She is nothing.

She is nothing.
Nothing but a window
to your relatability,
‘cause you know
she leaves a part of herself,
in your jacket’s pocket
so you could keep your
hands warm a little longer.

She likes living on the edge.
A night with some satin dreams
and a drunken Sunday debauchery
dipped in the ink of suffocation
fueling her desire to drown or stay afloat.
It’s her ask that matters.
Like, the one who truly knows Art
has touched the highest level
of ecstasy or have swam in the deepest
oceans of melancholy believing
no one could save them
except maybe art,
maybe her.

She is a girl that deserves
Keanu Reeves of the world
but gets caught up in her head
after Jane Austen whispers
to get Mr. Darcy tattooed
on her collarbones
and then make her wear
buttoned-up, long checkered shirt
and she closes herself
like the last break-up
no one wants to talk about.

She wishes to travel back
to history so bad and become
an inspiration or a revolution
for Renoir’s ‘Impressionism’
or Gogh’s ‘Fauvism’
where the artist would run his
free strokes and strong colors
painting her aesthetic away.

Everything is a rhythmic
downpour of poetry for her.
Open trees passing by
from a train window,
pretty boxes of delivery,
crunchy pages of diaries,
an infant smiling,
green eyes of strangers,
tiniest grass sprouting
in her cemented balcony,
flowers on the sideways
pouting and demanding her
to be clicked. She listens to all.
She looks a little too
deeper in the eyes of her pet
just to understand a world
hidden beneath silent cries.

She can make friends
in a blink of an eye
but can’t handle the
awkwardness of the first meetings,
neither the discomfort of
visible distance with her old people.
So, she keeps jealousy in her side bag
existent but unnoticeable
and laughs louder just to prove
how their silly jokes
means world to her.
And she holds hand
just a bit tighter
announcing to her body
of the crime she’s about to
commit in keeping the ones closer
who are destined to leave.

In a world pressing to be unique
she becomes relatable
with every passing day.
The more she understands herself
the better she sees the human race.
The unprocessed, patchy race
whose thumbnails tell a different story
than they actually are.
In a world full of intellectuals,
she keeps looking for people
she can be silly with.

She dangles, in between
a timid Kdrama girl and
a badass one
not fitting fully in
either of the category well.
In between,
wanting to get on top
of everything and losing interest
in everything around
sitting in front of a fading fireplace
and singing ‘Somewhere over the rainbow’
in the faintest voice.

She wishes she could
erase the problems of all
When she can’t do
much for her own.

She is nothing special.
And if you will get to know
you will see either she’s nothing
or too special for the world.

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