the dirt on my clothes- the white muslin and the brown chewed words, the earth dripping. its spots, that i dare not touch, they seep in, seep into the revolting blanks in me. the tireless cutters of trees, the sleepless lumberjacks in me, look up at my skin and its new ink they stop and breathe in some understanding. they choke on it, they sleep on it they carve it on everything they have destroyed. they have new gods again. gods that they will never pray to nor please. the gods they can’t ever leave.
there. see there. that is the soft tree made of sheep from my dreams that i told you about. the one from which blood drips the moment i find the warm back of sleep.
there beside it is the ink i never used. the words i couldn’t bring myself to say. it is a cloud now. it is now rain or rather a promise of rain. so it is safe. and beautiful. it is a reliable source for thirst. it will stay there for an eternity. it will only grow more. it will probably be the measure of my life.
it will be there always overlooking this faithless temple, these buildings filled with hollow books, this smoke that leaves my body as i burn again. overlooking this farm blessed by the hands of time, where all the food i couldn’t stomach, everything of this world that i couldn’t accept grows back again from the soil for me to see.
sit here beside me i will show you the world that i am doomed to see, since you want to know me. see there, all that was there in me before i created new doors in this world for you. all this will remain with me when you are gone. and you will be gone you just don’t know it yet.
Even when I run away from you. Even when I hate you from the depth of my heart- the same depth where only you can breathe, where I can allow no one but you. Even then you sit there, in front of me, reminding me how difficult it is to destroy this love, whose truth and strength outlives each sad, tragic moment that comes our way, each moment of separation that we are capable of creating from our ugly wants. Once I couldn’t have imagined the joy and frustration of having a love like that. A love that has no end when end is all I want. A love that tells me again and again that I do not really know anything and takes away the key of choice every time from my hands. A love that will not even spare me to stay alive. What a blessing! What a curse! To have this bottomless hope.
And if we are to delete, to remove, to erase and whiten the papers that are not a part of our hearts anymore, then hand me the forms you want burned, the words you wish you never heard, and I’ll help you with your share of forgetting, just like how you helped me memorize my own name once.
If we are to walk through the burning towns, that we created with our own hands, which we named after stars, to find something that is not poisoned by our time together, then I’ll do the walking for you.
In a room filled with light I imagine myself breaking apart, it will happen for sure, but it doesn’t pain me yet. But I fear the tears that will find your eyes, the marks of flowing rivers, the civilization of sorrow settling and flourishing on your face, if you were to fall in love with something that is already lost.
I fear your loving nature. I fear your heart to work for the impossible. I fear you might see our past and mistake it for our future. If you try to protect me even in our end, I fear I will be left with no way out.
the one thing i can’t be is honest. though there are many other adjectives that stare at me from their balconies at midnight as i walk and crawl through the dirt road, through the pool of lights, crying and shouting and breaking dreams in every home that i pass by. i hear them shaking their heads with disapproval and hopelessness. i look at their hazy shadows and try to hate them in equal measures but i don’t because they are so easy to forget. but this honesty, this honesty that people expect vexes me. this expectation makes me want to hide, run, run over their hearts all because it is so simple. all because the ones who ask me of this through their tears are not mere observers but are the ones struggling to stay close to me fighting the unnecessary sandstorm i create everyday. they are the ones who deserve honesty. they are the ones i don’t deserve. but my dishonesty is not only for this world. it is the only thing i can offer to myself as well. so again, i wake up in their arms with another lie ready on my lips. i hug them with with my true love and my false heart. i don’t try to make it right when they are in shambles again because there is no fancy way to put it, there is no beauty in what i do, there is no promise i would keep. there are only people who i leave. even when i can’t bear to miss one more person again.
It snowed all night. All night I created stars for your eyes. I bore the weight of the roof as you slept, cried, ate, smiled, memorized dial tones, stared at me like you stare at screens with static, paused expectantly as you told me the story about your friend who is filled to brim with sugar and seems bit odd when he tries to smile a little bit more always, filled me with a momentary fear of whether you saw the corners of my lips tearing up everyday.
I felt again the illusion of love breaking, its crack trying to find my spine. Again you ran to me, trying to hold me, trying to look over all the parts of me that you don’t understand.
I slept and felt the snow of years settling on me. I felt your wings fluttering around in my head. I held the hands of god in my tiny fingers and said with a smile, “make me a flower, if you can” “make me something that is beautiful in her eyes” “give me another sorrow, something simple, something that can be understood and loved by her” “let me look at her, without feeling the breaking in my heart”.
For a change I made breakfast for one and didn’t cry over it. I didn’t turn back as he packed his favorite parts of this heavy life with me. He didn’t ask me about the things I have hidden away. I felt a bitter thankfulness that my memories are mine to keep, that my beautiful moments have been erased from his heart, that I am not a part of his greed and schemes anymore, that nothing in me can be ruined by him after this.
I simply stared at the milk that won’t boil as he dragged away in his small heart the window frames, the doors to my cold world, the warm flame of my blue stove, the table mats on which we spilled our hearts by mistake, the songs that I will never be able to sing again, the doorbell, the welcome mat, our plants that never grew more than a millimeter in spite of the four years of sunlight and rain. Mistakes. We created so much with love, only to call them mistakes.
I heard the door close behind me, my so called “heart” moving away without me and all I could do was hope or pity myself. All I could do was hate him so that I can finally give up.
i can’t…i just can’t bring myself to remove all the ellipsis…that i leave behind in my sentences. i know they look shabby… as if i don’t know how to create proper sentences…as if i have never heard of a comma. i am told it is something similar to ending and pausing sentences with “you know”.
“so juvenile”…my friend had commented. i remember saying the same words to my friends as well (but i don’t think my tone was the same, but i could be mistaken…or self righteous)…so it seems i am not allowed to take it to heart. i am supposed to erase the ellipsis…till they smile again and lie that “i will do better”…or that “it’s time i grow up”…or “gotta become a real poet”.
it seems it is okay to store my ellipses in my mind to place it on an empty sky, on the face of my teacher sprinkled with a hatred that i can’t understand, on the hands that never reach out to me in daylight, on the future i can’t seem to dream about, on every minute that i walk alone on the streets where i thought i would never have to be alone, on the days when i know the answer but won’t speak up for the fear of being right. i don’t know how to live a life where what i think has importance or the acceptance of others. need to find a better home for my pauses than pages that are mine but only with conditions.
Now that we are an year apart. Now that everyone has been talking about new beginnings and second chances, I let myself be myself, let myself be swayed at the hope, at the thought of the ONE.
But being myself also means to be keep my heart broken. It means to leave every crowded room to find the corridors where I can be finally alone with the mistakes I am about to make.
I hold someone who could have been you but is not. I cry the same tears that once made you pity me. I jot down a name and a number and a weakness, a need where I could fit myself into.
And as I lay in bed I feel something sad and beautiful in my heart- an end that I am creating for myself. This is how love has always been for me, so I let it be and smile as I kiss another stranger who won’t be able to save me from anything.
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.