My Type

By Avranill Chakrabarty

I’m a paradox, hard to please,

Mood swings frequent, solitude my ease.

I question all, yet forget the reply,

Leaving me searching with puzzled eyes.

Prone to mistakes, clumsy and slow,

Cakes burned, opportunities let go.

I laugh at my jokes, a quirky delight,

No rhythm in my bones, but I savor the night.

I study all year, yet exam fear grips,

Haunting my dreams as deadlines slip.

Chosen to lead, but ignored and unseen,

A figurehead, powerless, while others take the scene.

I’m a loyal friend, yet a formidable foe,

My anger fierce, my love unyielding, you know.

Egoistic, yet fragile, in this worn, weary frame,

I’m a complex, conflicted soul, with no one to blame.

I follow the trend but falter to finish,

Starting strong, then spinning in a frantic swish.

Yet amidst the chaos, I've found a place,

Where flaws are forgiven, and love lights my face.

I'm a work in progress, imperfect, yet unique,

Embracing my quirks, and finding solace in being me.

By Avranill Chakrabarty