Tag Archives: Books

A failure’s plea

Keep your lips sealed
and please don’t look away
just listen to my voice
there’s something I have to say
maybe a couple of words
locked behind this fear
that if I break my silence
you won’t be able to hear
and yet again I choke
with words as loud as screams
hoping you would listen
to all those words I speak
so consume all this silence
and slowly nod your head
just pretend you were listening
to all the words I said
they might not make sense
and it’s hard for me to explain
but promise me you’ll listen
to all the things I’ve held in vain
tell me that you’ll hide me
and in you I can confide
because I’ve lost that war
the one you wanted me to fight
I’ve failed to rise higher
from where you thought I’d start
I’m sorry that I’ve let you down
I’m sorry that I’ve lost
please don’t look away, Mom and Dad
look into my eyes
tell me that you’ll forgive me
because I’ve failed to rise
I know I broke those dreams
the ones you helped me see
please don’t let me lose that hope
the one you burned in me
you’ve worked day and night
because I know you’ve done a lot
but promise me you’ll help me fight
even though I’ve lost this war
help me wipe off this dirt
and help me clean my wounds
tell me you’ll be there for me
so I could rise from this ground
I’m trying to get up again
but I need your help
don’t lose your faith in me
I’m sinking in myself
I was afraid of being a failure
even though I promise I tried
I was scared to hurt you
so I kept the words inside
tell me that you’ll accept my choice
and that I am not alone
let me conquer all those dreams
the ones you had shown
I know I’ve done many wrongs
but please don’t push me away
hold me close to yourself
and tell me everything will be okay
I know you can’t hold my hand
or carry me in your arms
but you can give me all your blessings
and hope to carry on.

A failure’s plea

Poetry book: Curing My Venom

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Publishing my first book…

I published my first book a year ago, on this very day; I wasn’t thinking right. I published it because I didn’t know what else to do with it. It was like one of those scenarios where you just want to get things off your chest. I wanted to get a book off my laptop. My book was rusting beneath files of essays, journals, lab reports, and textbooks.

I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. How do I get a book published? How do I contact agents? How do I reach publishing agencies? So, I did what any normal person would do. I cried. I cried more than I wrote because it was the easy way out. Because there was something comforting about closed doors, I didn’t have to worry about what was on the other side.

I didn’t write to get myself published. I wrote as a way of relieving stress, as a way to cope with the anxiety bubbling inside of me. It helped until I was starting to fail my classes because I wasn’t paying attention to them. I failed physics and then Organic chemistry and I ended up dropping them both last minute. I would open my textbook, lay it across the table and stare at it until my eyes would hurt. I just couldn’t force myself to read. While taking down notes, in class, I would start scribbling in my notebook, writing poems that no one would ever read.

It was anxiety that stopped me from studying. Imagine having a huge elephant sitting on your chest and you can’t explain it to anyone. Or imagine feeling like the walls of the classroom are shrinking and you’re suffocating. The pounding headaches, the tensing, the stressing and the losing weight. The more I suffered the more I wrote. Most of my pages and notebooks were filled with meaningless incoherent words. I would ignore everyone, skip classes, go to the library, sit on the carpet in between the shelves and I would write. Cry and write. Because I didn’t know why I was feeling this way. Why was an Honor roll, Arista student, who never got below a ninety struggling with passing a class? I loved physics and calculus but solving even the simplest equations seemed so complicated. I wanted to drop out so badly, but I didn’t and that caused more damage. There was one thing I learned though: when you suppress yourself just to fit in, you wreck a beautiful part of yourself and that’s what I did. In my effort to please everyone around me, I forgot who I actually was. I was pretending to be someone I wasn’t, and in that process, I forgot how many masks I was wearing. I’ve realized that now…

I’m odd. Weird. A freak. But this is just how I am. Abnormal. Clumsy. And I’m okay with that.

I’m peeling off my masks, and I’m redefining everything. I’m losing friends, being hated, but I’m learning to accept this part of myself. I’m okay with it. I think.

But through all that depression, all that anxiety and all those panic attacks, I wrote a 90,000-word page novel with grammatical errors and an ugly cover. I put it on Amazon and it was horrible. I had so many errors and the people who were supposed to have my back never told me. I have such awesome friends.

But the people I didn’t know and never met were more supportive. They gave me feedback and constructive criticism. I took down my book, got it professionally edited, made a new cover and I put it back up again.

In this whole process of burning and reforming, there is so much I learned. The most important lesson was to never give up. Fuck the world- but don’t back down.

But that day, a year ago, I promised myself that I wouldn’t back down, not even if the earth rumbled or the sky broke apart. It didn’t matter if no one read what I wrote. I would write because it makes me happy. Because it’s an escape from this world, into a world that runs on the tips of my fingers.

Link to my book on Amazon: The City of Saints