another bird breaks into light and the someone applauds. a fire is born in the clouds. a wind filled with cries flows in through windows of happy castles. everything painful is now essential.
i sign my writing with assurances that it is not too much, this much i can handle, this much i can live. i stand tall, i persist in light with the heartiest smiles all the time planning on the next crack that i dream to give birth to, the next tear that i will paint on myself… all the while knowing there is something wrong.
something is wrong with the way i live and the way i feel, with the things that i see and want. but has knowing ever helped. knowing just makes me more reckless. knowing makes me want to fly again even though i know i will be shot down by my own arrows.
so my blue dream is not even mine now. i am just a mesh of people who hate me. their fingers are my fingers now poking my skin, endless railroads of red are built with their nails that they do not even cut before they sell me their fake love-filled eyes. their eyes are my eyes that wants to smash every reflective surface where i fall. every reflective thought is just a poison. a poison, a gossip, an untrue version of me running wild in the minds of those who look at me. they gossip about me so i gossip about myself , whisper my secrets into the air or better, into the ears of lovers who are chosen especially for their talents in indifference, vulnerability, and emotional violence. lovers who can break me – are all that i want. i need someone else to do this breaking for me because i am coward who can’t move towards the end i want, and also because my hands are busy. i have more things to do. i need my hands to tear my talents apart in the name of value, tear my feelings apart in the name of my worthlessness. i need my hands to paint again and again. paint indifferences on my insecurities that come a bit too often to the surface of my skin now, paint laugh lines on the bleeding corners of my lips, paint dreams of love, moments of hurt, grand betrayals on my otherwise lonely mind, paint humans that match the shadows in me, painting causes and assurances. i must paint. i must paint a reason- a reason why i suffer so, why this world works like how it does, why i must break as the world breaks, why i must break even for fixing this world. i must paint a face so that others don’t break at the sight of my face. i clip my nails everyday so that when i become someone’s ghost when someone suffers because of me at least my hands won’t leave them scars.
“You were almost my whole world”, he said, waiting for me to say something- an excuse, an apology, a lie that would make him as important as I seem to be in his words.
His belated words are always beautiful, his love always drips at the corners of every end that I try to carve out of us. Once it was an assurance to know all our ends are fake.
Once I was made of dreams, once he was made of songs, and now we are back to being mere flesh that we can’t accept each other for.
Now we are pretty sure we can live without dreams that hurt and that there are other songs, better sounds that won’t cut us up before we are dead.
Yet he tries to care for the one he no longer wants as I try to stay silent for his sake, for my sake, for an end that doesn’t drag on. Or is it to look pitiful and arrogant in his eyes. His eyes liked me best when I couldn’t be wavered, when I seemed something more than just a needy heart.
I wonder why we try to look humans even as we part, why we must show the faces we have grown to hate ourselves for and act like lovers in pain, like this is the end of our lives. When love was the last thing we needed, seeing it was the only thing we were ever ready to give up on.
There are too many thought on my mind today there is too little love in my heart but my eyes are focused only on you dear my ears hear only your voice. But it doesn’t matter, I know that too.
Knowing is also a sort of poison. It only makes me angry at your smile and your assurances. It doesn’t change the fact that today you live in hurt and tomorrow you may not be with me to get better. It doesn’t change the fact that you won’t let me come close, that you say I have no right to know that part of you.
All that I am allowed to do now is to smile as if I do not see, is to talk of a tomorrow that will never be, think of names we would never get to use, plan a journey we will never begin. This is all we ever did, when we had so much time. This is all we ever did. This is what we will never do. That’s all there is left to it.
You will say that you are fine. I will say “I know”, when I don’t. And I will hate the sight of your pain and I will hate myself for it, as will you. Maybe I will burn this place down if you don’t let me in. Maybe there is no place left to burn, Maybe that’s what you’re hiding. Maybe that’s what you mean.
Come home and lie that you know how to miss me. Pass me by a thousand time in these small rooms, none which feel like the home I wanted. Once you told me that the issue is that I want a lot of things, that I want too much. That wanting doesn’t suit someone like me. I find the person I am not in everything you like, everything that makes you loose control, everything that forces you to make mistakes. When I cried the first time, you told me that you can’t help that your heart doesn’t say my name. You told me as an assurance that your heart doesn’t know love for anyone else either. I am a person like that, who hoped that you can be mine as long as you are no one else’s. I am person like that, who stayed because no one did and no one would. A person who cries everyday, only to hear your assurances again, only to hear the lies that can save my breaking love for you.
The wind is picking up. The white sand unlike water sinks everything too slowly. And so the shade less trees of eucalyptus become shadows that I learn to love. They become compass that knows no direction, but just piece this world to hold, the silent assurance that I am not yet lost, though my eyes can’t tell.
The wind is picking up. In the middle of this small storm, my careful hands writing the date on black board suddenly realize the need to be held. And so I fold and create a crease on another part of my face- the part that shows my heart too easily. Someone yells out my name and unknowingly they moor me to another violence, another need that I don’t want to carry in me.
My guarantees and my assurances do not come from my own voice, do not reflect even a iota of my feelings. They are not my words and won’t ever be mine even if voice them a million times. But you have to make do with these promises, the same way I am settling for yours. I cannot say “love me, i’ll make you happy“. I am the wrong answer, I have to lie, I have to cheat to be chosen.
If I was honest, if I loved you for real, I would have told you this:
“my words, these empty castle hallways, the mountains that never answer back, a mirror lost and flooded with darkness, the habit of taking up, stealing beautiful names the thrill of forgetting, every kind of messed up love, a sweeter hate to forget reasons they are all yours, but you are better without them”
I must hate you a lot, to hold your hand like this.
Last night I wanted to dream of you but I couldn’t. The picture of you that I had in my mind was that of the smile that was never yours, just a front for the photographs that you never wanted to be taken.
And all I could remember about you was how you would move noiselessly through my home, my mind and my memories with a care that I didn’t have. How your silent nods were my greatest assurance. How your hands were my gloves. How you enveloped me with your presence and burned till I forgot the freezing world. How for a short period of my life I was glad to be myself, that I was the one you loved. I wanted that lost time to be my dream, to find you in that dream and to tell you that you are precious to me. So that the smiles on your photographs become real. So that I become the reason of your beautiful smiles.
The steps I walk
and the fate I follow
all run into faces that somehow
already know all the reason to despise me.
Why is it that walking in these shadows
calms my heart and brings it pain
at the same time.
Is this how life is to be lived?
I myself this all the time.
For if not for my own voice,
there won’t be any answers returning to me
from this world that seems more far away
when I look for answers,
than when I look for places hide.
But I look at the moon today with a new eyes.
I find I am no longer alone,
when you look back everytime you leave.
I find I am no longer alone,
when left to myself, I have someone else to think of.
I no longer need assurances and promises
from this life, if only you walk this earth
with a smile and a lighter heart.
The cold returns to my heart again,
freezing your memories forever in me,
and I smile.
I am no longer alone,
nor are you.
The laments shimmer in the borrowed beauty
of words someone else made.
The pattern my words dance in
were laid out by someone else.
They lead me to the same place
where they have led the people before me-
not to change or relief.
I don’t think anyone whose steps I am following
was looking for that either.
But only for a way to look at pain
and see the beauty of the heart that endures it.
Not to find answers or reasons,
but the assurance that life can be lived
even without that.