Utsavi Jha

Toska

I assumed
I was a poem
that people wanted to get
to the roots of
to figure
to absorb
to love
to feel
But lately,
I feel like
a random wooden carving
made on a worn out desk
that has
barely scratched the surface
A desk
that was left out alone
to greet new
and newer people
who barely know
the history of it
and don’t care
enough to find out.

Hi room, did you miss me?
Because, I missed you
Portable speaker, you need to conserve battery
I’m used to you
And green pen, don’t feel bad
Just because I don’t use you as often as blue
Diary, sorry if I keep too many books on top of you

Bottle, I’m sorry if I rest you too hard on the table
I’m sorry, t-shirt, it was time to say goodbye
Lamp, thank you for the mood lighting
Wallet and keys, don’t try to hide
It wastes my time


Sorry if you felt like I was ignoring you, polaroid
And sorry I don’t clean you enough, book-shelf and keyboard
Thank you, photo wall for reminding what’s important
Fight Club sweatshirt, get a grip, I still love you


My emotionality crosses limits
I assign sentiments and conversations to my stuff
What do I do with so many cares and such few outlets
As if real people weren’t enough?

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