i try to sleep, to forget the pain near my spine, to forget all the hours in front of me that i have no use of. i look at my palm from near and from as far as my hands can extend. i notice how my hands have changed. do i like it better now? i wonder if it possible to like anything about my body now. i remember once deciding not to at least hate this skin that has use for everyone but not to me. i remember saying “as long as it makes you happy” at the same time thinking “i don’t think you care for my happiness”. i stop myself from finding more things that make me confused or miserable. i unlock my phone. it’s 8 already- more and more notifications, …5GB extra..Alert:You have spent… …has added a new post…added a new story airplane mode, the notifications continue to pile up in my head- all the words that i will never get to see that i always expected even when i knew i shouldn’t, it has been long……sorry, for making you feel alone… today i saw something and was reminded of you. even though we are not together, it is not your fault… thank you for being there for me……it must have been tough… don’t hurt yourself i feel smaller knowing that even the words i want are only words of consolation, just confirmation that i am not the worst. i look at my hands again and wonder if my hatred for myself colors my skin. is that how everyone gets know that i don’t have the courage to ask for fair, for loyalty, for answers? is that how i look? someone who doesn’t have the voice to ask anything anymore.
Drop by drop the wax fills the bucket of broken butterflies.
I am falling into another sleep, into another death that is warm, that embraces me like no lover ever has.
I feel the pain in my wings, and unlike other days I try to think that this will never pass. That I will remain like this, with a bit of pain always there in my shoulder blades, under my ribs, aching for a memory that floats above my body, above my existence.
Someone holds my hand and I let them. I was always afraid of living and dying alone. I guess there are many like me.
Years from now they will find us and probably write stories about how we loved each other even in death. As they look at our almost ruined and almost saved faces they won’t know how we died heartbroken, how we held onto each other but never dared to look at each other or ask the names we had started to hate. How our skins melted into each other only because we had nowhere else to be. That even as light broke free from our eyes we didn’t want to look like failure.
yesterday, coincidentally i met the couple that always looked cute together. the ones i thought will be together forever. yesterday, i was sad for the first time that they are together even after so many years. that they made something out of their love, when we can’t.
as i smiled at them and asked them about their wonderful life, i didn’t feel happy at all. i wanted to just find you and ask you “why couldn’t you give me this happiness, why you had to be as weak as me”.
and when they asked about you i had to lie that you are doing well. when they asked if we could all meet up, i gave them my old number that no longer works. they were so happy, that it ruined my whole day.
so yesterday was another day when i learnt that i am not a really nice person. i could see why you didn’t like me enough.
The trees are alive today. They ask me to sing them to sleep for the last time. I sing for hours but they refuse to close their eyes.
They ask me how I have been, not waiting for my answer, in one breath they ask about the words they don’t understand, ask me about the days I do not remember anything about (there are so many days I have no memory of while I can’t forget the days I really want to forget), about the rain that has left us long ago.
Their love for this world that they do not understand- makes me jealous, makes me wonder, if I could love also this world as much as I want to if I knew a little less, if I gave up this human heart that knows nothing but to steal and plead, to take away and bleed. But if I knew how to give up myself for my greater good, I would have done so long ago.
I can only stay selfish, act better than what I am, sing songs to the trees that will soon be killed for my sake.
I won’t ask any questions
that you can’t answer
and there are so many of them.
Everything I want to ask,
everything I want to tell you
is always something that I shouldn’t.
I am tied up by all that can’t let myself do.
But at the same time
I want some kind of happiness with you-
a brief dream, a conversation to recall,
a piece of you that no one else can have.
How shall I come closer to you
without alarming you?
What shall I do
for you to know my heart?
I want to see you before I forget you. I want to see if I can live without forgetting you. If I can avoid running away, if I can see you and not feel anything.
My love, my dependence on you, my feelings- you slept through all of it and now you do not know why I have changed, do not know how to be with me.
Let us be friends again. I can do that for your sake. Now it is probably my turn to sleep, to close my eyes on all that I feel, all that you are to me.
So when I tell you how my love has ruined me
be kind to me and ask me to give up.
Teach me how to give up.
Teach me how to give you up.
And I will be kind enough
not to ever let you know
that you were the cause
of all my confusion and all my suffering.
I was sat down and told repeatedly everyday that though the world belongs to all of us, sometimes it is better to step back, to only take up the space we need. I misunderstood it to be a lesson in humility, wanting less, and sacrifice, but I realize now that it was not so. I was told to stop before I anger someone, before someone got jealous, or before they saw the weakness of my gender.
As I stand on the balcony at midnight and hear drunk shady men shouting, cursing, and stumbling, as they make their way to their broken homes, I remind myself this is what I am supposed to fled, a person who is allowed to loose their mind, a person who will always have excuse to hurt. This what everyone wanted me to become, someone who is proficient at spotting dangers, who can conjure up the worst possible scenarios when they hear another’s footsteps on deserted streets, and see the worst possible demons in the face of men.
These days I often hear people say that the new meaning of a powerful woman is the one who walks into misfortune willingly, before she is stalked and defeated by it. Is this the only alternative to what I am living?
I wish that when I walked past a stranger on streets I could smile and wish them a good day, without having to fear being misunderstood, without the echoes of ‘she asked for it’ in my mind.