Blah.

Today was an 'okay' day, did nothing special, except maybe eat chana chat with crisps sprinkled all over it. There's so much to do, so much to study, I have a block assessment coming up soon, I'm a little nervous, but I don't know why I just can't get myself to study. I literally have to drag myself to my books. =/ And I seriously don't know what's so wrong with me these. I know there is "something", but I just can't put a finger on it. I'm writing too many poems, I feel like a factory more than anything else. Thanks to someone, I hate the word "poetess" with a passion. It makes me feel like some old and haggard 100 year old woman walking with a stick and scribbling on clay tablets about her feelings. Ick. Changing tracks, studying embryology makes me feel like a little miracle. There are around 165784365436 things that can go wrong in the womb. Alhamdullilah, we all need to learn to be so much more grateful. I don't have much to say, but I wanted to cut the monotony of so many poems, that too all about pain and sorrow :P I'm not as emo as I sound. I'm a very happy person, alhamdullilah, I just have my ways of expressing joy. Oh by the way, I tried writing something really dumb, let me just paste it here at the end:

I dug a tiny hole,
I buried myself in it,
deeper and deeper,
until I had no doubt
that anyone would pull me out.

I caked the opening with mud,
with silt, with concrete,
then I used the stick of fate,
to tap it dry and neat.

Nobody had to know what lay,
under the layers of clay,
it could be a very dark past,
or a life that had ended too fast.

As the winds blow the dust away,
I add a few tears to wet the sandy clay,
I watch the frays of secrets peeking,
the remnants of what my heart was seeking.

I use a few pebbles to line the site,
of shattered dreams and sleepless nights,
of so many regrets and endless passions,
of lack of hope and absence of compassion.

It's still a little incomplete, but I'm very out of ideas at the moment, so I will add to it later.

Enough said.