly believed someday, somewhere,
she would find ‘her one’ who would last forever.
“nothing lasts forever”,- others scoffed again.
she closed her ears to the world.

then came the one she had hoped for
the hopeless romantic fell deeply in love.
She thought love could heal someone,
but she was wrong
she defended the way she was treated
she made excuses for the unkindness
she loved too much that she couldn’t walk away
her countless give away of “second chances”
had another story to narrate.

finally, when she had enough
she realised they were right.
the world did not deserve the girl she was
and closed her ears to her heart.
she realised she was worth more than
the heartbreaks she had to go through
she realised love happened from within.

Darkness

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Darkness scares me
Not because of the monsters under my bed
Or the ones that hide behind the Curtains;
Hanging by the window.

I am scared of what’s inside me;
My thoughts and the monsters my mind creates.
The ones that remind me of my failures,
The ones that tell me I am not good enough
The ones that shout inside my head in chorus
To choose death ’cause it is promising
Than to live something so similar to death.

I am scared I might let them in;
Let them in to control me.
Control me to an extent that
I might turn into one of them, a monster.