Can we go to the mall?
Him, I'm busy
Can you drive me home?
Him, I'm still doing some thing
I need to buy a laptop, can you help me find?
Him, I don't have time
It's holiday tomorrow, can we go out?
Him, I can't say, I have a lot to do
It's your rest day, can we have a date
Him, Dad will be here, will go somewhere
Busy... And I'm hurting
All I want is to be with him...
If I'll gone will you miss me?...
Then...
Him, let's go to the mall
I'm meeting my friends
Him, I'll drive you home
I'm not going home
Him, it's already time, let's go home
I have urgent things to care for
Him, let's go shopping
I have my school activity
....she is busy putting herself first...
SUCCESS ISN'T ABOUT FAME, IT'S FINDING YOURSELF AND BEING WHO YOU ARE UNAPOLOGETICALLY ON PURPOSE.
“JUST MY THOUGHTS “
SUCCESS ISN'T ABOUT FAME, IT'S FINDING YOURSELF AND BEING WHO YOU ARE UNAPOLOGETICALLY ON PURPOSE.
“JUST MY THOUGHTS “
Definition general
Payar love means hopes with each other till death!!!
Marriage acceptance till the end with hopes.
OM ganpati namo namah!!
With love all
JRTANMB AGHORI
4/1/2026
intuition
abounds
brevity
Implicit
understood
spreads
beyond
originality
ingrained
linguistic
tendencies
in
essence
plainly
revealed
the
surreal
emerges
to
confound
The difference between a finger and a thumb
is Shakespeare. Anyone can dream
of a candle, but you’d better dodge your shadow,
because death, that great et cetera,
is the opposite of surreal. If there were no thunder
there would be no mountains, so something like a snowflake
cannot be conferred: it must be earned.
You will tell me that anyone can say this,
which is why I am saying it. Your puzzlement
shows how well you understand. It is important
to have someone to talk to
even if they can’t hear you. You can polish a mirror
until you see your face, but it will not
be you, because meaning is created
when we are not looking, while the grass
grows, grows, grows.
That was an ode to Walt Whitman.
DEFINITION OF ME.
I am a growing spirit of well-being dancing in the melody of my own song
An illuminating light finally beginning to shine
within what was once the darkest corners of my experiences
Created perfectly imperfect though not the definition of past mistakes
Emerged from an abyss of mental instability to now a transformation of complete sovereignty over limiting beliefs
where sought after peace is no longer searched for, it has been found
I am an expansion of thought
The rebirth of a new mind
Understanding that the existence of pleasures and pain are necessary encounters to help balance out the life in which we all have been chosen to live
An individual of confidence no longer held back by a mindset of recurring cognitive distortion
Shedding layer by layer from the person who once was to a rebirth of a person who now is
Navigating life with an optimistic approach despite
Its complexities
Knowing now more than ever that I am what I think I am
And what I think I am is worthy.
Most I know sad but true
define themselves by the work they do
out of the workplace they're as simple
as a bump on a stump dimple on a pimple
drop in a bucket wart on a frog
cog in a wheel or log in a bog
who's to blame... yes parents are the means
for their inherited hopeless poor genes
none of my tutors were teachers as such
and with no innate abilities didn't know much
all of which which amounted to nought
and only regurgitated what they'd been taught
never met one who didn't know it all
when in fact they knew nothing at all
and if I were to look in a book I'd learn the same
but follow the leader ('herd' is the word)
was the name of their game
as for me...
who I am determines what I do
not vice versa end of story
but... how about you?
I am a growing spirit of well-being dancing in the melody of my own song
An illuminating light finally beginning to shine
within what was once the darkest corners of my experiences
Created perfectly imperfect but not the definition of past mistakes
Emerged from an abyss of mental instability where sought after peace is no longer searched for, it has been found
I am an expansion of thought
The rebirth of a new mind
Understanding that the existence of pleasure and pain are necessary encounters to help balance out the life in which all have been chosen to live
I am the living proof of nothing short of a miracle
Where my dreams have embraced reality and reality became my dream.
I was blessed to be attached by the words
Like a child in a field of thorns:
They hold on to you, they hurt you,
It gets under your skin
It pours directly into your blood
And so you become
The name of an incurable disease:
Poet
I AM A MOVING SPIRIT OF WELL-BEING DANCING IN THE MELODY OF MY OWN SONG.
Take it
And
Feed it tears shed in a lion's embrace
After
Bathe it in light bred in an empty tomb
Then
Swaddle it in crimson wool, laced with a lamb's blood
And
Tell it tales of swords made into pruning hooks
While
Singing lullabies of eagles' wings in winter, and mother hen's in spring
Then
Kiss it goodnight
And
Wish it dreams of lotus ponds, draped with poppies from end to end
And
End with the promise of tomorrow's sunrise
That
Reminds us faith functions as a conjunction, which links us to the power of God
And
Helps to propagate His miracles
What is beauty?
Can I sing to it?
Can I bathe it in
Honeydew lotion
and read it ancient
love poems
as it fights the
gravity of sleep?
Can I feed it
pureed applesauce
and wipe its
dripping face clean?
Can I hold it in my arms
and feel the weight
of infinite potentials
I will carry on my
shoulders until it
finds place for them
on its own?
Can I grasp it
in the enchanting
gaze of a
Beautiful newborn?
In the hall of mirrors, I lose my face
A maze of reflections, each one a different shade
Of truth and lies, of light and darkest space
I search for the real me, but it's hard to stay
The judges' voices whisper, "Not enough"
A litany of doubt, a choir of rough
Hands that shape and mold, yet can't define
The contours of my soul, the lines that make me mine
I write to be seen, to be heard, to be known
Yet in the arena of words, I'm overthrown
By fears and doubts that masquerade as facts
And the masks I wear, a dizzying array of acts
But still I pen these words, a self-portrait in shards
A synesthesia of pain, a colorless hum of doubts
That echoes through my mind, a haunting melody
A reminder of the self-fracture that I can't define
And when the verdict comes, will I be brave?
Will I don the cloak of validation, or the shroud of shame?
The answer lies within, in the prismatic self
A kaleidoscope of contradictions, a messy, beautiful wealth
Here’s my definition of
The act of growing old:
I look around in shops at
All the items being sold
And, although I can afford them,
Even if the price is high,
There is absolutely nothing
That I really want to buy.
My younger self would ooh and aah
In every mall and store,
But there’s very little now
That does entice me anymore.
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