and this sad premise is not a commentary on how rotten the world is but an observation that we have a pattern that is hard to break.
that people often misinterpret the habit of one thing as a proof of its superiority over everything else in world.
that words can move your heart, sometimes for worse. it can move you towards hatred, towards fear towards anger that is not your own.
that the wish to be right makes us forget how to wear someone else’s shoes or their color or their nationality or their body. a body that is no longer their own – now that they are just a sack of blood, a sacrifice to please our personal gods – our thirst of power and the “better world” that no one else wants.
this sad premise is not a commentary on how rotten the world is for i do not have the courage to write the worst or to imagine how i am right now walking over faceless nameless beings to maintain my world just like you.
should i thank you for becoming the faceless stranger that i dread the most?
you are the new voice inside my head. less of a voice, more of a threat.
how should i make you happy? how can i shut you up?- is all i think about. i want to grow up and grow out of this mind that can’t take even this shallow critique. but i can’t. how can I confront you when you may actually be correct about me?
what should i do? remain a nothing till your attention shifts? learn to cry without being bashed for my weakness?
but at least I am glad I am not your type, that I am not the excuse you would use to pull someone else down.
so goodbye “the embodiment of my self-doubt” thank you giving me another grief to write about, for speaking your mind and taking away my voice.
I place broken glass of every color at your feet. I know how you loved the way they looked. I will re-create every beauty that you asked for, I will make them incapable of the danger that you fear. So that you can walk in this unsettling world, walk over every broken glass. I can draw a faceless person to walk by your side, so you don’t have to feel sorry when you forget their names or when they forget you. It is a world you can never be in but I will draw it anyway, because this world that I don’t want for you is the only world that can make you happy.
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.
I saw that girl
who roamed the dark streets
with eyes filled with smoke
and feet swaying with confusion and power.
With clothes that reminded me of night sky.
She was out all night
to paint the world
in the color
of her black beautiful broken heart.
The many masks of her
hung by her wrist.
They smile, sneer and look down
at the faceless shadows
that are bound to disappear.
And though it always puzzled me
how she could smile,
after breaking so many people.
I finally understood
how it could be so hollow
and so fulfilling at same time.
I finally understood all this
the morning when I woke up as her.