Listen...

to their laughs, laments & long tales

Observe...

one and all with an open outlook

Value...

their very existence, verve & wisdom

Embrace...

every eccentricity & imperfection

(My best friend)

You are light

I am smitten

You are bright

Love is written

In our fate

Keeps us together

From the first date

Entwined in each other

Calming and all-knowing

A new adventure each day

Enriching and fulfilling

An unbreakable bond here to stay

The night has set in,

stars too shy to glow;

The world's set to die,

but, for now, for once-

it's my turn to fly.

I never thought I’d be doing this, but here’s a little poem on my weird obsession with socks..

(Please read the challenge description for context :P)

How many socks does one require?

A pair, or two, or ten?

But why stop there when I, my friend,

Can have a collection of three dozen!

I have one in every colour of the rainbow,

One in every pattern ever made,

Stripes, dots, mangoes and Batman,

And greys in half of its 50 shades.

That’s not the end of my collection folks,

Nor will it be until,

I fill my closet from floor to ceiling,

And see my ridiculous dream fulfilled.

(To My Vivacious Boyfriend)

An angelic voice that can put you to sleep,

Burps so frequent-

Can't help but wonder what he eats,

Dances like he's a GIF,

Ends calls randomly,

Flips over nothing-

Got hormones like a pregnant lady!

Hates asking for directions-

Isn't interested in being the helpless one,

Jokes about everything under the Sun,

Kid thinks he's the funniest one.

Laughs like a maniac,

Mood swings all over the place,

Nose broken, fingers crooked,

Out of order ankle since the last 100 days.

Pizza, pasta, potatoes-

Quite an enthusiast of the Italian cuisine,

Remembers all the little things,

Save, sending birthday wishes on time.

Ticks all the boxes on any girl's wishlist-

Urbane, eloquent and charming;

Very skilled in talking to dogs,

With 'woofs' as real as actual barking.

Xerox copy of an egg currently

(he decided to go bald),

"Yes!" he'll say to almost anything-

Zero judgement, only enjoyment policy.

I want to write but I don't know-

I don't know what to write about;

I don't know if it's good enough;

I don't know if it's worth your time.

I want to write but I can't think-

I can't think of how to start;

I can't think where to take this;

I can't think of the words that must follow.

I want to write but I'm afraid-

I'm afraid no one will like it;

I'm afraid I will be judged;

I'm afraid it won't make sense to anyone.

You ask me to write without a plan,

(Heaven knows that's all I can ever manage)

But boy do I sometimes wish that

for once,

(just once)

I could have a plan.

Steak. So bland.

It had been five years since I had last tasted a person. Five years since that satisfying dinner in my apartment. I had only been able to get through half of the child’s meat when the police had burst in with their dogs.

The dogs...they had a hard time controlling the dogs that night.

Well, that had been the end of living vicariously for me.

And now, for my final meal, I had to eat this insipid dry mass. Didn’t I deserve at least one leg piece today?

Just a tender, freshly cut chunk off a youngling...

Kids tasted the best- unadulterated and juicy. I had even given the guard a set of instructions on how to cook it when I noticed the disgusted look on his face. I guess not even years of being a model prisoner could make them look at me any differently.

Differently? Rather the same way they looked at all the other nondescript killers.

I often wondered if they’d ever understand. If they’d see that I wasn’t a monster. I didn’t kill for money. I didn’t kill out of jealousy. I didn’t kill because I enjoyed it. I killed simply to feed myself. And wasn’t that something they all did? How was it any different from them butchering pigs and lambs, and fishing every weekend at the lake? Didn’t I, in fact, deserve better treatment than the rest of the hooligans? Didn’t I deserve a lesser Hell?

Yet, here I was, in isolation, while the others got to share bunks.

I finished up the last few pieces of my steak, and washed it down with orange juice. Steak and OJ- the standard meal given to anyone about to be offed, if their actual wishes cannot be fulfilled.

Standard? Ah! The irony.

Perhaps my wish did get fulfilled. The wish to be treated like any other, normal, standard, fellow. I couldn’t help but smile. The steak didn’t feel so horrid anymore.