This isn't a poem.
its an outburst.
scattered confessions spewn
on my face
which will remind me of where i stand
not just before you, but before myself
if anyone ever reads this
i am glad they will know what garbage is my head
i am happy they'll know
facts
i am selfish
extremely selfish
i remember the load shed, the only time i got drunk
it fails to go out of my head
i know i might not have cried if she wasn't with me
but i did.
selfish even when senses are senseless
i remember telling her how it hurts me to spend extravagantly on food
when there are so many people sleeping empty stomachs
and my very next statement declared
that i cant change it
i cant help but spend on food
i want to change lives but i would rather save up money for a 'mac'. A hypocrite!
i talk of change, everyone does for that matter.
what change do i bring if i can't even change myself
i can't think of my life without a computer (only a mac whenever i do buy it), without movies, without branded things which give me airs of utter stupidity
i can't or i don't want to.

i have visited villages which might not have even be charted on the ever changing map of the country
i have interacted with every person who smiled back (maybe because i dont want to miss on photographs which i can sometime put together for an exhibit(selfish again) or maybe in this case i simply like it)
when my parents smile i don't always return it back
i am not trying to be selfish
but my withdrawal is as good
i look for a space
but wasn't this space always mine
something has changed
i think only i have.
i dont wish to do things to be known, to be praised
but i can't throw it out of my head
do i call it competitiveness or just a lust for fame

i have realized i am not good as a design person (which as they say lives for others)
i fare better as an artist (with absolutely no knowledge of arts)
i have always been trying to get out of things
i call it freedom
'freedom doesn't come with flying kites', to quote myself
it doesnt even come with writing about it
it needs to be experienced
not just thought of

maybe there are so many more blatant confessions
which should have come in
but the fact that it's being read stops them from featuring in
selfish again
i dont know why i write this blog
maybe to get some admirers for my crude writing (though it's also good to contain my outbursts like these- here, i shouldn't have mentioned this, but i did)
if it's true i should delete it
but i won't.
i am selfish.

i adore straight advices i get from some ppl
i am awed by the simplicity of it
it leaves me thinking of how it never struck me
i inhale them only to let them out
nothing changes.
i know when i am done writing this
i would not even reply to her message (the content of which should make me feel happy but...)
i have kept my mother waiting for food
i would comfortably lie on my bed to watch a movie
watch it without taking notice of any details
which i gladly keep declaring is the best part of watching a movie
unworthy opinions.

dying respect for myself.