Where to begin? The middle, of course

Hello there. I’m Nakul, I’m a student, I play ultimate frisbee and I’m just about old enough to remember Earthworm Jim. That’s enough biography for now, that’s not what this blog is for.

This blog is for my poems. While they are almost all snapshots of me at a particular time and in a particular headspace, they do not reflect all of me and they do not define me. (It wouldn’t be a poetry blog without the poet getting all defensive now would it?)

There’ll be three of them in this batch. I could easily have staggered them, but they are all products of a certain mood and should be read as such.

A Hitchslap To My Heart
There is a heaviness in my heart that will not pass.
Do I have to accept it?
Can I fight it?
One thing’s for sure: I don’t have to fucking like it.

I don’t have to fucking like
Being jealous of people I call my friends,
People whose happiness makes me happy.

I don’t have to fucking like
Feeling like I give more of a shit about everyone
Than anyone, myself included, does about me.

I know the universe doesn’t owe me existence, let alone happiness.
I know it’s useless to bitch about it, even to people who do actually care.
I know all this to be true.

But still, I don’t have to fucking like it.

——-

Fair Weather Enemies
Anger I can deal with, contempt even.
Frankly, I could use a good shouting match.
Help or empathy would be better,
Though I understand if that’s too much to ask.

But if all you have to offer is feigned pity, or worthy platitudes,
Meant merely to steer the conversation back to more pleasant territory, or prove to me
How good a friend you are (in spite of all evidence to the contrary)…

…then frankly, don’t waste your breath.
Battered, bruised and discombobulated as I am,
I still know bullshit when I smell it.

——-

Some Miracle-Gro Would Be Nice…
Friendships aren’t born. They’re made.

Friendships have to be cultivated, nurtured, fed…
Or they wither and die.

I took my friendships for granted, assumed they would last forever,
Or as long as I needed them.
I did not cultivate, did not nurture, did not feed them.
And now I am surprised to find their fruit sour, rotten, dead on the vine?

Fool.

Through my own neglect, the weeds have choked my friendships,
And though I begin to hack them away,
I have no good soil left in which to begin to plant anew.

Friendships don’t die. They’re killed.

——-

That’s your lot for today. If you have any questions or feedback, leave a comment or send me a message, I’d be delighted to receive them.

i couldn’t resist signing off with these wonderful lines from Rainer Maria Rilke. To me true art, whether literature or music or painting, is something that says something you have always felt but never had the words to express, and this fits that to a tee:
“Let everything happen to you
Beauty and terror
Just keep going
No feeling is final”

Bye bye now.