How Could I Be Yours, When 'am Not Even Mine?

The tragedy of being an artist is having to withhold a thousand souls in one body,

escaping only to conquer or to be doomed...

Such keen observers, how reticent to the naked eye,

yet, overwhelmingly exposed, aggressively honest, spatially present,

as if to mock oneself...

How January of a month to birth a poet in me ~

- Astha, "I should've painted my face blue", 18.01.2022

I am 🤏🏽 close to running away to some abandoned palace and secretly live there forever...

3Am Thoughts

" if I start writing down everything that goes inside my brain....there you go xD "

I live with the fear of having to ask myself if I gave up too soon , and somehow that's all that keeps me going...

Maybe there's more to me than what they wanted , and I must've kept some secrets only to grow through all these wounds of mine...

I wonder if missing you was a mistake

What have I been staying up late for ? Why couldn't I sleep ? Maybe I should want myself more , maybe longing for you is killing me ...

I have monsters swirling through storms inside me , but I might as well look fine ...

3:33am

I've dreamt of better days, I still do...

I should've cried less, back when I could...

Take me...away.......

I need to stop overthinking...

Who am I?

"A teenager painting life post sunny skies in her own shades own of blue and grey, dull and mundane , yet beautiful"

" If I could love you, I'd write about us everyday" - Astha 24.01.2022

I am still stuck in a reality that doesn't exist anymore...

I want to...runaway

Lines that start with "If I could ...." are so painful. They remind me of emotions I've experienced before but haven't been able to confess , to my own self or to anyone ever , their anger and fear borne numbness wording long dead dreams into a broken sentence , drawing parallels between a world we drew as kids and the one we lived through gasping for the very colors we were promised...