The lines are drawn. The teams have been split. Now I must show loyalty only to “my kind”. Now I must learn by heart the roads that I am not allowed to take. Your heart probably lies on one of those roads. That’s probably the reason, why my feet won’t walk in your direction.
What is it like to live in the better half of the world? My limited imagination sees you as only you and that’s why I know that I am going to be hurt badly. A friend tells me with sadness, “staying away would be kinder love”. He plays me a beautiful tune, a melody to replace you, a consolation of sorts, a very poor (though thoughtful) consolation.
The sun is a quadrant setting only on my half of world, although no one has yet tried to split this moon. How fortunate are we to share at least this sorrow, at least the night. On every night sky you are my hope written in neon. Every morning, you are a dream that I force myself to forget. But no words, no consolation can make me forget you.
beauty may be only skin deep but lack of it goes deeper than that. so deep that you end up learning to want things that you wouldn’t otherwise even think about. i wish i could remember every face that was surprised to know that i am okay with looking older than i am, surprised that i do not want to exorcise fats especially when i have got so much of it. every morning i wake up they hover over me like faceless shadows with black markers, drawing over my body showing me all that is wrong, giving me tips so that i can become easy to look at, hiding their superficiality under the wraps of concern, whispering how thick-skinned i am when i don’t listen and wondering what is wrong with the ones who love me. it made me wonder that maybe going under the knife wouldn’t be as bad as being smeared black by markers. that maybe i am supposed to love myself only after the world approves of the ‘me’ that i want to love. i would have understood if they cared, if they actually meant good, but they don’t because they know nothing more than my name and they say my name only with heart-breaking adjectives and assumptions. i want to say they are wrong, but i have suffered their gaze for so long that sometimes i end up sharing their hatred of me, of what they see. there are days that i obsess over a passing comment. there are days i beat up myself for being like this. i starve and fail, i try to get over their words and fail, i try to hate myself and fail. i want to say it doesn’t matter but it does because i am tiring myself out by trying to see something good in me, by apologizing to myself, by trying to save my heart while they burn my body in the woods.