Accepting all that we are, through soft and tough…

A piece by Mystic Soul

She was too short for her age
But she always held her head high
Her writings were only her hearts musings
Silly, simple and everything that her heart wanted to say
Yet she showed them off like they were written              By the greatest writers themselves
She stumbled while speaking,
Yet she never left a chance to hold the mic and speak like the stage was hers
She knew words of different languages                   Wouldn’t fit in her mouth easily
Yet she always spoke in those languages
Stumbling at times, mingling a few words in
But somehow conveying
She knew math never came to her easily
Yet she chose to struggle with it
Always hoping, in the pursuit of struggling with it she would some day master it
She knew her voice sucked
As much as she loved Bollywood songs
Yet she went on to sing in a crowd at a college event
She would get excited for the slightest things
And jump around like a maniac
She loved crying
Shedding tears made her feel lighter
But they wouldn’t come
As much as she wanted them to
Not after so much of over thinking                         And burying of pain in corners of heart
She always stayed in her own world,
Breathing in the present,
Living in the past,
She always thought more than it was needed,
She knew she didn’t have to
Yet she went on and on
Creating troubles that weren’t there in the first place
She knew her mind was swinging like a pendulum
She had to stop it
She tried, she couldn’t
She knew she had to stop thinking and start doing,
She wouldn’t, why?
She knew she had to let go off,
The person whom she always wished for to stay
She was trying, or so she felt
Or may be she felt too much                                And that’s the root cause of it all
She knew what she is, what she could be, what she should be,
Yet she thinks, cries, worries, prays, smiles, struggles
And tries to get over all of these
She doesn’t know whether to love herself or hate herself
Actually she does, but you see she is never sure of herself
She’s always seeking and asking
Not trying to find the answer within
Her thoughts don’t form a pattern
She’s trying to form one
With each passing day
She prays to become better
She’s difficult to understand sometimes
And may be that’s the same case with her handwriting too
Words seemingly written at the speed her thoughts flow
And everything too illegible to understand
Like her mind and heart put out on a piece of paper.