Disheveled Story Of Everything

Category: For the broken heart

Free Thoughts



Since when does the dark sky clouds over the new morning that we can’t live to see a new day?


That we circle a lethal cycle of pain and suffering, thinking this is how it should be?


Since when do races account to how much we’re worth? That we put a price on ourselves as how the world would buy.


That we label ourselves as society named us. Dont we all share the same blood somehow? Don’t we sing the same heart beat?


Since when do religions wage war against humanity? Whatever happened to love and peacekeeping.


Who told us love is free?  Love is binding in nature. Our souls, to our minds. We face each other, vulnerable. In the palm of our hands, we hold our entire world to give someone complete control.


Since when do life throws us lemons and we could make lemonade? Instead, we indulge in the ordinary, or less. Instead, we breed the sourness of life and devour it.


Who demands us to be perfect?  For the first cry of a newborn, is an imperfection. Who gave the standards of perfection? That whoever is not, is a substandard of society.


Since when does a 20 year-old gave all of the above a thought if the world isn’t a better place?


He is Tired, You are Tired

Bravo! you did it again. You’ve managed to drive another good guy crazy. You’ve successfully made him fall in love with you to not answering any of your calls late at night after a fight.

Congratulations! You’ve struck his nerve to the bones that he swore to your face when he apologised he wouldn’t do it again after the last time. You’ve given him another chance to blow up at you because of the things you’ve said, or not said.

As if the last straw wasn’t enough to make you realise how bad everything is going on for you. Time and time again, you’ve placed yourself in a position for people to hurl at you. You placed this upon yourself. Maybe all the problems that have been piling up till now were caused by you.

Think about it. If you hadn’t asked about the sleepover, he wouldn’t have lied. If you weren’t so needy by nature, you wouldn’t have needed to ask. Who is it to blame now then? Stop pushing the blame to the ‘broken family’ situation or the ‘overwhelming stress at work and school’ dilemma. They’re getting old. Really. Stop.

He’s tired of you. He’s tired of the shit you’ve put him through. He will not answer anymore of your calls because he has finally realised that he doesn’t have to put up with you. He has finally woken up from his little fantasy to finally understand he wasn’t the problem. You are. After a couple of months and you’ve managed to slap him out of your life? Cheers to you.

There he is trying to make ends meet, doing everything he could to salvage what you had. There you are making a huge mess of the whole thing, AGAIN. He gave you chances after you chances and you blew it over and over. Let me ask you…

What’s wrong with you? Why do you act this way? Who made you like this?

I am a broken glass


You know, girls are like porcelains. Like the doll that they are, polished, beautiful and fragile. I’m more of a broken glass. I’m in pieces, sharp and well, broken. Broken glasses hurt people that’s why nobody goes near them. If they do, it’ll be too shattered to fix that they sweep the broken pieces up to discard.

I’m a discarded broken piece of glass. I’m transparent but inside I’m vulnerable. I’m hard on the outside but not any more because a glass can only hold so much pressure. You could say that I topple myself over and break my own heart from the choices I’ve made. But I knew when I saw my own pieces on the floor every night that I can never piece them back whole again.

While I’m distracted trying not to shatter, you saw me broken. Unlike porcelains, I’m not pretty. I am chipped, not chiselled. I’m plain, not decorated. I take no shape from the world, I am my own solid being. I live for a purpose and not just aesthetics. I thought I would scare you away or make you take a broom to sweep me off.

I am dangerous, yet you took the sharp broken pieces with your bare hands. While I try not to let another piece fall, you’re trying to fix the ones on the floor. Sometimes you hold everything together, even the unbroken ones. On bad days, the broken glasses you’ve somehow fixed, shatters again from the inside out, like a bullet shot through. You’ll sigh, nonetheless, pick them up again and glue them back to me.

Until the day when I can hold myself up again, thank you for holding me up. You could’ve chosen a beautifully crafted porcelain but you didn’t. For that, I love you with all the broken pieces that I have and all that’s left of me.




The words that remained untold

Everything I will never hear from you

Why she had to go, why you had to leave

How you left this family broken with grief

The hands that held my heart

The same hands broke my soul

You are not gentle any more

Like a double-edged sword, leaving scars from every side

I left the open scars sore

It’s not that I don’t feel the pain,

It’s just I’m not afraid of hurting any longer

You will never clean up the mess you’ve made

Neither will I try to piece something you have broken because…

you will break it again