Slowly I plucked each tooth of mine, I tore my tongue out and he called me beautiful.
He called me beautiful so I left my clothes roll down. I let my skin, my guards, my skeleton touch his floor. I sat there watching him build a fire out of it all. The fire was too cold for me so I didn’t smile.
He told me he only speaks the language of rough, that his heart beats and falls slower than the rest. I told him I have known many like him. I told him I didn’t mind. He seemed to mind that a bit but he also seemed to be a bit relieved.
As I sat under the the waterfall of his blue curtains, I felt thousands of eyes at my back, behind windows that couldn’t be closed. There were always windows behind my back anywhere I sat from the day I was first told that I was the type of beautiful not worth keeping and staying around.
Those eyes filled with lust, question, resentment filled with hatred, filled with violence, filled with sweet words for my ailing heart, filled with knives for soft skin, for the right time, were my burden so I knew at least this was not his fault.
I asked him what he could give, what he could make me forget. He didn’t answer and seemed a bit lost. I wondered if he also couldn’t think or speak clearly, if there were eyes on his back that he never spoke about.
I regret to tell you this that the blue sky that you died for is not longer blue. It is painting its face with remains of our greed, with the colors of our wars. But it is still sort of fair. It is trying hard not to choose sides, not to become the flags that unites only those whose favorite words are ‘future’, ‘safety’,’money’, ‘greatness’, while they clutch in their hands the fate of people they don’t identify with- ‘burden’ they call them. ‘Fear’ is another favorite word of theirs. They don’t speak much of it, but it is most useful or at least that’s what I have heard from the ones we are no longer allowed to call out or even mock. I have lost every bit of my passive aggressiveness. Life has become more bearable now that my skin is not broken for making too much noise, now that we have learnt to hold each other’s tongue so that we may not lose more friends than we already have. I regret to tell you that your dreams will remains dreams and you might be one of the last to know how dreams felt in your eyes, how tomorrow used to change by effort.
I have tried so hard to become someone who cannot be be loved without effort or tears.
My faith in love, my faith in those who love or it’s absence is not so difficult to explain.
Clue: Every pop song that leaves you in shambles. Clue: The books that you call cheap literature. Clue: The lovers who want to get to the happy ending fast, so they can think about and focus on more important stuff. Clue: The sappy feelings that you are not interested in.
Those who first talk of my skin and my volume when they talk of love. (I mean you.) Those who think that my view of the world, and how the world views me is just a phase that won’t hopefully be their burden for life. (I mean you.) Those who tell me about my selfishness, my unreasonable fears, my unstable suspicious tiring mind over lunch as they run their blade over every bit of exposed skin of mine. Those who are satisfied when I don’t even wince as I bleed, just the way I have been trained. (I mean you.) You have made this whole process more difficult than it should be.
Don’t ask me the easy way. I might just begin to hate you for that question.
the metal melts on my tongue. this must be the fever that everyone warned me against. now i will never know how to die properly.
i used up every drop i could find on this planet to make the broken trees in me grow. and there are so many, so many skeletons with stunted growth.
i read we need not only the sun, but also the leaves, the green to make something that can fill our stomach. that light by itself can only gift hope . how long can one live on hope? just long enough to hate everyone who has a piece fleshy fruit stuck in their teeth.
the only way to live properly i am told is to become the the tailcoat of someone better than me. i must make someone’s life easy, must become a photocopy machine for their blood, must cry silently into the sink as i clean the dishes at night to live a proper life.
but it is too late i guess, i have lost the plan i was told to follow obediently, the only color that remains on my skin are the ones i was born with, the unflattering shape of my body won’t be bought with the coins of love in any shop, my finger, my unshapely hands have become un-holdable.
the adjectives, the rumors, the sad future of mine they falls like pieces of metal on my ears everyday and yet they are not the words i can say, or accept. these word, this metal melts in my mouth they say i will die a sad death, that i will die as i have lived – by myself.
i did all that i must do and now no one asks me what’s next. thankfully, no one burdens me with with their dreams anymore. i am no longer a possible candidate for the worst, for taking over the misfortune of my mother’s life. i no longer have to worry about hurting my parents by being like them or living like them. thankfully, what bothers me, what eats me up is nothing that would keep anyone else awake and that is important.
in spite of this emptiness i write about and this loneliness that seems bigger than this world, all this do not stop me from laughing at jokes, craving for food that i shouldn’t eat, dreaming of another broken love with my only lover, from having a good time – that i will conveniently forget. nothing i cry about, no ailing that lives in me is too large to stop me from living.
i guess i carry an instability in my genes. if my eyes are in the color of sadness, i guess i got it from my parents. and they are lovely people who somehow raised me right in spite of having a tendency to mess up things and their sadness with life.
tomorrow i will probably hate them frequently again but they will nag at me when i reach home drenched in rain, will tell me sit straight and force me to eat what will keep me alive, will ask me to keep my phone down, and sleep a little bit more.
they will not ask what’s wrong and that will disappoint me, but they will let me do what i want to do (sometimes) and they will try their best not to wrong me. they will wish for my happiness, even if they have no idea what makes me happy and that is important.
because though i lived my extended teenage believing that i had no one, but it was not true. i saw no one and it is my fault. even when i thought i was not loved they have loved me silently. though it was a tiring love, it knew no end.
there is a land of promise that only promises an end. end to everything. a painless but a sure end.
i wondered if i should dream to be there. if i would be able to say this aloud if i can say,”i dream of an end”. if you ask “end to what?” what shall i say? what i should i answer? how does one begin to answer such questions? the questions that do not mean anything till they have an answer. then those questions become regrets, become point of no return.
an end surely is better than the unbearable stretch of time, the long life that lies after the such questions.
how can you look at me the same way when you know that my monstrosity and my weakness are the same? how will i be able to pretend or play dumb? surely an end is better the endless days of pretend. an end is better than carrying the burden of this life, this life that i don’t want, than loving you and loving myself with closed eyes and closed heart.
I couldn’t help but to love you, this you, that from your darkness pushed me away, tried to save me from my choices.
When I told you that I loved you for your selfless honestly, you made up your mind to leave.
You told me as you packed your bag that all honesty is not selfless, that while you pushed me away you knew that I would love you even more.
As a goodbye you braided my hair with the flowers of your tear. You left me with a letter, when you robbed me of your shadow, with ink dipped in concern, saying that you wanted me to be better than your second chance, a daily pill to forget what you are, a shoulder to bear your burden. That only by rejecting the luxury of being loved unconditionally, could you ever learn to love and see me as a human who can bleed by loving too much. That your leaving might be the only true gesture that shows what you feel for me, that it is the only thing you can do for me.